Page 91 of Gravehouse

I pour everything I can’t say into the slide of my mouth against hers. Every lie, every truth, the year I spent in hell learning how to hate her and failing at it.

Whimpers scatter over my lips, and I feel it everywhere, in my chest, my spine, the ache of my cock still buried inside her.

Shifting the angle, I ride her deeper, growling into her skin.

“I can’t, Asher…” Her pleads are broken. Like me.

I kiss her harder, fuck her slower. Like if I just keep going… it’ll fix us.

Every stroke makes her flinch and arch at the same time, thighs clamping then loosening then clamping again, like she wants to push away. I don’t give her the choice, just keep moving, keep kissing her, keep drowning in the only thing that’s ever felt real.

I come with her name caught in my throat, buried deep, hips stuttering as I empty inside her.

My arms give out, my chest dropping to hers as I press my face into the side of her neck and drag air into burning lungs.

Still trembling beneath me, she slides a shaking hand up my back and pulls me closer instead of away.

A few seconds pass, maybe ten, maybe a fucking lifetime, before she curls into me fully, one leg hooked over mine.

Her breathing evens out against my chest, her face tucked into my collarbone where every warm exhale hits my skin. I stay awake and listen to her sleep. Afraid if I stop, she’ll disappear.

I watch her longer than I should. From the dark sweep of her lashes, to the faint twitch of her mouth. It's like she’s trying to tell me everything I’ve been waiting to hear.

I need to fucking stop this shit.

Before I can talk myself into ruining more shit, my phone lights up on the nightstand. I stay still for a second, listening. Three full breaths, then I ease my arm out from under her neck, careful not to wake her.

She shifts, murmuring something thatdoesn’tinvolve any buffed-up Marvel character but still makes my eyes narrow, then buries her face deeper into the pillow.

I grab the phone and tap the message open.

Come to my room. Now.

Camille has some fucking nerve.

I stare at the screen until it goes dark, my thumb hovering over the letter F.

Ivy’s leg twitches against mine, and I look at her one more time. Then I slip out from beneath the sheets and grab my sweats, pulling them on without looking back, because if I do, I won’t fucking leave.

The house is quiet as I take the stairs to the third floor. I stuck Camille at the far end of the hall, way the fuck away from me, next to the guest wing Ivy thought was my bedroom. Good thing she was fucking wrong, since I would havefor realcommitted first-degree murder if those fuckers were in my bed with her.

Light spills through the cracked door of Camille’s room, and I knuckle it further open.

Camille chuckles from near the window, silk robe falling down her body and a wine glass hanging from her fingers. She looks at me over her shoulder as I kick the door shut.

“I hope you’ve had fun with your little toy.” She lowers her glass onto the table without looking away. “Because everything’s about to change.”

I cross my arms to keep my hands busy, because I don’t trust that I won’t kill her if she says some dumb shit about Ivy. “I don’t have time for your shit, Camille, so spit it out so I can go back to fucking mywife.”

Her features tighten around the hurt before relaxing into a sneer. I don’t know what passes through that messed up head of hers, but whatever it is settles her enough to sit on the bench below the window. She crosses her leg, moving the silk to show more skin.

I don’t look.

Clearing her throat, she pulls the robe back over herself, no doubt offended at my lack of interest. Not sure why. I’ve never hidden it from her.

“The first thing you’re going to do is get rid of her.”

My mouth opens, ready to cuss her all the way the fuck out, but she lifts her finger, cutting me off. “I’m not done.”