That’s when he pulls back and looks at me with those sad eyes.

I think I know the answer but I want to hear him say it, so I ask, “Why did you come? The truth.”

He swallows. “Because I couldn’t stand knowing that you were upset. But . . .” I watch as his eyes close and his head bobs forward. “I can’t play this game with you, Irish. I’m going to hurt you.”

His light stubble grazes against my palm as I lift his chin up so I can meet his eyes again.

And I ignore.

I ignore his words. I ignore the guilt in my stomach and the screams in my head. I ignore the internal battle I can see going on inside him. I want to forget all the uncertainties growing in my life and make him forget dark closets and tape and belts and his silent prison.

I ignore it all as I slip my hand around the back of his neck and pull him into me to kiss and then trail my tongue along the bottom of his lip. Ashton’s breath hitches and I feel the muscles cord beneath my fingers as he hesitates, his hand fisting the pillow beside my head as he fights it.

I don’t want him to fight anymore. I’m desperate to see that vulnerable side of him again. I need to feel close to him again. I want to make him feel good. I want me to feel good. I want to just let go of . . . everything.

That’s what it feels like when I’m with Ashton.

Like I’m letting go.

And that’s why I give him a level stare and demand, “Help me forget for a while.”

He stops hesitating.

He crashes down into my mouth with an unreserved fierceness. I match it, kissing him like I need the air in his lungs to survive. A part of me is afraid. I feel that deep inside. I don’t know what this is going to lead to and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

But I don’t think I’ll stop it.

It’s as if he can read my mind. He breaks free and looks down at me to whisper, “We won’t . . . I won’t take anything away from you today, Irish. I won’t ever do that while I’m not . . . free.” I don’t miss the fact that he’s not using words like “screw” or “fuck” in typical Ashton fashion. Then again, I don’t have the typical Ashton here with me anymore. I have the one he hides from everyone else.

I close my eyes as his lips find my throat and I marvel at how they’re both soft and forceful. By the time they reach my collarbone, my chest is heaving. Ashton tugs my shirt up and over my head with ease. Tossing it to the floor, he lifts himself up enough that he can stare down at my bare chest, making all the nerves within my br**sts tingle. “That morning I woke up in here . . .” His eyes flicker up to catch me watching him before descending again. “I was ready to drop to my knees and beg you to uncover these.” A hiss escapes me as he cups and caresses first one and then the other breast, as if memorizing their shape and size and feel. His thumb brushes a hardened nipple and a shudder runs through me. With a small groan, I gasp as Ashton’s mouth closes over it, his tongue moving with skill. I can’t help but wrap my arms around his head and pull him closer, crying out as his teeth send a sharp thrill straight down to my core.

I’ve noticed that when I make sounds like that, even unintentionally, Ashton reacts. This time he breaks free long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The second it’s off, his hand is diving beneath me to grasp the back of my pajama bottoms. He pulls them down and off my hips without delay, panties and all. In seconds I’m completely undressed and his mouth is back around my nipple.

I wrap my arms around his head again and rest my head back into the pillow, reveling in the feel of his scorching skin against mine and his erection digging into my thigh. I have the urge to reach down and wrap my hand around it, but it would involve moving and I’m too comfortable right now. So I stay put while I try to imagine what Ashton would feel like inside me. Just the thought has my thighs relaxing and tensing at the same time and wetness beginning to pool.

And that’s how Ashton’s hand discovers me when it slides down. “Holy f**k, Irish . . .” I hear him mutter, and I tighten my grip of his head against me as my head lolls back and I moan, silently thanking my professor for my shitty chem grade.

“This won’t work . . .” Ashton abruptly rolls off the bed.

Panic bubbles. I think I’ve done something wrong. Is he going to leave me like this?

“Sit up, Irish.”

I obey, and he lets out a groan as he turns my body and pulls my legs over the side of the bed, pausing to let his eyes drag the length of my frame. “Lean back on your elbows.”

I let out a small gasp but I do as asked. I think I know what he’s doing. Ashton steps forward, keeping his eyes locked to mine as his hands settle on the tops of my thighs. “The thing about these damn beds . . .” I feel the force against my thigh muscles as Ashton’s hands began to push my legs apart. I hold my breath, suddenly petrified.

I know what he’s doing and I’m freaking out.

But Ashton’s eyes are still locked on mine so I don’t resist him. “. . . is that they’re not good. . . .” With a quick tug, he has my hips at the edge of the bed. His fingers skate along the length of my legs as he wraps them over his shoulders. He breaks eye contact from me for the first time to start laying kisses along my inner thigh, slowing inching in, his breath sending shivers of anticipation upward. “. . . for things like this.”

I gasp as his tongue touches me. At first I’m beyond uncomfortable, exposed like this. I mean, having Ashton’s face so intimately there is, well, nerve-racking. But it feels . . .amazing. And with his expert tongue and adept fingers working in tandem, I soon start to feel that familiar build, the one where I shut out the world. I let my head dip back and my eyes close and a shaky sigh escape my lips as I try to memorize how incredible this feels. That must be a sign for Ashton, because his mouth becomes more feverish and excited and his hands squeeze my thighs, pulling me closer into him.

When the wave is about to hit me again, I can’t help but roll my head back up and look down at him. His eyes are locked on mine with that odd sense of peace behind them.

And it makes me scream out his name.

I’m a limp doll as Ashton shifts my body back onto the bed. He tucks me under the covers and then lifts his arms to rest on the edge. “Don’t you want me to . . . ?” I bite my lip as a blush heats my cheeks.

With a secretive smile, he smooths my hair off my forehead. “I’ve been tied up the last few nights and I’m behind on a paper. I should go work on it.” I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of his thumb stroking my cheek, reveling in this deep intimacy forming between Ashton and me. I drift off.

Reagan slips in at around eleven that night. I redressed at some point but I’m still lying in bed, my face buried in the pillow that smells like Ashton’s cologne, my afternoon with him on mental repeat. I’m holding on to that euphoric afterglow with two gripped hands, desperate to keep the guilt and doubt and confusion from swirling back into my lungs like suffocating black smoke.

“Hey, Reagan. How’s it going?”

She flops into her bed. “I got kicked out of the library for being too loud.”

I snort. “Too loud at what exactly?” Schoolwork isn’t a guaranteed pastime for Reagan at the library, after all.

“Studying by myself. Go figure, right?” I giggle, knowing exactly why. Reagan tends to talk out loud when she’s working through her textbooks. I think it’s cute, but most people would find it annoying. “If only they knew . . .” There’s a pause, and then she casually mentions, “I saw Connor there tonight.”