Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(18)

I sank back on the bed, looking at the ceiling.

“Did that really happen?” I asked myself.

Before I had the chance to ponder the entirety of this night, Asher came back in. He watched me with his hazel eyes and sat close to my hips. They didn’t leave me as he gently cleaned me between my legs with a warm washcloth.

I flinched slightly, more out of reflex than anything else.

Asher’s frame tightened. “You in pain?” he asked.

I took stock. I felt tender, different, but the pain was a dull ache, not enough to mention. Plus, my emotional elation trumped any pain at this moment. I shook my head.

“No, I feel ... good,” I said quietly.

His eyes flared, he continued, while his gaze flickered over me.

I belatedly noticed I was naked. We’d thrown the covers over the bed in our lovemaking, and I had nothing to hide my modesty. No one had even seen me like this, certainly no man. Not one like this. I tried to shrink away, yank the fabric to cover myself.

Asher’s hand stopped me. “No, babe. You’re stunning. I don’t want anything obscuring the view I’ve got right now. Not when I wanna f*ck you all over again,” he hissed through his teeth.

My stomach dipped and arousal replaced embarrassment.

“That’s if you can take me, if you’re not in too much pain,” he added, his body pressing into mine.

“I’m not,” I said quickly, not wanting any excuse from stopping him.

He grinned. “Good,” he muttered. “Cause I wanna show you everything.”

And he did. All night he made beautiful, glorious love to me. Educating me on my body, on his body, and how they worked together.

It was the best night of my life.





There was no sleep that night, not a wink. We made love into the early hours, discovering each other’s bodies, Asher worshipping every part of me. I gave him every part of my body in those moments. And in the moments after, the moments where dim morning light peeked through the edge of his blinds, I gave him the rest. My heart, my soul. I talked. Talked more than I ever had to anyone. I told him about how I was studying to be a nurse, how the work kicked my ass, but I loved every second. I told him about my eccentric best friend Bex and how she was my complete opposite, and how we made total and utter sense. I talked about how close I was with my mom, and her lifestyle.

“What about your dad?” Asher asked gently when I’d finished telling him about the various marches Mom had dragged me on since I was a kid.

My body tightened at his question, and he didn’t miss it. The muscled arms around me squeezed, and his hands lightly drew circles on my back, as if to give me support. As if he knew this story wasn’t a happy one.

I kept my gaze down on his defined chest. “He’s dead,” I whispered.

Asher’s hands stopped moving.

“Shit, flower. I’m sorry,” he murmured, pulling my chin up to meet his eyes.

“I’m not,” I replied, surprising myself by verbalizing something I’d never told anyone.

His body jolted, and his eyes turned hard, but he waited for me to explain.

“My mom didn’t always wear tie die and swear off prescription medicine,” I explained quietly. “She used to be a housewife. Apron, hairstyle, court shoes, everything. She always had a free soul, but he put it in chains,” I whispered, pain in my voice. “He beat her,” I choked out. “My first memory is of him backhanding her for burning a pot roast. The next time he was yelling at me for leaving my toys out for him to trip on. I think he might have been going to hit me, but Mom stood in front of me, protected me. Took it for me.”

I knew he was a memory, that he couldn’t hurt me, but the fear that came with his memory was real. The urge to curl into myself, to be invisible, so I could hide from his wrath. I didn’t know why I was telling Asher this. Why I was uncovering the darkest part of me, that hadn’t seen the light in eleven years. Maybe I did know why. Because, as insane and completely unbelievable as it was, I loved him. Already. Something clicked the moment our bodies connected. Something more. Something indescribable. I was different. He made me different. So I wanted him to see me. All of me.

Asher’s body seemed to turn to stone. I avoided his eyes, so I didn’t see the fury burning in them.

“Everyone looked at us on the outside and saw the perfect family. On the inside it was a nightmare. Every day I wondered if it was the day when he wouldn’t be able to stop. When I’d have to watch him kill my mom and not be strong enough to help her,” I whispered.

“How old were you? When the f*cker finally met the reaper?” Asher ground out, his tone blank.

My eyes flickered up to his hard jaw. “I was nine,” I replied, my mind traveling back to the day when my father had a heart attack. The elation I felt when we realized he was gone. The shame I carried with me as a result of that elation.

“Fuck,” he clipped. “Nine years,” he said, almost to himself. “Nine years you had to live with that, and you still turned into this.” His hand trailed along the side of my face, his eyes regarding me in what I could only describe as amazement.

I swallowed. “I was glad,” I blurted. “Glad when he died. That my mom and I could escape. That she would be free of his chains. I’m still glad. What kind of person feels happy when their father dies?” I whispered with shame.