If he’d shown her that room on day one, it would’ve saved them oodles of time and frustration.
That room, a modest one hundred and forty-four square feet of cotton candy pink, was the shot she needed to get her priorities straight. To see her anger for what it really was. A crutch. A shield for a spirit broken by something beyond his control. A weapon she yielded when the reality of her drastic action set in.
That room was truth serum.
She’d left a man who loved her, that married her, despite her dedication to the father that betrayed him at the tender age of seventeen.
She’d left a man who did his job, a herculean task that saved countless lives across the globe, but kept him from coming to their unborn daughter’s rescue when she was already beyond salvation.
She’d left a man who pulled newborn diapers out of the package and placed them on a shelf under a changing table, the stacks so precise, he probably used a straight edge ruler to line them up.
She’d left a man who hung a bouncing collage of pastel hot air balloons and fluffy white clouds from the ceiling above a brand-new crib, ribbons streaming from the mobile in twisted pink corkscrews.
That room was a magic rewind button.
Sweeping his shirt up over her body, she dropped it to the floor and shook out her hair, the blonde strands catching on her damp cheeks—residue from tears, both sad and happy. A blend of goodbye and hello again. A conscience decision to choose faith over doubt. Forward over back. Love over hate.
Ash’s throat moved, his gaze roaming her from head to toe, snagging on her nipples but stopping at the juncture of her thighs.
“How did you know to use scissors to make the ribbons curl?”
“Called Rosa.” Voice raspy, his hot stare never wavered from her core, and she clenched in response. “Full disclosure,” he added, gaze fixated, “I had to call her about the sheets, too. I’m skilled in unconventional warfare. I can build a bomb using the contents of your average junk drawer. But hell if I could figure out how to make that bed the way you’d want. I got it as good as I could.”
A vision of him struggling to put miniature sheets on a bed that no baby would sleep in bombarded her. Tying long pink streamers to clouds and balloons. Calling Rosa for assistance.
All an attempt to make it perfect for her. For her.
And it was.
“It was perfect,” she whispered, then corrected herself. “It is perfect.”
When their eyes met, she grinned, straddling his muscular thighs and crawling into his lap. Tracing the arch of his brow, she laid her mouth over his, barely touching. “Absolutely perfect.”
As he clutched the back of her head, his lips crashed onto hers, taking charge of the chaste kiss. It was urgent and needy, as if she might disappear. Tingles shot through her when his tongue traced the seam of her mouth, demanding entry. He groaned when she complied, darting in to lash against hers. Urgency spent, he took his time now, kissing and licking, trailing a rough hand up and down her spine, igniting her arousal with each glide.
Stopping to trail tiny kisses down the column of her throat, his graveled voice meshed with her breathy pants. The man was a world-record neck kisser.
“Is it socially acceptable to have a hard-on while talking about baby toys? Because if it isn’t, I’m an outcast.”
“Mmm, you have a hard-on,” she replied, nipping his earlobe before sitting back on his lap, making a heart with her hands. “I have a heart-on.” Holding it over her chest, she grinned. “Get it?”
“I get it. And you’re about to get it, too. Hard and fast.” Securing her against him, he stood even as she protested.
“Wait,” she said, pouting. “This is my show tonight.”
Strong arms banding around her, he carried her into the master bedroom with no effort whatsoever, dropping her onto the bed.
“It was your show this afternoon, darlin’. That’s all the docile you’ll get from me. Four years without you hasn’t made me tame; it’s made me savage. Holding out this long was a mammoth feat.”
Propping herself on one elbow, she saw the animal he’d become in the last five minutes. Face flushed, lip curled, predatory gleam in those flashing sapphire blues. He tugged on his button-fly and shed the jeans with zero modesty, showing off what he had in store.
“I’m about to go full caveman on you.” Leaning down, he took her nipple between his teeth and tugged, then licked the sting away. “I might apologize later.” His hand cupped her heat roughly, possessively, thick fingers dipping in to tease the wet folds. “Or I might not.”
If her responding moan wasn’t clear consent, her words were.
“You’re Asher Coleson,” she drawled, hips bucking, gasping when those fingers delved deeper. “And Asher Coleson may do as he pleases.”
“Christ, I love you.” The declaration was garbled as he kissed her, the fusion of their mouths as much a promise of love and commitment as sex and satisfaction. “I wanna fuck you as much as I love you. All the way.”
