Textual Confusion, page 25
“You’re so fucking pretty. I could look at you forever.”
The praise made Asher’s lashes flutter, the warm feeling in his belly spreading lower, where his own cock continued to strain desperately against his underwear, a thick glop of precum staining the front.
Asher worked his throat, purposefully swallowing around Markus’s massive length, still buried deep in his esophagus, and Markus’s hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, you’re going to make me blow my load. You want Daddy’s cum that badly, huh?”
Asher moaned, his tummy clenching and thighs tensing at the thought of Markus’s hot spunk shooting down his throat.
“Take it then if you’re so desperate for it,” Markus said, once again beginning to rut roughly into Asher’s mouth, fucking his face. He was breathing heavy, his movements growing jerky until suddenly he was holding Asher down on his cock. “And don’t you dare waste a single drop,” he ordered, voice deep and rough, “or you’ll be licking it up from the floor.”
The visual of it – cleaning Markus's spunk from the floor with his tongue – was enough to send a shockwave of pleasure shooting through Asher, and he was orgasming before he knew it, the suddenness and intensity of it taking him by surprise. His throat locked down around Markus’ cock as the man also came, shooting hot jets of cum directly down Asher’s throat, giving him no other choice but to swallow it.
Even after the man pulled out, Asher could taste the bitter tang of cum on his tongue. Dazed, he looked up at Markus for direction.
As unusual, the man didn’t disappoint.
“Did you swallow it all?” he asked hoarsely, carefully tucking his spent cock back into his boxers.
Asher nodded dumbly.
“Open your mouth. Let Daddy check.”
Asher numbly did as he was told.
“Such a good boy,” Markus lauded, pulling Asher into his lap. “Taking everything Daddy gives you. You looked so beautiful with those fat lips of yours wrapped around my cock.” The praise brought Asher to an even higher high, and he practically melted into Markus’s lap as the man pulled him into a sloppy kiss.
He vaguely wondered if the man could taste his own cum on his tongue.
When he was finished plundering his mouth, Markus dragged his lips down Asher’s jaw, sucking on the skin there. “I think you deserve to be rewarded,” the man whispered into his ear.
Asher wasn’t sure what the man meant by that until hands were suddenly reaching for the waistband of his underwear. The realization was akin to someone dumping cold water over his head, killing Asher’s post-orgasm buzz.
“Wait!” he protested, wrapping his fingers around Markus’s wrists.
Markus frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing! It’s just… you- you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” Markus assured.
“You can’t.” Embarrassment flooded Asher as he shamefully admitted, “I- I already came. ‘M sorry.”
He was afraid Markus might be disappointed, or even upset with him, but it was naked surprise that flashed in the man’s eyes. “You came?” he repeated, seeking clarification. “Just from sucking me off?”
Face red, Asher nodded, but Markus clearly didn’t believe him because moments later, he was adjusting Asher in his lap, holding him at arm’s length so he could look down and inspect him.
Asher squeaked in protest, his entire body hot with humiliation, but Markus ignored him, staring at his soaked underwear.
When Markus finally looked back up, he had to force Asher to meet his gaze. He was surprised to see that instead of looking upset or mocking, Markus looked endlessly endeared instead. Almost awed, even. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re an utter sweetheart, coming untouched with my cock in your mouth, my cum shooting down your throat. But I don’t want you getting sick, sitting in wet underwear. Let Daddy clean you up, hm?
Asher shyly agree.
Markus spent the next half hour giving Asher a warm bath. He took his time caring for him, rubbing expensive shampoo into his hair and massaging his shoulders. When he was clean, Markus carefully dried him with a fluffy towel before offering him a clean shirt and carrying him to bed.
Asher welcomed the arms that curled around him like a possessive octopus and the heat that radiated against his back. He felt the faintest hint of a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. “Good night, lovely.”
“G’night,” Asher mumbled, allowing sleep to take him as he lay warm and content in Markus’s arms, any misgivings he may have had while snuggled in the same man’s embrace an hour earlier firmly buried in the back of his mind.
At least, for now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I'M COMING OVER.
Asher had a problem.
Asher had a lot of problems, actually, most of them revolving around the unrequited feelings he had for a certain billionaire CEO, otherwise known as his sugar daddy/employer/pretend boyfriend. AKA Markus Kingston.
But this problem was different.
