Kiss My Ash Read online

  AJ: Stroking. Why? What do you want me to do with it??

  Had he not put me on the spot, I probably could’ve come up with at least two dozen things to say. But alas, he had to go and ask me for a specific answer, and now, my brain wouldn’t work. Which led me to my Google app, where I proceeded to search for things to say while sexting.

  I clicked the first link, then scrolled past the article I didn’t have time to read. The first suggestion I came across that would actually make sense was, “Imagine me taking you into my mouth as far as you’ll go,” so I quickly copied it, knowing I’d forget all the words as soon as I switched back to the text app.

  Me: Suck it.

  Too bad I didn’t read over it before I hit send. I was worried he would question how long it’d taken me to reply, so I had literally hit the paste option and then the blue arrow, only realizing a second later that I’d somehow managed to copy the wrong one.

  Dammit.

  Me: Oops. I thought you asked what I want to do to it. I want to suck it.

  That text might not have started out as truthful, but it certainly ended that way.

  AJ: Fuck Kris. Touch yourself for me.

  As much as I wanted to, I was a little too intimidated to follow through. Part of me just wanted to ride this out—no pun intended—see how it went, and then go for it next time. But the other part of me was paranoid that he’d know if I faked it.

  In the end, research won.

  Me: I’ve been touching myself, imagining it’s your fingers between my legs.

  My heart began to thump as I waited for his response.

  And the longer it went on, the more impatient I became.

  After an entire minute, I began to wonder if maybe he’d finished already and had to clean it up. I was convinced he’d text back to let me know he got too excited or something. Then another minute passed with no word. Followed by another. Then I grew angry, assuming he’d gotten his so that was the end of that.

  It didn’t matter that my orgasm would be fabricated, the argument still remained—he’d left me high and dry.

  I started to furiously type a response, letting him know I didn’t need him to get me off, that I was perfectly capable of doing it myself. But when I stopped focusing on the keypad and glanced at the text box to ensure I hadn’t misspelled anything in my haste, I realized nothing I’d typed had gone through. Tapping on random letters didn’t help; nothing popped up in the window. I even tried smashing my finger against the blue arrow that usually sent messages, hoping it would fix the problem, and still nothing.

  Backing out of the app didn’t work.

  Closing it out didn’t, either.

  In fact, all that did was block me from getting back in.

  I held down the two side buttons to reset it, and then waited impatiently until the white icon lit up the black screen. To which I continued to stare at it, wondering why it hadn’t come back on. It never took this long to reboot.

  Apparently, much like how a watched pot never boils, staring at a phone prevents it from turning on. I had no idea what happened, but it seemed my phone froze and refused to come back to life. I’d convinced myself I’d gotten a virus from my search for sexting suggestions, the same way people got them from watching porn on their devices.

  After close to ten minutes of trying to get the damn thing to do something, I gave up, setting it on my nightstand to leave for tomorrow. If it was still frozen by the time I got up in the morning, I would take it to the store on my lunch hour and see if they could resuscitate it.

  And then I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. My brain wouldn’t stop obsessing over the texts, the phone, what he thought had happened. It would be my luck that he assumed I’d ignored him or got bored. I couldn’t begin to guess what he’d convinced himself of. But as soon as I heard the telltale vibration next to me, I shot straight up and grabbed my cell off the nightstand.

  There was no telling if this was only temporary, so I had to work fast.

  Instantly, message after message popped up—all from Ash.

  I scrolled to the part just before the issue, and the more I read, the less I could breathe.

  Me: I’ve been touching myself, imagining it’s your fingers between my legs.

  AJ: Good girl, now slip one inside and press the heel of your palm against your clit. Slowly pump your finger in and out.

  AJ: Does that feel good??

  AJ: If you can’t answer, that’s ok. Just keep doing what I say.

  AJ: Now add another into your tight pussy and pump faster. Imagine I’m fucking you hard.

  AJ: Fuck babe. I’m imagining you on your knees in front of me, sucking my dick while fingering yourself, moaning around my cock in your mouth. Moan for me Kris.

  AJ: I’m so close…how are you doing over there?

  AJ: Now rub your clit with your slick fingers.

  Me: You know what? I don’t need your help to get off. I’ve been doing it by myself for years without any help from you. Forget I ever kkkodjeoooskswotkdoxkkwo

  AJ: OK. I’m sorry, I must’ve misread the situation. I’ll leave you to it.

  The last text came in about ten minutes ago.

  AJ: I seriously have no idea what happened. Can you please tell me what pissed you off?

  I dropped my arm to the mattress, closed my eyes, and let out a roar of frustration. Last night, Ash had asked if I believed in karma, and rather than respond, I had switched the level to get options that were more adult. But now, as I pictured him going soft in his hand after my text had somehow formed words and gone through, I knew what the answer was.

  Yes. I believed in karma.

  And for some reason, the bitch was clam-jamming me.

  There was no way any normal person had this much trouble getting laid.

  If only I knew what the hell I’d done wrong, so I could make it right.

