“How about this?” he started. “From the first time I saw you in one of your pretty dresses, I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you out of it. Then when I get my chance, I’m using so much control to do the right thing by you that I don’t get to fully enjoy it. But the part I do get to enjoy, got totally fucked when you moaned ‘Adam.’ Now that I’m standing here without anything fucked-up between us, you’re in one of your pretty dresses and I’m using so much control not to rip it off of you and bury my face between your legs, something I’ve been dying to fucking do for months, it’s a wonder I’m able to keep my feet. Please, I’m begging you, go into the bathroom, lock the door, and take a shower.”

Hole-lee-shit.

A tremor went through me along with an overwhelming urge to find out if I’d been right about Asher being a ten out of ten. Seeing as just looking at him made the impossible clitoris-throb happen, and his voice made me tingle, I was thinking all it would take would be kissing me again and I’d spontaneously orgasm.

“Asher.”

Since he was right in front of me, he didn’t have far to go when his arm went around my lower back and his other hand went into my hair, twisting it around his fist until he tipped my head back and his mouth was inches from mine.

I thought he was going to kiss me.

I was ready for him to kiss me.

My body was more than ready to find relief.

None of that happened.

“You get I want to fuck you and I have for a long time?” he asked, and I vigorously nodded not hiding my enthusiasm. “You’re hell on a man’s resolve.”

“I don’t under—”

Suddenly, Asher tightened his arm around me and my breath swooshed out.

“Fuck, Sloane, I don’t understand either. I just know you’re different. Can’t say how. Can’t say why. I just know you are. Straight up, walking away from you when this is over is gonna hurt like a motherfucker. I take us where I want us to go…” Asher stopped and shook his head. “It’ll gut me.”

Holy crap, that felt like a sucker punch to my stomach, a velvet blow to my soul. All of it, knowing he felt the exact same way I did—that there was something more, something different between us. Something we couldn’t pinpoint or understand, just a strange feeling—and both of us knew it was going to hurt not to have it.

It took an extreme, an insane amount of effort to step back. But I did. It took more out of me to not ask why—when this felt like a once-in-a-lifetime chance—he would walk away from it, from me, from something that might be. But I did that, too.

I gave him what he wanted, what he’d asked for, and silently walked to the bathroom, locked the door, and took my shower. I let myself mourn our what-could’ve-been. I did this knowing it was absurd my heart was broken but I did not give a single fuck. I washed my hair, scrubbed my face, and pulled myself together. By the time I rinsed the conditioner out, I’d shoved aside my crazy, ridiculous feelings and refocused on what was important—Elise.