It’d been nearly a week since Asher had gone with Markus to meet his parents at their house (mansion) on Mercer Island. He’d had a wonderful time, and he’d been sleeping over at Markus’s apartment every night since then. (Not to mention the daily banter they engaged in via text.)
It was just… someone else was messaging him, too.
Not just any someone either. His ex, Trent, had been blowing up his phone day and night – similar to the way he’d initially responded when Asher had walked out on him all those months ago.
It was the reason he’d had to get a new phone number – which, in a roundabout way, meant Asher had his ex to thank for meeting Markus.
But Asher couldn’t bring himself to be grateful. Not when he was being called a “pathetic whore” and “ungrateful bitch” on the regular. The texts he received ranged from drunken, wrathful rants, wherein Trent called him every nasty name he could think of, to paragraphs professing his love, begging for another chance, saying how much he missed Asher – loved him, even.
It was bullshit, obviously. No one called anyone they loved a “cum-guzzling gold digger”.
The entire situation made Asher sick to his stomach if he thought about it too long, so he tried not to – think about it, that is. That morning, however, he’d made the mistake of forgetting to put his phone on silent, and it’d been pinging away in his bag for the past fifteen minutes.
Unfortunately, Asher was working with a temperamental chocolate ganache and wasn’t able to step away until all the miniature bundt cakes he’d baked were aptly covered in the sticky topping. Which is how Sasha – who’d decided to camp out in the kitchen on her break – heard the incessant buzzing.
Sasha eyed his phone, where it peeked out of the front pocket of his bag, hanging on a hook by the back door. “You know, I can’t decide if it’s cute or annoying how obsessed Big Daddy is with you.”
Of course, she assumed it was Markus texting him.
Asher shot her an unimpressed look. “He’s not obsessed with me.”
“What word do you prefer instead? Infatuated? Smitten? Thoroughly whipped?”
“Markus isn’t any of those things,” he continued to deny.
Sasha snorted. “Yeah, alright. Is that why you’re still wearing the man’s Rolex? Also, I’m pretty sure that’s a new sweater you’re rocking under that apron.” She reached across the counter and patted the fabric of his sleeve, making him spill a bit of the ganache.
“Sasha!”
“Sorry, it just looks so soft and fuzzy. Is it cashmere?”
Instead of answering, Asher continued to half-glare/half-pout at his friend. “I didn’t ask him to buy me it.”
“Yeah, I know, Asher. That’s the point. The poor man is utterly besotted. And to be clear, I’m not judging, I’m fucking impressed. What exactly do you do to Big Daddy in the bedroom that makes him shower you in gifts that probably cost more than either of us make in a month – combined?”
Asher bit his lip. “Well… it’s not always contained to the bedroom,” he admitted against his better judgement.
“What?!” Sasha all but screeched. “Details,” she demanded, “now.”
An image of himself naked and spread eagle on Markus’s fancy granite countertops as the man slowly fucked into him while simultaneously feeding him strawberries and grapes popped into Asher’s head. He remembered the way Markus had eagerly licked away the excess juice that dripped from his lips whenever his cock hit that special spot inside him and he inevitably lost control of his motor functions.
Asher shook his head, his face beet red as he forced the erotic image away. “I’ll tell you later,” he promised in an effort to get his friend to drop the subject. The last thing he needed was to pop a raging boner at work. “Let’s talk about something else for now.”
Sasha narrowed her eyes, likely debating whether or not Asher would follow through on his promise. “Fine,” she agreed after a moment. “Have I told you that Avery broke up with her boyfriend?”
Asher blinked. “Again?” he asked. He could have sworn Sasha’s artist friend had broken up with a different man just last month. Her reasons for breaking their hearts were always ludicrous. Once Avery even cut a guy loose for cheating on her – in a dream. (She claimed it was a premonition.)
“What was it this time?” he asked. “Did she not like the way he buttered his toast?” (Yes, that had been yet another reason for one of her breakups.)
But Asher should have known better than to allow himself to be distracted. Because as soon as he opened his mouth, Sasha was darting across the room to where his bag hung by the door. “What-?” he asked, understanding dawning when she pulled out his phone. “Hey!” he protested, nearly dropping the bowl of ganache in his haste to get to her. “Give me back my phone!”
“I just want to see what sort of naughty things Big Daddy is texting you!” she retorted, sprinting away from him, making a beeline for the employee restroom. “It’s the least I deserve since you’re not spilling the beans on whatever freaky stuff you get up to in the sheets – and out of the sheets, apparently.”