Her hands roamed his back, skin pulled tight over taut muscle, feeling every ridge and dip carved from years of hard labor and grueling gym time.
“Have at it, soldier. The love is mutual.” Inhaling his breath, absorbing his strength, holding his weight above her, she let her love flow. “So is the fucking part.”
Every inch of his body was familiar, explored by touch and taste numerous times, but the butterflies in her stomach made it feel like the first time. When they were younger and dumber, and full of hopes and dreams no terrible twist of fate could ever crush. Now it felt stronger. Visceral. Their connection far more tenacious than just physical attraction. They were bonded by a life of abundant riches and impoverished despair.
Surprise filled her when his movements slowed, his frantic passion ebbing into something nearing worship, betraying the erotic promise he’d uttered with such conviction. She’d expected a quick and lusty bang.
Their mouths parted as he ventured down her body, Olivia spreading hot, nibbling kisses across his collarbone before he moved out of reach. Her toes curled and a whimper fell from her lips when his tongue swirled around her aching nipple, lashing the tight peak before pulling it into his mouth. The pulsing suction matched the throb in her center, and she gripped the back of his head, holding him to her.
“So fucking beautiful,” he mumbled, moving to her other breast.
The throb increased, and she reached between them, gripping a solid erection that guaranteed satisfaction.
“I wanna taste you so bad, but if I do, I’ll lose it before I can get inside you.” Sweeping two fingers through her wetness, he lifted them to his mouth. “This’ll have to get me by.”
For the second time that day, Olivia watched him feast on her juices, and she nearly came spontaneously.
Lifting her hips into his, she whimpered. “Now, Ash. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
He complied, his steely hardness poised at her entrance, but he stopped short at the last millisecond.
Cupping her face, he smoothed back strands of soft blonde hair, then swallowed hard. “I’m so lucky to have you, Liv. The luckiest man alive. I won’t screw this up again.”
Palming the globes of his fine ass, she paused her wanton attempt to push him inside her.
“I won’t either,” she whispered, returning the solemn vow.
He rewarded her with the devilish grin he’d been born with and the powerful surge of his hips, filling her to overflowing in one forceful thrust.
And the earth moved. The planets aligned. There was peace in the Middle East and Destiny’s Child reunited.
It was that amazing.
Nails digging into his flesh at the tight fit, the echo of her harsh cry reverberated off the walls.
He froze. “Okay?” The single word was laced with concern.
“Mmm,” she murmured, cradling him between her thighs. “Like a million bucks.”
Groaning, he pulled all the way out, teasing her entrance with the swollen tip of his cock. Dipping in, then out, then surging back in fully, again and again, in a steady rhythm that hit the target deep within each time. He knew her body well, her lusty moans encouraging him.
His hands never moved from her face, eyes never straying from her gaze, silently relaying that his soul was just as connected as his body—telling her the finale to an evening of heavy conversation, supercharged emotion, and joyous reconciliation wasn’t just fucking. It was lovemaking.
It was homecoming.
Sweat dotted his upper lip and his cheekbones were flush, his forehead dropping to hers with a growl. Hips pumping steadily, she matched his pace, taking all he gave. This wasn’t the time for a marathon session. They’d been apart too long.
“I’m close.” His hand slid down her body, past her adorned navel to stroke where they were joined, fingers circling the tiny bundle of nerves. “Catch up.”
Exactly three seconds later, she beat him to the finish line, her inner muscles rippling, milking him as her body exploded.
“Oh… oh, my God.” Clawing at him, she rode the intense wave, her head falling back as she groaned with each radiating pulse. “Ash,” she whimpered, his name a breathy pant. “Don’t stop. Keep moving. It’s so good.”
Not pausing to enjoy the show, he increased his speed, pounding into her with a primal voracity she’d expected the moment he tossed her onto the bed. His breathing was labored, his skin coated in perspiration, his low moans inciting fiery aftershocks in her drenched center, gripping his erection even tighter.
“Liv, I—” Tensing, he slowed his thrusts, pushing up on his arms. “Fuck, I didn’t think this through.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, squeezing him internally, his words not registering. “Don’t you dare stop.”
