Beyond the Horizon (The Sons of Templar MC Book 4) (15 page)

His hands moved, lower, snaking up my skirt. “You better be ready for me, flower,” he growled. His breath came out in a hiss as he felt just how ready I was.

I felt his movement as he freed himself, pushing my panties to the side.

He didn’t mess around and plunged inside me, one hand on my leg, cocking it up, the other on my collarbone.

This wasn’t gentle, slow, or tender. It was furious, animalistic. Everything I needed at that moment. His strokes brought me closer and closer to my release, his eyes holding my gaze, making this moment more intense. The deep part of me, the one I tried not to listen to, told me this was more than fucking. This was claiming.

I closed my eyes, in an effort to silence that voice, to focus on the imminent explosion. The hand moved from my collarbone to the back of my head. My eyes snapped open.

“You keep looking at me,” Asher ground out, his jaw taut as he continued pounding. “Your beautiful eyes will be looking into mine every second, so you know what this is. What you are. Mine,” he grunted.

With those words came my climax, the unforgettable almost unbearable release that I’d been craving since the moment he left me this morning. He was like a drug, one I was hopelessly addicted to already. My nails bit into the back of Asher’s cut as I rode the wave, as I let it wash over me.

I was breathing heavily when I came down. Asher’s eyes hadn’t moved from mine. He had stopped moving, but he was still hard inside me.

His hands went to my butt, and he lifted me.

I let out a little noise of surprise at the moment, at the way it made my tender skin tingle.

“We’re far from fuckin’ done,” he growled, striding toward my bedroom.

In that moment, I didn’t think of much. In the moments following, I didn’t think of anything but Asher.

A brushing on my jaw woke me up. Then a pounding headache swiftly followed.

“Flower,” a rough voice tickled my ear.

I normally would have welcomed this, but not at the present moment.

“Too loud,” I murmured, not opening my eyes.

I heard a chuckle. “Open your eyes, Lily,” the voice commanded.

I sighed, then complied. I may have been reluctant to welcome the daylight into my brain, but that reluctance melted away with the sight in front of me. Events from last night came rushing in. Asher. In the club. Against my door. In my bed. First, it was the fucking, then it was the slow, glorious lovemaking. Now he was fully dressed, sitting on the edge of my bed, in the crook of my hip, my body facing him. His handsome face was soft and had a dark shadow of stubble maximizing his attractiveness. I gazed into his chocolate eyes, traveled down to his muscled body, his sinewy arms drool worthy underneath his leather cut.

“You’re hot in the morning,” I observed, speaking without thinking. Something I was not known for doing. Every word I spoke was usually carefully considered. Not with Asher it seemed. Everything was different with him. Even I was.

A small grin teased the side of his face. “Fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You make it damned near impossible to be angry with you.”

I furrowed my brows. Why would he be angry? That was cause for too much brainpower, not something I was capable of first thing in the morning, especially with a hangover.

He stroked my jaw again. “I wanted to stay. Talk. Fuck you again,” he murmured roughly, and my stomach did dips. “But, I’ve got club shit that needs taking care of,” he continued his mouth turning a grim line. “I’ll be back when it’s done.” He regarded me a moment, something seeming to work behind his eyes. “Doesn’t sit well with me, the fact I’ve not had a proper moment with you, since the night at the strip club, since all that shit went down,” he declared.

I did an inward flinch, and his words woke me up. By
“shit”
I think he was referring to my mother’s death. Not something that needed to be in my mind right now. I was still running.

He didn’t seem to miss it. “I’ll be back,” he repeated. It wasn’t a question, it was a foregone conclusion that phone calls were a memory and that he was going to be in my life. Like physically. Looking at his physique, I failed to remember why this was a bad thing.

“Okay,” I repeated, nodding.

“Good. You gonna be at home tonight?” Again this seemed more like a command than a question.

I screwed up my nose, the warm feeling of waking up to him dissipating. I sat up slightly, ignoring the sharp pain in my head as I did so. “

“What’s the day?” My voice was husky and so not attractive.

Asher’s jaw turned tight. “Thursday,” he clipped, though he looked like he wanted to say something more.

I searched my mental banks. “Thursday,” I repeated, knowing there was something important about this day. A light bulb dinged.

“Nope,” I said finally. “I’m at work tonight.”

“Work?” he repeated with a hard jaw.

“The thing people do to make a living.” I surprised myself with the sarcastic answer.

Asher didn’t seem amused. “Didn’t know you worked so much, flower, what happened to college?” His voice was hard. During all of our phone conversations, I’d managed to escape this particular topic.

My stomach flipped. “Well, I’ve been on a ... break from school for the past year and a half,” I said slowly, wincing at the pain the heart-wrenching pain that was coming back. “The bar meant I had days free for Mom. It paid the bills, still does,” I shrugged.

Asher’s brows drew together as something worked on his face. He didn’t say anything, but he looked pissed. Not pissed at me exactly, but something far away. His eyes went back to mine.