Asher gave chase, but it was too late. Sasha offered a cheeky wink before slamming the door shut in his face. He heard the click of the lock, but grabbed the door knob and gave it a shake, anyway. “Sasha!”
She couldn’t look at his phone. Not because he cared about her seeing the messages he’d been exchanging with Markus. But because of the vulgar ones he’s been getting from Trent.
Messages he hadn’t told her about.
Asher pounded on the door, his heart racing in his chest. “Sasha! Please, just… don’t look.”
She didn’t answer.
Asher licked his lips. “Sasha?” he tried again.
Fuck. He never regretted sharing the passcode to his phone with his friends more than in this moment.
What was probably only a few minutes later, Sasha finally opened the door. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were hard, burning with a quiet kind of fury, and Asher felt his heart drop into his stomach.
She’d definitely seen the messages.
She thrust his phone into his face, screen side up. “What the fuck is this?”
Yep. She’d definitely seen them.
Asher had no idea how he was going to play this off, but the annoyance in his voice was real when he snatched the phone from Sasha’s hand. “It’s my phone,” he snapped, “the one you just blatantly stole from me.”
“Quit with the smartass bullshit,” she shot back. “How long has that fucker Trent been bothering you like this? I thought he stopped when you told him about Markus.”
Asher knew things were serious if she was referring to the man as Markus and not Big Daddy. “You told him about Markus,” he pointed out, “not me. And he did stop for a bit. It just started up again a little while ago.”
“Do you know why?”
Asher shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it began a few days after I ran into his dad in the elevator at Kingston Enterprises.”
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It slipped my mind, I guess.”
“Did something happen in the elevator?” Sasha pressed.
Asher winced. “His dad kept going on about how I ought to forgive Trent so we could get back together already – all the while implying it was my fault his son cheated on me, of course. I told him that would never happen.” A pause. “I might have also implied I was there to see Markus, and that his dick was much more impressive and satisfying than Trent’s limp noodle could ever be.”
Sasha’s eyebrows shot up. “First of all, I’m so fucking proud of you for standing up for yourself and setting the record straight for that senile old fool.” She frowned. “But why would that trigger Trent? Isn’t it just proof that you weren’t lying about seeing Markus?”
Asher shrugged. “I don’t know how his brain works.”
“That’s because you’re not a fucking sociopath.” She gestured at his phone, which Asher was still holding protectively to his chest. “You don’t believe any of that bullshit he’s spouting at you, right? You’re not a gold digger.”
“I mean, technically, I kind of am.”
“Asher!”
Asher winced. “Sorry.”
She huffed. “Anyway, what are you going to do about this?”
Asher shrugged. He already knew Sasha wasn’t going to like his answer. “Ignore it until it goes away?”
Sasha scoffed. “And what if it never goes away, Asher? What if he never goes away? Are you going to keep changing your number? What if he starts showing up at the café again? Or he finds out where you live?”
“He wouldn’t do anything to me,” Asher protested, but his denial lacked conviction, and he could tell that Sasha sensed it.
“Oh yeah? Look at your latest messages.”
Asher frowned, hesitantly looking at his phone.
Unknown
Ansswer my fuking messages bitch
When I fckin find u, Im gonna drag you bck to our aprtment by ur fuckin hair and tie u to the bed, your nevr leaving me ever aggain, fucking slut
Disregarding the obvious typos, which meant the man was probably on another bender, it was honestly a little terrifying.
Asher blinked rapidly in an attempt to banish the frustrated tears he could feel gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t hide the way his voice cracked when he looked back up at his friend, though. “W-why is he doing this? Can’t he just leave me alone? Is it my fault? Did I do something-?”
Asher wasn’t sure how he was about to finish that sentence. Did I do something to bring this on? Did I do something to deserve this?
Regardless, Sasha pulled him into a hug before he could say it aloud. “No,” she said sternly. “Trent is just an obsessive douchebag. It's not your fault, and nothing you did caused this, okay?”
Asher sniffled. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly when it became clear she expected an answer.
She pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s not fair that you have to deal with this,” she reiterated, “but it doesn’t change the fact that you do have to deal with it.” A pause. “That being said, you don’t have to do it alone. So let me rephrase my earlier question… what are we going to do about this?”
Asher chewed on his inner cheek. “I know you think I should get a restraining order-”
“Absolutely you should,” Sasha confirmed.
