It’s ironic. Weeks ago, every fragment of my days were with thoughts of knowing Asher’s whereabouts, to have him hold me in his arms, and share secret moments. Now that he’d been back for more than a month, we’ve hardly spoken. We’d still share secret glances when we think the other isn’t looking. A shocking current would rush through me when I noticed him close before turning away, settling my heart rate. I hated the rift created between us and I was to blame.
My fingers ran through Ezra’s hair, his lips devouring mine in a deeply seeded hunger only I could satisfy. His strong arms held me close, my bare bottom on his mahogany desk, papers carelessly scattered on the floor. “Ah, father,” I moaned, his lips lowering to my breast. I arched my back, feeling my core press against his swollen