“Okay. Text me the address. I’ll pick you up when you’re done,” he said firmly. “No more buses,” he reminded me. And before I could argue, his mouth pressed onto mine and he straightened, giving me one more look before he left the room.

I stared at the closed door for a long while.

What had I gotten myself into?

Something I knew I couldn’t handle. Something I wanted to get out of if I was to keep swimming in the ocean of grief that had no end. Something I also wanted to drown in.

But then that was dangerous. Those feelings are not okay.

Luckily, I didn’t have time to inspect this. To think too hard. My door opened and to my surprise, Bex poked her messy head through it. She was grinning as she rushed into the room, jumping on my bed.

I was jostled slightly, belatedly realizing I was naked, so I quickly yanked the covers on top of me. She wasn’t fazed at my nakedness, I shouldn’t be surprised considering what she did for a living. I was surprised at the mere fact she was conscious.

“What are you doing up at,” my gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, “eight am? That’s equal to dawn in your world.” My realization that she’d been sleeping less than I was lately didn’t have time to come to fruition.

She moved onto her side, her head resting on her hand. “You were dragged off by a biker last night, Lil, I need to know the deets, like as soon as … I wasn’t in the proper state to get the lowdown yesterday,” she said as if it was obvious.

I struggled to sit up without puking. “How are you all ... chirpy? I feel like someone hit me with a car,” I exclaimed, rubbing my head.

Bex waggled her eyebrows. “I bet you do, you saucy minx. If that kiss last night was anything to go by, I’m guessing that biker ruined you,” she said mischievously.

I screwed my nose up at her wording. “Yeah, well, he may have ruined me for all other men.”

“I need to know everything,” she ordered. “Positions, length, girth, width. Everything.”

I gave her a look. She knew I didn’t like talking about that kind of stuff, it just wasn’t in my nature. I may have been transitioning into a party girl, but I wasn’t going to change everything about me.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, nana. Just tell me one thing, did he take care of you?”

I nodded slowly. “Oh, yes.”

She grinned.

“How about you?” I asked, needing to change the subject. “Any lucky man reel you in last night?” I remembered the men with Asher, thinking Bex would have loved them.

“Dylan’s asleep in bed still. I was the one who ruined him last night,” she winked at me.

I held my tongue at this. It was hard. Bex may have disapproved of Aiden because her character did not gel well with someone like him, but Dylan was different. He was a bad guy. Period. He and Bex had a turbulent on again off again relationship. I called it toxic. Bex called it passionate. I was worried about the fact he was in our house again. I knew that he was shady. He hung in circles I didn’t have anything to do with, and I’m pretty sure he had connections to a street gang that caused trouble around here. I didn’t know much about them, but I knew they were bad news.

Bex liked her men bad, the badder the better. I just hoped it wouldn’t bite her in the ass.

“I’ll have a shot of tequila, and one for yourself too, sweetheart,” the guy in front of me winked.

I cringed on the inside. “Sure thing,” I replied with a bright smile. One I perfected over the years to hide whatever anxiety I had from social situations.

You’d think someone battling with social anxiety would cringe away from jobs where you actually had to interact with people and be charismatic to earn tips. I would if I could. Not a lot of choice out there for me when I wanted to spend my days taking care of my mom. Night work was synonymous with bar work or stripping. I chose the former. I would have loved to keep my job at Gwen’s store, in Amber, where the patrons were less likely to squeeze my ass and have me on the edge of a panic attack every shift, but I didn’t get to choose. I did what I always did. Sucked it up and got on with it.

I clinked my class with the guy in front of me.

“Cheers to pretty bartenders,” he drawled.

I downed the shot, doing an inner eye roll. I savored the burn, the tingle that it gave me. Jude was watching me out of the corner of her eye. It wasn’t disapproval in her gaze, most of the bartenders were half way to blotto by the end of every shift. It was part of this place’s charm. The waitresses and bartenders were renowned for partying with the patrons, and mostly all of them were young pretty girls. Which was why it was always packed.

“You got a name, sweet thing?”

I smiled at him. I hoped it seemed genuine and not like I was suffering a stroke.

“Lily,” I replied lightly. The tequila was doing its job to help make the exchange easier and maybe even guarantee me some tips.

He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes roving over me. “What’s your story, Lily?”

I paused. My story? I restrained a bitter laugh. If I told him
“my story”
I could kiss my tips goodbye. I would tell him how I was raised by a single mom after finally escaping the clutches of an abusive father. How I struggled with not being like anyone else, not being able to shine bright like my mom, and how I was crippled by self-awareness. How I fell in love with a biker after losing my virginity to him. How I watched my mother die slowly before my eyes. Quit college, so I could take care of her and watch while she faded away, while I faded away myself. Admit that now she was gone I was drifting like a ghost, barely feeling corporal, fighting the emptiness with spirits I normally wouldn’t touch. Trying to stay afloat.