Page 73 of Forgotten Prejudice

He vanished for a little while again, and when he finally replied, I had to reread his text to make sure I was reading correctly.

Ashy: Why would you apologize for it?

I almost dropped my phone with how fast I typed back, my fingers hitting the screen repeatedly until I hit Send.

Me: Because I thought you didn’t like it?

Ashy: I didn’t?

Holy shit.

Me: You’re saying you did like it?

Ashy: I’m not sure…

My heart rate increased, and without thinking twice, I hit the Call button. The line rang a few times before he hung up on me but quickly sent a text.

Ashy: Sorry, I can’t talk right now.

Eager to find out what more he had to say, I tried my luck.

Me: Can we meet? To talk?

Ash: I don’t think it’s a smart idea.

Me: Come on, Ashy. Please?

Me: We can pretend I’m just giving you back your shirt.

The three dots letting me know he was typing popped up on the screen before disappearing. Nervous, I moved my hand over my face, clenching my phone harder. So caught up with this conversation, I didn’t even bother getting off my bike. When the phone finally buzzed again, I sighed with relief.

Ashy: Okay. Can you come over later tonight? Around 9 p.m.?

Fuck yeah.

Me: You bet. Send me the address.

Clearly, our little kiss didn’t only change things for me but also for him because Ash then texted me back his address. I was finally getting my chance with him, and I wasn’t about to miss it.

Before coming here, I thought about buying some flowers for Ash but ditched the idea. Assuming he wouldn’t immediately jump into my arms the moment he saw me, I scolded my eager self to chill the fuck down. There would be time for flowers and whatnot later, but tonight, I’d have to keep it cool and see what he had to say. Obviously, our reunion had affected him as much as it did me, and the kiss was just proof of that. Ash was probably debating with himself, caught between his current boyfriend and me.

I parked my bike outside the address he gave me and scanned the house with a skeptical brow. I never imagined Ash as the type to live in a Bel Air mansion, but it definitely suited his idiotic boyfriend. I snorted. That asshole definitely had a stick up his ass, which explained this overly excessive house.

Leaving my helmet on the bike seat, I walked toward the open main gate. I stepped in, unimpressed, because growing up rich, I was used to this crap, and walked straight toward the front door. Once there, I pulled out my phone and texted Ash, letting him know I’d arrived. A couple of minutes passed, and he still didn’t see the message. So, instead of waiting for a reply, I knocked on the door and buzzed the intercom, which remained unanswered.

I tried opening the door, which, apparently, wasn’t locked. Sweet. I walked in, not bothering to be quiet, then closed it behind me. I mean, it was better he knew I was here, right?

“Ash?” I called his name while looking around. This place looked like a motherfucking museum. Art on the walls, weird-ass sculptures, all in black, white, and gray. Struck by the strong urge to mess up this place, I cursed under my breath. What a shame it was summer and I had no mud on my shoes to drag all over the pristine floors.

After still no sign of anyone, I allowed myself in. The kitchen was just as hideously organized as the entrance to the house, and so was the living room. How the fuck did Ashy live in such a tidy house? The guy was a walking mess. We both were.

Pacha then came to greet me, but he didn’t seem too excited before grabbing his bone from the floor and going to eat it on his bed that was right next to a big floor-to-ceiling window.

Weirded out by the situation, I took my phone out of my jeans to call Ash when a sound caught my attention—a cry, maybe a groan. I wasn’t entirely sure what I heard, but it piqued my curiosity, and I began searching for its source. The further I walked down the hall, the clearer those sounds became. Deep moans strangled with pleasure that could only ever come from sex. Filthy, animalistic, soul-consuming sex that burned you from the inside out. I knew voices like that. I knew how you needed to feel to cry this way. I also knew what I’d see once I took those last few steps toward the open door at the end of the hall. And despite every part of my brain telling me not to do that and to turn around, my body moved on its own.

My breath caught in my chest, and shocked, I froze on the spot with my eyes struggling to grasp what I was seeing.

Ash, my sweet, innocent Ashy, crying his heart out, with his eyes blindfolded and his hands tied with a black tie, being fucked from behind like a nameless whore. Bent over the desk, Ash sobbed while Soren kept on fucking him. Mercilessly, frantically, brutally fucking him. They were in some sort of an office, not that I cared, with my full attention on Ash’s parted lips, flushed cheeks, and the beads of sweat coating his brows as he continued begging for Soren to go harder.