CHAPTER 14
Hannah
Leaning back in the passenger seat of Asher’s vehicle, I put my palms on the seat beside my thighs and rub them on the buttery-soft leather. It’s decadent, which is a little how I feel right now.
After a few hours at The Wicked Horse with Asher, where he spent most of the time “playing” with me—his words, not mine—I feel akin to a goddess who has just been worshiped. I’ve decided to stop feeling guilty about something that makes me feel so good, which has in turn provided me with an amazing opportunity to get Hope back.
Resting my head against the seat, I smile and watch as the city lights pass us. Asher has taken to picking me up at my house on our evenings out, and then he drives me back again. He never gets out of the car, but stays parked along the curb, watching until I enter and close the door behind me. I can’t figure out if he’s being a gentleman or protecting his property, but either way, it’s appreciated. My neighborhood can be sketchy, a mixture of older lifelong residents who want peace and quiet and a rough crowd that likes to roam the streets looking for trouble. When I was working three jobs, I was hardly ever home, so it didn’t matter much to me except for that mad dash from my car to my house where I’d be relatively safe.
I always made sure Hope and I were locked inside by the time the sun set, protected by an early splurge of money after I’d moved in.
A shotgun.
My grandpa Brantley, who was my mom’s father, was a good old South Carolina redneck. He taught me to hunt when I was eight, a practice I now abhor because I can’t stand the thought of killing an animal. But I fondly remember the times I spent with him before he died. He was uneducated, having dropped out of high school in the tenth grade where he went on to work in a tire plant for thirty long years.
As backwoods as he was in many things, he always told me to be independent and to think for myself. He never considered me subpar because I was a woman, and he would brag to anyone who would listen that I would get a college degree one day.
That’s still on my agenda despite the fact I’m twenty-seven years old, so I haven’t fully let him down yet. Once I can get Hope back and get stabilized, I’ll figure out my education.
Until then, I make sure to follow his biggest piece of advice to me. He had said, “Hannah Banana… if you ever need to protect yourself with a gun, do not rely on a handgun. There’s too much room for error. Have a shotgun within easy reach if someone is coming at you. Just point it in their general direction, pull the trigger, and you got ‘em.”
“Thinking some deep thoughts.” Asher’s voice rolls over me like a velvety blanket.
I roll my head left and look at him. He gives me a brief glance before returning his attention back on the road. Not bothering to answer, I give him a slight shrug as I stare out the windshield, because I really don’t think he wants to know anything about me. While Asher is incredibly enamored with my body, he doesn’t appear to be interested in anything else about me.
Still, I’m happy with the situation.
It’s the sex, of course. It makes me happy, which is perplexing because Asher is nothing to me and I’m nothing to him.
Not really.
I was in love with my husband, make no doubt about it. Really in love, and I thought sex with him was the way things were supposed to be, even the part where I had to help myself along to orgasm. But it was the love that made it good for me. The marriage of souls is special. The connection and intimacy set it apart.
Right?
Well, I don’t have that with Asher. Yet, sex with him has shattered every one of my preconceived notions about sex and intimacy and how it’s entwined. It makes me wonder if I even know myself at all. The things I’ve done with him—am willing to do with him—still astound me. I’ve learned and accepted a level of freedom that has enhanced my sexuality and made me feel pleasure I never knew was possible.
I can be in that club with Asher, fucking him in front of dozens of people, and like it.
A lot.
Sometimes, that makes me feel dirty, but it mostly makes me feel empowered. That is something I never felt with Nelson.
When I feel Asher’s gaze on me, I ignore it. His words, though, jolt me to attention. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
Asher has never shown an interest in my personal life outside of manipulating things that would make me more convenient to him.
“Hope,” I answer cautiously, my head now turning so I can scrutinize him. “She’s five years old.”
“And is her last name the same as yours?”
I nod. “Madigan was my married name. I kept it in the divorce so Hope and I would have the same last name.”
His attention is solidly on the road where it should be, but he’s apparently intent on conversing. “You told me you don’t have custody because your husband was friends with the judge or something like that?”
The question is without an ounce of censure or condemnation in my shortcomings, but he sounds genuinely curious. I tell him the truth of it, trying to keep the bitterness in my voice to a minimum. “That’s the gist of it. I mean, he was the moneymaker in the family and I was a stay-at-home mom. I didn’t have much money to hire an attorney, not one who would have probably been able to get the judge moved off the case for bias or something. Apparently, the judge felt Hope would be better off with her father, who had a gorgeous mansion and a solid income, while I only have a twelfth-grade education and no real work experience.”
“That’s hardly fair,” he says.
“Understatement of the year,” I reply with a mirthless laugh. “But I did retain an attorney with the bonus you gave me, and he’ll file something with the court next month.”
“Why next month?”
