I rolled off Asher. He groaned when I slipped free from his ass. On my side, I fingered his hole, feeling my cum slipping out. I slid a digit inside and hummed by his ear. “Mine. This ass is mine.”

He smiled, his dimples present, but his eyes stayed shut. “Yours.”

We fell asleep after that, and I didn’t know when Jay and Dean had left, but they were gone the next morning when we woke up. They did, however, leave a note.

It was worth every penny. Thanks for the show. You two are amazing together.

Epilogue

BY THE TIME WE started our last year of university, Charlotte had released the second book in the series. It topped the charts and sent book one right back into a best-seller position. Ender and Elliot were melting hearts all over the world.

And Asher was breaking mine.

“Make it stop. Oh God, someone. Please. Save me. Anyone?”

“No one is gonna save you. This is your punishment. I warned you and warned you, but you don’t fucking listen. Now pedal the goddamn bike, or I’m bumping up the resistance again.”

My thighs burned and ached, but I kept going, knowing this was deserved, and if I refused to cooperate, he’d only find worse ways to get his revenge.

Like no sex.

Then I might truly cry. For the time being, my tears were superficial, more a slight watering due to the intense pain. I told myself if I pushed through, maybe he’d see the wickedness of his ways and pamper me later. A hot bath. A massage. All the sexy time I could ask for.

“How much longer? I can’t go on. Ash, I’m dying. For real. I see the light. The pain. It’s too much.”

“You’ve been on there for four minutes. You have twenty-six to go, so buckle up, buttercup. It ain’t gonna get better.”

“Twenty-six minutes? No way. No, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me. Oh God, make it stop. I’ll do anything. I can’t do this for twenty-six more minutes.”

Asher leaned over the top of the machine, bringing his face close enough no one would hear. He was sweaty and shirtless, and it was so unfair because I’d have much rather dragged him home and helped him shower, washing all those beautiful ridges and hard lines.

“How many times have I told you not to call me baby?”

“A few. Once or twice. Maybe six. Eleven? I don’t know,” I wailed. “I’ve lost count, but I’ve learned my lesson. I swear it. It happens in the heat of the moment. It just slips out. I can’t help myself. It will never happen again. I promise. I mean it this time.”

“I don’t believe you. Pedal. Maybe this will help you remember.”