The Foo Fighters “Learn to Fly” played in the background, nothing more than a cloudy blanket of noise coming from somewhere behind the blood pulsing in my ears. Asher’s heart thundered through into my own chest, his full weight crushing me to the bed. The wet stickiness between us was proof of what had happened.

Small tremors shook us both at random as the residual effects of our orgasms rocked us. My mouth was desert dry, but I knew I needed to form words, ask questions, do something.

“W-what just happened?” I croaked.

I felt the force of Asher’s swallow. He shifted and lifted his head. With flushed cheeks, kiss bruised lips, and tangled hair, he looked destroyed as one often does after experiencing an amazing orgasm.

His gaze flickered between my eyes for a long time, his face a picture of uncertainty.

“Ash?” I whispered.

When he spoke, his voice cracked. “End scene.”

Then he was off the bed and gathering his clothes as fast as humanly possible. He ran to the bathroom and locked himself inside.

Everything was fuzzy and surreal. If I wasn’t covered in our combined spunk, I would have questioned if that had really happened. As it stood, I was battling with postorgasm bliss and the urge to race after Asher and ask him what the flying fuck we’d just done.

He could end the scene all he wanted, but I’d bet every dollar in the world Asher hadn’t been acting the part of Ender ten minutes ago. Something about his preorgasm dialogue and the discussion we’d had about Charlotte’s manuscript beforehand made me wonder.

I knew my twin better than that.

When I found the stamina to stand, I fished around for something to clean up the mess on my chest. I used my discarded T-shirt and slipped back into my underwear.

I pounded on the bathroom door. “Asher. We need to talk. Now.”

The door flew open, but Asher shoved past me, aiming for the exit. His cheeks were on fire.

As he reached for the door, I grabbed his arm. “Whoa. Stop.”

He spun, but he wouldn’t look at me. “Not now,” he croaked. I’d never heard him so vulnerable. “Atti, please. Just leave me alone for a bit.”

“Ash.” I softened my voice, seeing the fear in his eyes.

“I’ll text you later.”

He reached for the door again, but I covered his hand with my own. “You’ve had too much to drink. You can’t drive home like this.”

“I’ll take an Uber.” He fished the keys for the Jag from his pocket and chucked them on the bed. Then he touched my arm. “I-I got carried away. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”