“Because he says I need an established work history while making this nice salary you’re paying me as your housekeeper. He says thirty days should do it, or actually… he said sixty would be better, but I’m impatient.”
Asher is silent, and I figure he’s reached his quota of curiosity about his “employee”. My gaze goes back out to the street, and I realize he’s in my neighborhood.
“I have a good attorney if you need help. I have my own “ins” with lots of judges if you want me to do something.”
It takes effort not to gape at his generosity, but I manage a grateful smile. “I appreciate it, but I think the attorney I hired has it covered. I might need a statement from you saying I’m in your employ and that I’m an excellent worker.”
Asher grins, intent on lightening the mood. “That you are. In fact, I could tell the court what a hot fuck you are. How everyone in the club wants a taste of you, but how I’d kill any one of them if they so much as touched you.”
Laughing, I hitch myself up in the seat, seeing my house come into view. “You sound awful proprietary, Mr. Knight.”
“I take care of my possessions,” he replies smoothly, both a compliment and a putdown at the same time. He tries to lessen the sting by adding, “I treasure them.”
“Like your Chihuly?” I ask with a great deal of snark as he brings his car to a stop at the curb, putting it in park. “You got over that pretty fast.”
Something flashes across his face, a few emotions that are easy to read. Anger. Denial. Something else I can’t quite put my finger on. His words are not surprising. “I would get over you just as fast.”
I don’t expect the sharp stab of pain that hits me in the chest, but I’ve heard far worse from Nelson. Next time, I’ll be ready for his careless words and they’ll do nothing more than bounce off me, but just so he knows my backbone is strong, I tell him, “Good. We’re on the same page because I’d get over you easily, too. The money I’d surely miss, though.”
Asher’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. “Then we’re agreed. This is nothing more than sex. Something that could be gotten anywhere.”
“Exactly,” I say, reaching for the handle to open the door. I swing my legs out, pull myself into a standing position, and slam the door shut.
I turn to step onto the curb, but yelp with surprise when I see Asher standing there. His expression is bland, no trace of anger. Instead, he takes me by the hand and leads me up the little sidewalk. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
There’s no controlling the forces of gravity, and my jaw drops open. I try to pull my hand away. “There’s no need.”
Asher’s grip tightens, but he doesn’t try to argue with me. Why should he when he’s stronger and I couldn’t pull my hand away now if I wanted to?
When we reach the top of the porch, Asher pulls open the screen door while I fish for my keys in my little black clutch purse. I give him my back while I unlock the door, but I can feel almost every inch of him right behind me. I can guarantee you the man isn’t angling for a goodnight kiss because this isn’t really a date, and besides… I sucked his cock earlier tonight. What more does he need?
When I push the door open, getting ready to offer a “goodnight” over my shoulder, I’m shocked to feel him walking in behind me.
I spin on him. “What are you doing?”
Asher gives me a wicked smile and shuts my door, casually turning the deadbolt. “Staying the night.”
“I didn’t invite you,” I reply, and then taunt a little. “You said I wore you out at the club tonight.”
“You did.” He smiles slyly before stalking through my living room. I follow him down my hallway until he looks into the room he decides is mine—which is because the other has just a twin bed for Hope—and walks in there. He turns to face me. “But I’ll be recharged come morning, and I’m bound and determined to have you on a weekend.”
My eyes widen as understanding dawns. “You want to sleep here tonight, just because I told you I get weekends off, and you want to prove you’re really in charge by fucking me on a Saturday morning?”
“I’ll be satisfied with a blow job.” When he grins at me, I strangely don’t want to slap it off his face.
Oddly, I want him to stay the night. I wouldn’t mind starting my morning off with a little bit of Asher.
“I get up early,” I warn. “I like to be out of here by seven to go pick up Hope.”
Asher pulls his phone out, then starts tapping on the screen. Raising his head, he says, “I just set the alarm for six.”
Jesus, I’m going to be tired tomorrow. It’s just after one now, and I’m not even sure I can fall asleep with Asher in bed beside me.
But I can’t say no to him, either. “Fine,” I say blandly as I move past him to my dresser. I pull out a pair of pajamas—a cute short and t-shirt set—and slide the drawer shut. “But if you’re a snorer, you have to move out to the couch.”
Laughing, Asher lunges toward me. He snatches the pajamas out of my hands, tossing them to the floor. “Get naked. I want to feel your skin against mine tonight. Plus, it’ll be easy access in the morning.”
There’s a womanly part of me that responds to the intimacy of those words, as noted by a strange thudding in my chest. I hold onto it as I watch Asher start to get undressed, and then I follow along.
After I turn out the lights, we slip into bed. We face each other, lying on our sides. In a million years, I would never expect him to pull me into his arms to sleep, and he doesn’t. He just smiles at me in the moonlight before murmuring, “Goodnight, Hannah.”
“Goodnight,” I reply and close my eyes.
Despite my misgivings, I fall right asleep.