A strategic flick of his finger—or hers—and she’d head into multiple orgasm land. The thought had her locking her ankles around his waist, changing the angle. Smooth, high strokes would do it, too.
“No condom.” He stilled completely, reaching to untangle her legs. “I can’t pull out like this.”
“No. Don’t.” Her strength was no match against his, but he let her win the battle.
“Liv…” Her name was both a question and a warning.
“It’s okay.” With her arms and legs wrapped around him, he began to move again as she whispered what her heart knew was true all along. “It’s okay. I love you.”
His harsh breathing intensified, and the hesitation she’d sensed faded. Stroking deep, he buried his face in her neck, his thrusts driving him closer to the edge.
On a guttural groan, his big body tensed, hips grinding into her as if he could possibly go deeper.
“It’s okay,” she repeated, holding him, soothing him as he rode out his own orgasm, shuddering and pouring into her without a barrier. “We’re okay.”
This was a fresh start.
Ash and Liv, new and improved.
“Holy shit,” he grumbled, long minutes later. “I felt that in my teeth.”
Laughing softly, she stroked his hair and fought sleep. The emotional overload of the day closed in, but she whimpered when he slid from her body, feeling a void already.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I can be back inside you in twenty minutes. Ten if you touch yourself for me.” The bed jostled as he pulled the sheet over them, rolling to his back and cradling her against his chest.
How he had the energy to lift a pinkie was beyond her.
“You’re not getting that lucky tonight.” Voice drowsy, she placed a kiss over his heart, throwing him a bone. “Maybe tomorrow.”
A perfect swirl of chest hair padded her cheek as she rested her head, wondering how body hair could grow in such an appealing manner. She knew manscaping wasn’t on his to-do list, and yet, he looked like a fertile female had built him from scratch. The definition of raw masculinity.
“Can’t wait for tomorrow then.” He kissed her temple. “I have a lot to look forward to.”
“We both do.”
“Oh, you wanna watch, too? Fine with me.” He chuckled when she clucked her tongue.
Looking up at him, she rested her chin on her hand. “And in other good news, maybe we’re not gonna drink poisoned Kool-Aid after all. Maybe we’ll just keep doing what we’ve been doing since the start of summer and see where it takes us.”
“Already know where it takes us. Straight to forever town.”
Stroking the warm skin low on his navel, she drew tiny figure eights with the pad of her finger and imagined his dream house in the suburbs. “Is there a pool in the backyard of forever town? And a silver SUV?”
“Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
The bubble gum pink bedroom flashed in her mind, and it didn’t hurt as bad. One to ten on the pain scale, it was a three. A dull, but present ache. A stunning reversal, considering she’d shown up to the condo with her feather pillows and a raging eight on her shoulder.
Life was cruel. It was unkind. But it also marched forward, handing out second-chance cards along the way. And Marie, a quirky shrink who’d taken one look at Olivia four years ago and penciled her in for a decade of therapy, was right.
“Why are you here?” Marie had asked, minutes into their first session.
“Because I’m going through Hell,” was Olivia’s honest reply.
Ever the straight shooter, Marie’s counter question was direct. “Do you want to get out?” At the time, the answer wasn’t so forthcoming. When Olivia reluctantly nodded, Marie’s response was stupid simple. “Then keep walking.”
It felt as if she’d walked a thousand miles—crawled kicking and screaming a good few hundred of them.
But she’d made it out.
“What I want is you.” Fingers stalling, she looked up at his handsome face. “In a two-story Colonial in suburbia. In a pop-up camper outside of Yosemite. In a double-wide along the coast. I don’t care. I just want you.”
“Right answer, Livvy.” In a flash, she was flat on her back, Ash looming over her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some ground to make up.”
She yelped when he flipped her to her stomach, kneeing her legs apart and lifting her ass, erection poised at her weeping entrance.
“Don’t be shy, now.” Her joke was muffled by the pillow and a tangle of blonde hair. “I’m hoping I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Consider it done.” Slipping through her wet folds, he teased but didn’t dive in. “We played with fire tonight. Tell me what to do. Now, before it’s too late.”
“Don’t pull out.” Her breath caught, shocked at her instinctual response.
Neither analyzed the terrifying idea, the possible repercussions fading as he groaned and pushed home, reducing their world to only them, in their marriage bed, in a condo made for two—or three—overlooking a marina.
Playing their second-chance card.