Ivy
As soon as we leave the garage, Asher takes me home, helps me pack a bag and drives us back to his apartment. Once there, he changes into a fresh pair of jeans and a black and white button-down shirt.
I don’t want to stare, but it’s like I no longer have control of my eyes. Asher doesn’t seem to be experiencing the same difficulty because he continues to work on his laptop, completely oblivious to my enraptured gaze. My breath hitches when he slumps back on the couch and stretches his long legs in front of him. Swallowing hard, I try not to gawk too closely at the bulge between his legs or the way his button-down shirt molds to his powerful chest and abs. Even fully clothed, the man is a feast for the eyes.
I will admit that I love being in his apartment again. The place is as beau