“-but I’m not sure if it would even do anything at this point. I mean, it’s a piece of paper. Do you really think Trent would even care enough to respect it?”
The way Sasha grimaced told Asher that she agreed with him. “You have a point,” she acknowledged. “Maybe… maybe you should tell Markus what’s going on.”
Asher frowned. “Why? What could he possibly do about it?”
“Sever his company’s business relationship with Trent’s father, for one.”
Asher shook his head. “I could never ask him to do something like that.”
Sasha snorted. “You wouldn’t have to ask him. If he knew about this, he’d do more than just drop Trent’s dad as a client, he’d have him blacklisted so that no one in Seattle would dare to do business with him. That’s if he doesn’t outright kill the man’s son when he learns the shit he’s been texting you.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “He’s a CEO, Sasha, not a mob boss.”
“As far as you know.”
“I think you’ve read too many dark mafia romances on that Kindle of yours lately.”
“Guilty,” Sasha easily agreed. “Anyway, even if he doesn’t kill Trent, everything else he’d do would hopefully piss his dad off enough to actually do something about his unhinged son.”
“I don’t know…” Asher waffled.
“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.
“No,” Asher grudgingly admitted. “It’s just… I don’t want to worry Markus about some dumb text messages.”
“It’s not dumb. And it’s not just messages. He’s threatening to fucking kidnap you, Asher. I guarantee you that Markus would want to know that. Either you tell him, or I will, got it?”
Asher pressed his lips together. His first instinct was to push back at Sasha, shout that he wasn’t a little kid that needed tending, and that he could make decisions for himself just fine, look after himself just fine.
But they were at work.
And Asher knew logically that Sasha was just reacting the way she was because she cared about him – loved him with her whole heart, even.
So, ultimately, Asher just reluctantly nodded his agreeance.
“Okay.”
Asher had fully intended on telling Markus about Trent and the text messages.
The man had invited him over to spend the weekend at his penthouse, and Asher figured he’d have plenty of time to bring it up then.
Except when he woke up on Friday morning, Asher felt like death warmed over.
In fact, he was pretty sure that even zombies felt better than he did at the moment. (After all, zombies were technically dead and couldn’t actually feel their gaping wounds and displaced organs.)
The praise made Asher’s lashes flutter, the warm feeling in his belly spreading lower, where his own cock continued to strain desperately against his underwear, a thick glop of precum staining the front.
Asher worked his throat, purposefully swallowing around Markus’s massive length, still buried deep in his esophagus, and Markus’s hips stuttered. “Fuck, baby, you’re going to make me blow my load. You want Daddy’s cum that badly, huh?”
Asher moaned, his tummy clenching and thighs tensing at the thought of Markus’s hot spunk shooting down his throat.
“Take it then if you’re so desperate for it,” Markus said, once again beginning to rut roughly into Asher’s mouth, fucking his face. He was breathing heavy, his movements growing jerky until suddenly he was holding Asher down on his cock. “And don’t you dare waste a single drop,” he ordered, voice deep and rough, “or you’ll be licking it up from the floor.”
The visual of it – cleaning Markus's spunk from the floor with his tongue – was enough to send a shockwave of pleasure shooting through Asher, and he was orgasming before he knew it, the suddenness and intensity of it taking him by surprise. His throat locked down around Markus’ cock as the man also came, shooting hot jets of cum directly down Asher’s throat, giving him no other choice but to swallow it.
Even after the man pulled out, Asher could taste the bitter tang of cum on his tongue. Dazed, he looked up at Markus for direction.
As unusual, the man didn’t disappoint.
“Did you swallow it all?” he asked hoarsely, carefully tucking his spent cock back into his boxers.
Asher nodded dumbly.
“Open your mouth. Let Daddy check.”
Asher numbly did as he was told.
“Such a good boy,” Markus lauded, pulling Asher into his lap. “Taking everything Daddy gives you. You looked so beautiful with those fat lips of yours wrapped around my cock.” The praise brought Asher to an even higher high, and he practically melted into Markus’s lap as the man pulled him into a sloppy kiss.
He vaguely wondered if the man could taste his own cum on his tongue.
When he was finished plundering his mouth, Markus dragged his lips down Asher’s jaw, sucking on the skin there. “I think you deserve to be rewarded,” the man whispered into his ear.
Asher wasn’t sure what the man meant by that until hands were suddenly reaching for the waistband of his underwear. The realization was akin to someone dumping cold water over his head, killing Asher’s post-orgasm buzz.