  Chapter Four

  Asher

  I took the freshly cut piece of wood and moved it to the base of the frame that I’d spent half the day assembling. And for the second time since starting this project, I had to toss yet another two-by-four to my pile of scrap lumber.

  Measure twice, cut once.

  It was a no-brainer.

  Which did nothing but piss me off even more that I’d managed to screw up not one, but two pieces of perfectly good wood by cutting it too short. These were rookie mistakes, ones I hadn’t made since I’d first learned the trade. There was no reason for such stupid oversights.

  Well, that wasn’t necessarily true.

  There was a reason.

  Her name was Kristy Richards.

  I had no idea what had happened last night, or what I did that could’ve possibly pissed her off that badly. Everything was great one minute, and then the next, she acted like I’d killed her cat or something. I’d even sent her a text this morning just in case it was a misunderstanding, yet I hadn’t heard anything from her all day. It was all I could do to keep busy in my garage, though it seemed I couldn’t even do that right.

  If I continued to measure or cut wrong, I’d be out of wood before the sun went down with a whole heap of wasted materials. I just needed to put the tools away, clean up everything, and call it a day before any more damage could be done. However, I doubted that sitting idle inside would be better—it would only lead to a different kind of destruction.

  My only other option was to leave the house, which Dad didn’t care for, but at this point, I didn’t see that I had much of a choice. When he wasn’t home, he preferred it if my outings were limited just in case something happened, though he rarely told me I couldn’t go anywhere. Things between us had come a long way since I’d first moved in—back then, I was convinced I’d never see the light of day again.

  After cleaning up the garage, taking a shower, and changing into regular clothes—that I hadn’t worn since school ended for the summer—I sent Dad a text, telling him I was heading out to grab something quick to eat, and then snatched my keys off the kitche
n counter. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, which was proven by the fact that I didn’t even wait for my dad to respond.

  And as it turned out…I hadn’t left fast enough.

  As I made my way down the front walk toward the driveway, Kristy stepped out of her garage. I noticed right away that she had on black pants with a white, button-down shirt tucked neatly into the waistband and the sexiest pair of red heels on her feet. It was clear she’d just gotten home from work.

  I checked my watch, wondering how I’d lost track of time. I’d wanted to be gone before she drove up, but as I noted the hour, I realized she was home early. It was enough to make me hesitate, worried that something was wrong.

  But then she took one look at me and froze.

  Which was enough to end the hesitation.

  Expecting her to run away or go into hiding, I continued toward my car, keys in hand and attention glued to my phone—there wasn’t anything on the screen, but at least I appeared busy. If she had something to say, she knew my number. She also knew where I lived. So if she really wanted, she could do this whenever, but that didn’t mean I had to wait around like a chump.

  To my surprise, when I turned to open the car door, she was only a few steps behind me, her eyes wide, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say full of fear. I glanced at her feet, wondering how in the hell I hadn’t heard her heels on the driveway as she chased after me. That’s when I noticed her bright-pink toenails—the color was almost neon in the daylight, whereas it had appeared paler the other night in the dark.

  “Before you leave, let me explain. It’ll only take a minute, I promise. But please let me set the record straight. I’ve been sick to my stomach all day worried about what’s probably going through your mind, and I can’t let this go on any longer than it already has.”

  Her rambling was cute—slightly infuriating, yet nevertheless, cute. Still, it would take more than that to make me give in to the smile that threatened my indifferent expression. “Does this minute you’re talking about include the minute you just used telling me how sick to your stomach you’ve been?”

  There was a slight roll to her eyes and a faint sigh that very likely could’ve been a well-disguised huff. Either way, she wasn’t amused by my apathy. “You’re mad, I get it.”

  “I’m not mad, Kristy.” Slipping my phone into my pocket, I stared into her muddled, sea-green eyes and recognized hope…as well as worried hesitation. “I mean, at one point I was. But right now, I’m not anything. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to clear the air, yet you haven’t. So honestly, I’m over it.”

  “I’m pretty sure I got a virus on my phone from searching sexting tips.”

  Okay, so maybe staying and hearing a little more wouldn’t hurt.

  Laughter bubbled within my chest, yet not the kind filled with uncontrollable humor. More like I’d just heard something funny even though that couldn’t possibly have been what was said. “What? I doubt that’s even possible…not to mention, why were you looking that up?”

  “You started the conversation, and I didn’t want to look like the old woman who couldn’t keep up with the dirty talk. I’ve never done that before, so I didn’t want to say anything stupid or embarrassing.”

  With her hands propped on her hips, she tucked her chin and stared at my shoes. She shifted uncomfortably on her bare feet, though it was pretty obvious it wasn’t uneasiness caused by this conversation, but rather physical pain, likely due to the scorching-hot driveway.

  Unable to watch her punish herself a moment longer, I took her by the wrist and led her toward the garage. After punching the code into the panel on the side, I waited in silence for the automatic gate to life.

