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As soon as my mouth opened, he stuffed the panties inside, just in time to muffle my shriek at his third finger.
He was splitting me open with that hand, impaling me, stretching me, turning me inside out. I couldn’t bear it. I was hovering on the edge, about to fall.
Then he leaned in and circled my clit with his tongue ruthlessly, once, twice…and on the third circle, I lost it. My entire body seized, pleasure turning my vision white. Everything was magnified. The cold hard counter beneath me, the scratch of the lacy dress, the satin of Asher’s brown waves under my fingers, and his hot breath burning my skin. Marking me forever. There was the Winter who’d made herself come a few times with expensive gadgets and never once expected to top that experience with a real live human, and then there was the Winter who’d just seen stars at the other end of Asher Martino’s cruel and merciless touch.
I came for so long, my muscles ached when the waves of pleasure finally ebbed. I was spent and shaking, and not from nerves this time.
Asher pulled my panties from my mouth and pocketed them. Then he reached for one of the tiny hand towels I was resting my head on.
He used it to clean my wet inner thighs, patting my pussy. I leaned up on an elbow and stared at him, vaguely horrified by the intimate act.
He tutted, a grin playing on his lips. “What a messy girl you are, Your Majesty.”
“Oh my God,” I repeated faintly, letting him tug me up when he was done. “What the hell was that?” I asked in a dazed voice.
Asher pushed down my dress and adjusted his straining cock so it wasn’t quite so obvious in his dress pants.
“That was a hell of a sight. Now, let’s go and finish this dinner.” He leaned down and looked in the mirror over the sink, adjusting his tie and smoothing back his hair. Then he turned, unlocked the door, and strolled out like he hadn’t just rocked my world.
In a dream, fighting to come back to Earth, I followed.
Asher
Eve and I always went home on Sunday afternoon for lunch. Today, I got there early, parking outside at the curb.
“Hey, Ash. Looking good,” called Greta, a woman from across the street.
She’d been my babysitter when I was younger, and now I was all grown up. Unfortunately, life hadn’t been kind to Greta. She had three kids under five, an absent baby daddy, and no one but her deadbeat cousin to live with.
Greta’s story wasn’t unusual in my neighborhood. Desperate times made for desperate people, and being poor was a desperate time. I’d been dirt-poor when I was young, but I’d never felt the pinch of it. My mom had sheltered Eve and me from all of that, going without so we might feel the same as our friends. The number of nights my mom went to bed with an empty stomach, so we could eat and grow, broke my heart to think about.
I was happy my mom was getting out of the neighborhood, though I knew she’d miss her friends. Beckett and his father had bought her a new place. It was safe and comfortable, and all paid off. A miracle in my mother’s eyes, but I knew she’d miss our street and the families who lived on it. There was a sense of community south of River Street that I’d never found anywhere else.
I headed through the rusted gate and onto the porch of my childhood home. I didn’t know how I felt about selling the old place. I’d grown up between these walls. My past, the happy memories, and the sad ones, were all here. It was a shrine to times past, and I’d miss it, honestly, though I wanted the best for my mom.
“Mama?” I called as I stepped inside, taking my boots off and hanging up my heavy leather jacket.
If you wanted to survive long in Melly Martino’s house, you took your goddamn shoes off at the door and washed your hands before you ate. You cleaned up the dishes after dinner, did your homework, and kissed your mama on the cheek before bed. Those were the rules, and they’d worked for us.
Slowly, as we’d gotten older, the lines had blurred a little. I’d started to pay what bills I could, and so had my sister. I’d see my mother to bed, kissing her on the cheek before going out with friends, and I had her call me when it got late and she hadn’t come home from work yet.
I’d been born the man of my house, and I’d always tried my best to be what the women who loved me needed me to be. A protector, a provider, a shoulder to cry on, and a strong arm to hold up the world when it threatened to crash down. I’d been born knowing all those things were my responsibility, one I’d never shirk. I was nothing like the man who left a one-night stand pregnant with twins and walked away.
Nothing.
That didn’t mean I didn’t want to know him. The desire to know what kind of man my father was plagued me. I didn’t know my past, and I couldn’t seem to move on from it.
“Mijo, you’re here early.” Mom appeared from the kitchen, dusting flour off her hands.
I went and swept her into a hug. She was so small lately, like she was shrinking. She’d never been tall, but now, as she’d gotten older and I’d gotten bigger, the difference was extreme.
“I wanted to come and see my favorite person,” I told her.
She laughed and patted my arm. “You always say the right things. Come on, you can help me roll the dough for the empanadas. Wash your hands.”
I followed her orders and stared at myself in the mirror as I dried my hands. Was I really going to ask my mom to reach back into painful memories to give me a name? Was that selfish?
In the kitchen, the dough was ready to be rolled, and Mom was cooking the filling at the stove. The spicy scent of onions and fried peppers permeated the air. It was pure and simply home to me.