“Wait!” he protested, wrapping his fingers around Markus’s wrists.
Markus frowned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing! It’s just… you- you don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” Markus assured.
“You can’t.” Embarrassment flooded Asher as he shamefully admitted, “I- I already came. ‘M sorry.”
He was afraid Markus might be disappointed, or even upset with him, but it was naked surprise that flashed in the man’s eyes. “You came?” he repeated, seeking clarification. “Just from sucking me off?”
Face red, Asher nodded, but Markus clearly didn’t believe him because moments later, he was adjusting Asher in his lap, holding him at arm’s length so he could look down and inspect him.
Asher squeaked in protest, his entire body hot with humiliation, but Markus ignored him, staring at his soaked underwear.
When Markus finally looked back up, he had to force Asher to meet his gaze. He was surprised to see that instead of looking upset or mocking, Markus looked endlessly endeared instead. Almost awed, even. “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Don’t be embarrassed. You’re an utter sweetheart, coming untouched with my cock in your mouth, my cum shooting down your throat. But I don’t want you getting sick, sitting in wet underwear. Let Daddy clean you up, hm?
Asher shyly agree.
Markus spent the next half hour giving Asher a warm bath. He took his time caring for him, rubbing expensive shampoo into his hair and massaging his shoulders. When he was clean, Markus carefully dried him with a fluffy towel before offering him a clean shirt and carrying him to bed.
Asher welcomed the arms that curled around him like a possessive octopus and the heat that radiated against his back. He felt the faintest hint of a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. “Good night, lovely.”
“G’night,” Asher mumbled, allowing sleep to take him as he lay warm and content in Markus’s arms, any misgivings he may have had while snuggled in the same man’s embrace an hour earlier firmly buried in the back of his mind.
At least, for now.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I'M COMING OVER.
Asher had a problem.
Asher had a lot of problems, actually, most of them revolving around the unrequited feelings he had for a certain billionaire CEO, otherwise known as his sugar daddy/employer/pretend boyfriend. AKA Markus Kingston.
But this problem was different.
It’d been nearly a week since Asher had gone with Markus to meet his parents at their house (mansion) on Mercer Island. He’d had a wonderful time, and he’d been sleeping over at Markus’s apartment every night since then. (Not to mention the daily banter they engaged in via text.)
It was just… someone else was messaging him, too.
Not just any someone either. His ex, Trent, had been blowing up his phone day and night – similar to the way he’d initially responded when Asher had walked out on him all those months ago.
It was the reason he’d had to get a new phone number – which, in a roundabout way, meant Asher had his ex to thank for meeting Markus.
But Asher couldn’t bring himself to be grateful. Not when he was being called a “pathetic whore” and “ungrateful bitch” on the regular. The texts he received ranged from drunken, wrathful rants, wherein Trent called him every nasty name he could think of, to paragraphs professing his love, begging for another chance, saying how much he missed Asher – loved him, even.
It was bullshit, obviously. No one called anyone they loved a “cum-guzzling gold digger”.
The entire situation made Asher sick to his stomach if he thought about it too long, so he tried not to – think about it, that is. That morning, however, he’d made the mistake of forgetting to put his phone on silent, and it’d been pinging away in his bag for the past fifteen minutes.
Unfortunately, Asher was working with a temperamental chocolate ganache and wasn’t able to step away until all the miniature bundt cakes he’d baked were aptly covered in the sticky topping. Which is how Sasha – who’d decided to camp out in the kitchen on her break – heard the incessant buzzing.
Sasha eyed his phone, where it peeked out of the front pocket of his bag, hanging on a hook by the back door. “You know, I can’t decide if it’s cute or annoying how obsessed Big Daddy is with you.”
Of course, she assumed it was Markus texting him.
Asher shot her an unimpressed look. “He’s not obsessed with me.”
“What word do you prefer instead? Infatuated? Smitten? Thoroughly whipped?”
“Markus isn’t any of those things,” he continued to deny.
Sasha snorted. “Yeah, alright. Is that why you’re still wearing the man’s Rolex? Also, I’m pretty sure that’s a new sweater you’re rocking under that apron.” She reached across the counter and patted the fabric of his sleeve, making him spill a bit of the ganache.
“Sasha!”
“Sorry, it just looks so soft and fuzzy. Is it cashmere?”