  Once I had her out of the sun, I held her shoulders and turned her body until she faced me. Then, I lifted her gaze to mine with a finger curled beneath her chin. Her bright-red cheeks gave her away first, while the dark, haunting shade of green in her melancholy eyes solidified it.

  “Why did you take off your shoes, Kristy?” That wasn’t exactly the question I needed an answer for; however, I couldn’t manage to form the other one quite yet. “You had them on when you got home—I saw you.”

  “One of the heels got stuck in the grass, so I kicked them off. I didn’t want you to get in your car before I had a chance to stop you.” Nothing about her response should’ve made me pause, although that was exactly what it did. “I tried to call out your name, but it was like my voice wouldn’t work or something.”

  I nodded, deciding to deal with what all that meant at a later time. “Okay, so can we go back to what happened last night?”

  She cut her eyes to the side, attempting to look away, while her shoulders drooped with hopelessness. Had I not witnessed this woman show enough signs of humiliation to know the difference, I might’ve misread these as something akin to guilt. However, that wasn’t the case.

  Finally, she released a long and full exhale, stared at the center of my chest for a moment, and then regarded me with a rawness I never thought possible. “We were texting, and I said I was…doing that thing.”

  I held my finger over her lips to silence her for a second. “You’ve been very vocal since that day in the pool when we were alone. You’ve made no qualms about admitting exactly what you want from me. So don’t let whatever embarrassing thing that happened last night make you shy now. Don’t beat around the bush, Kristy. Say it like it is.”

  After taking another deep breath, she straightened her spine to try again. And as she readied herself to be open and honest with me, I watched the spark come alive in her eyes once more. “I told you I was touching myself. Then the texts stopped. I waited and waited, but nothing more came through. I tried to tell myself that maybe you had gotten too excited, except you still never came back to say anything or wrap up the…whatever that was. So, I thought you got yourself off and decided you were done with me, and I got mad.”

  “You didn’t get any of my messages?”

  She rolled her eyes, as well as her neck, letting me know the story wasn’t over quite yet. “I started typing out my angry text, but the keyboard froze. Nothing I typed showed up. Then I reset my phone, and it took forever to come back on…that’s when all the messages showed up, including mine, as if they had gone through the whole time, but I couldn’t see them because of my screen.”

  “Then why didn’t you text me back last night?”

  “I tried, but nothing went through. I can open and close apps, but I can’t use any of the functions within them—at least, not the important ones. I took it on my lunch break to get it fixed, and they gave me a loaner while they send mine off to be repaired. I don’t have your number in this one. Apparently, it never synced last night.”

  I took a step toward her, eating up every inch of space between us and forcing her to tilt her head all the way back in order to see my face. Even though I knew I shouldn’t touch her, I couldn’t help it. I felt compelled to reassure her, maybe calm her doubts and erase her hesitations. And I couldn’t do any of that without cradling her face or feeling her body heat burn along my torso.

  “Only you, Kris. I should’ve known when you weren’t responding, and it should’ve been obvious when your text came through with random letters at the end. If anyone is capable of a sexting catastrophe, it’s you.”

  “Gee…thanks, Ash,” she said with her voice full of mirth, bringing the glow and exotic teal back to her eyes. “Well, now that we got that out of the way…I probably shouldn’t hold you up any longer. I think I’ve taken longer than a minute.”

  I dropped my arms and took a small step back, yet she never released her hold on the sides of my shirt. “I was just going to grab something to eat. I’ve had a shitty day and needed to get out of the house.”

  “I’ve had a pretty crappy day as well…want to get something together?”

  Just then, my phone vibrated from my back pocket. Pulling it out, I saw my dad’s text, telling me to let him know when I got back home—his typical r
esponse. However, it was enough to bring my head back to the moment, and it reminded me that I needed to play it safe with Kristy.

  As much as I would’ve loved to tell her yes, put her in my car, and taken her to a sit-down restaurant, that would have to be something I planned—not a spur-of-the-moment decision. “Why don’t you go home and change your clothes while I pick up a pizza or something. We can eat it on my back porch if you want.”

  Her smile erased every line of tension that had remained on her face. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

  As I closed the garage door, I watched her walk through the grass, stopping only to pick up her abandoned heels, and nothing was sweeter than the sight of that woman bending over. I hadn’t lied last night when I told her I was an ass man—what I neglected to explain was that my decision had been solely based on her ass.

  One thing was for sure…if we didn’t make it to my birthday, there was no way in hell I’d let her get away once I turned eighteen.

  * * *

  I was playing a dangerous game with Kristy, and at any point, it could blow up in my face. However, I had always assumed it would be Emma who blew my cover. And while I was aware my dad could’ve caused issues, I didn’t think it was much of a possibility.

  Until a few days later when I came home from the hardware store and found Kristy outside talking to my dad.

  My heart was in my throat as I pulled into the driveway, seeing them standing in the yard between our houses. Dad was still in his suit—I never understood how he could wear that without being soaked in sweat—which meant he’d just gotten home.