Instead of answering, Asher continued to half-glare/half-pout at his friend. “I didn’t ask him to buy me it.”
“Yeah, I know, Asher. That’s the point. The poor man is utterly besotted. And to be clear, I’m not judging, I’m fucking impressed. What exactly do you do to Big Daddy in the bedroom that makes him shower you in gifts that probably cost more than either of us make in a month – combined?”
Asher bit his lip. “Well… it’s not always contained to the bedroom,” he admitted against his better judgement.
“What?!” Sasha all but screeched. “Details,” she demanded, “now.”
An image of himself naked and spread eagle on Markus’s fancy granite countertops as the man slowly fucked into him while simultaneously feeding him strawberries and grapes popped into Asher’s head. He remembered the way Markus had eagerly licked away the excess juice that dripped from his lips whenever his cock hit that special spot inside him and he inevitably lost control of his motor functions.
Asher shook his head, his face beet red as he forced the erotic image away. “I’ll tell you later,” he promised in an effort to get his friend to drop the subject. The last thing he needed was to pop a raging boner at work. “Let’s talk about something else for now.”
Sasha narrowed her eyes, likely debating whether or not Asher would follow through on his promise. “Fine,” she agreed after a moment. “Have I told you that Avery broke up with her boyfriend?”
Asher blinked. “Again?” he asked. He could have sworn Sasha’s artist friend had broken up with a different man just last month. Her reasons for breaking their hearts were always ludicrous. Once Avery even cut a guy loose for cheating on her – in a dream. (She claimed it was a premonition.)
“What was it this time?” he asked. “Did she not like the way he buttered his toast?” (Yes, that had been yet another reason for one of her breakups.)
But Asher should have known better than to allow himself to be distracted. Because as soon as he opened his mouth, Sasha was darting across the room to where his bag hung by the door. “What-?” he asked, understanding dawning when she pulled out his phone. “Hey!” he protested, nearly dropping the bowl of ganache in his haste to get to her. “Give me back my phone!”
“I just want to see what sort of naughty things Big Daddy is texting you!” she retorted, sprinting away from him, making a beeline for the employee restroom. “It’s the least I deserve since you’re not spilling the beans on whatever freaky stuff you get up to in the sheets – and out of the sheets, apparently.”
Asher gave chase, but it was too late. Sasha offered a cheeky wink before slamming the door shut in his face. He heard the click of the lock, but grabbed the door knob and gave it a shake, anyway. “Sasha!”
She couldn’t look at his phone. Not because he cared about her seeing the messages he’d been exchanging with Markus. But because of the vulgar ones he’s been getting from Trent.
Messages he hadn’t told her about.
Asher pounded on the door, his heart racing in his chest. “Sasha! Please, just… don’t look.”
She didn’t answer.
Asher licked his lips. “Sasha?” he tried again.
Fuck. He never regretted sharing the passcode to his phone with his friends more than in this moment.
What was probably only a few minutes later, Sasha finally opened the door. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were hard, burning with a quiet kind of fury, and Asher felt his heart drop into his stomach.
She’d definitely seen the messages.
She thrust his phone into his face, screen side up. “What the fuck is this?”
Yep. She’d definitely seen them.
Asher had no idea how he was going to play this off, but the annoyance in his voice was real when he snatched the phone from Sasha’s hand. “It’s my phone,” he snapped, “the one you just blatantly stole from me.”
“Quit with the smartass bullshit,” she shot back. “How long has that fucker Trent been bothering you like this? I thought he stopped when you told him about Markus.”
Asher knew things were serious if she was referring to the man as Markus and not Big Daddy. “You told him about Markus,” he pointed out, “not me. And he did stop for a bit. It just started up again a little while ago.”
“Do you know why?”
Asher shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it began a few days after I ran into his dad in the elevator at Kingston Enterprises.”
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It slipped my mind, I guess.”
“Did something happen in the elevator?” Sasha pressed.
Asher winced. “His dad kept going on about how I ought to forgive Trent so we could get back together already – all the while implying it was my fault his son cheated on me, of course. I told him that would never happen.” A pause. “I might have also implied I was there to see Markus, and that his dick was much more impressive and satisfying than Trent’s limp noodle could ever be.”
Sasha’s eyebrows shot up. “First of all, I’m so fucking proud of you for standing up for yourself and setting the record straight for that senile old fool.” She frowned. “But why would that trigger Trent? Isn’t it just proof that you weren’t lying about seeing Markus?”
Asher shrugged. “I don’t know how his brain works.”
“That’s because you’re not a fucking sociopath.” She gestured at his phone, which Asher was still holding protectively to his chest. “You don’t believe any of that bullshit he’s spouting at you, right? You’re not a gold digger.”
“I mean, technically, I kind of am.”
“Asher!”
Asher winced. “Sorry.”
She huffed. “Anyway, what are you going to do about this?”
Asher shrugged. He already knew Sasha wasn’t going to like his answer. “Ignore it until it goes away?”
Sasha scoffed. “And what if it never goes away, Asher? What if he never goes away? Are you going to keep changing your number? What if he starts showing up at the café again? Or he finds out where you live?”
“He wouldn’t do anything to me,” Asher protested, but his denial lacked conviction, and he could tell that Sasha sensed it.
“Oh yeah? Look at your latest messages.”
Asher frowned, hesitantly looking at his phone.
Unknown
Ansswer my fuking messages bitch
When I fckin find u, Im gonna drag you bck to our aprtment by ur fuckin hair and tie u to the bed, your nevr leaving me ever aggain, fucking slut
Disregarding the obvious typos, which meant the man was probably on another bender, it was honestly a little terrifying.
Asher blinked rapidly in an attempt to banish the frustrated tears he could feel gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t hide the way his voice cracked when he looked back up at his friend, though. “W-why is he doing this? Can’t he just leave me alone? Is it my fault? Did I do something-?”
Asher wasn’t sure how he was about to finish that sentence. Did I do something to bring this on? Did I do something to deserve this?
Regardless, Sasha pulled him into a hug before he could say it aloud. “No,” she said sternly. “Trent is just an obsessive douchebag. It's not your fault, and nothing you did caused this, okay?”
Asher sniffled. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly when it became clear she expected an answer.
She pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. “It’s not fair that you have to deal with this,” she reiterated, “but it doesn’t change the fact that you do have to deal with it.” A pause. “That being said, you don’t have to do it alone. So let me rephrase my earlier question… what are we going to do about this?”
Asher chewed on his inner cheek. “I know you think I should get a restraining order-”
“Absolutely you should,” Sasha confirmed.
“-but I’m not sure if it would even do anything at this point. I mean, it’s a piece of paper. Do you really think Trent would even care enough to respect it?”
The way Sasha grimaced told Asher that she agreed with him. “You have a point,” she acknowledged. “Maybe… maybe you should tell Markus what’s going on.”
Asher frowned. “Why? What could he possibly do about it?”
“Sever his company’s business relationship with Trent’s father, for one.”
Asher shook his head. “I could never ask him to do something like that.”
Sasha snorted. “You wouldn’t have to ask him. If he knew about this, he’d do more than just drop Trent’s dad as a client, he’d have him blacklisted so that no one in Seattle would dare to do business with him. That’s if he doesn’t outright kill the man’s son when he learns the shit he’s been texting you.”
Asher rolled his eyes. “He’s a CEO, Sasha, not a mob boss.”
“As far as you know.”
“I think you’ve read too many dark mafia romances on that Kindle of yours lately.”
“Guilty,” Sasha easily agreed. “Anyway, even if he doesn’t kill Trent, everything else he’d do would hopefully piss his dad off enough to actually do something about his unhinged son.”
“I don’t know…” Asher waffled.
“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.
“No,” Asher grudgingly admitted. “It’s just… I don’t want to worry Markus about some dumb text messages.”
“It’s not dumb. And it’s not just messages. He’s threatening to fucking kidnap you, Asher. I guarantee you that Markus would want to know that. Either you tell him, or I will, got it?”
Asher pressed his lips together. His first instinct was to push back at Sasha, shout that he wasn’t a little kid that needed tending, and that he could make decisions for himself just fine, look after himself just fine.
But they were at work.
And Asher knew logically that Sasha was just reacting the way she was because she cared about him – loved him with her whole heart, even.
So, ultimately, Asher just reluctantly nodded his agreeance.
“Okay.”
Asher had fully intended on telling Markus about Trent and the text messages.
The man had invited him over to spend the weekend at his penthouse, and Asher figured he’d have plenty of time to bring it up then.
Except when he woke up on Friday morning, Asher felt like death warmed over.
In fact, he was pretty sure that even zombies felt better than he did at the moment. (After all, zombies were technically dead and couldn’t actually feel their gaping wounds and displaced organs.)
