Chapter 13: Play with the Phantom: Chapter 11

Ari

It’s small. Barely there.The faintest click of a door opening.My breath catches in my throat. “Asher?” I climb out of bed and stand there, unsure of what to do.Measured, familiar footsteps. My heart slows. The tension eases just enough for me to quell the onset of a panic attack.Because I know that walk.It’s Asher.I swallow hard, staring at the shadowed figure standing near the door of the bedroom. Tall. Broad. Too dark to make out anything except the way he fills the space.His voice is low when he speaks.“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”The way the words roll off his tongue sends a shiver down my spine. Deeper than usual. Rougher.“You scared the hell out of me,” I whisper, exhaling sharply. He moves closer.“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”I should be asking questions, such as why the hell it took him over an hour to come to my room.But I don’t. Because for whatever reason, the space between my legs is throbbing. He steps closer until he’s right next to me. My brow furrows as I look up at him, the darkness blurring his features, making everything feel softer, hazier—like a dream.His touch is warm, firm, as he grips my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up to his.A slow, shivery exhale escapes me..FinallyMy body is heavy, warm, pliant. The Ambien has me floating, untethered, sinking into the dreamlike pull of it.Asher’s finally here, finally giving me what I wanted. Isn’t he? I blink up at him, the room tilting, shifting around us. A thumb brushes over my lower lip, slow, possessive, and unyielding, as if testing the softness before claiming it.“Why did you⁠—”His other hand comes to my throat, fingers curling just enough to make me aware of his strength, his control. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who’s in charge. My pulse pounds beneath his grip. His thumb brushes along my pulse point, slow, measured. I break out in goosebumps.“Shh,” he murmurs, the single syllable a warning.And when he leans in, his breath hot against my lips, I forget how to breathe altogether.I let him push me back against the wall of the bedroom. Let him part my legs with one knee. Let him control the moment before I even have a chance to understand it.When his hands find my body—strong, firm, possessive in a way Asher never is—my thoughts splinter.He touches me like he’s never touched me before. Somewhere, deep in the foggy corners of my mind, awareness stirs. A distant voice whispers that something is off. That this doesn’t make sense. But it’s too quiet, too far away to grasp. The Ambien makes everything slow and liquid, reality slipping through my fingers like silk. The press of his hands, the deliberate way they explore, claim, take, it drowns out everything else.My breath hitches as his palm skims up my bare thigh, slow and deliberate.Not hesitant.Not careful.Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.Like he’s done it before—because of course he has.A hazy warmth spreads through me, melting resistance into something darker, heavier. The alarm bells muffle, distort, twisting into something else. Something that only spurs my arousal on.The smooth heat of his hand makes me shiver. I’m only wearing the oversized sleep shirt—no underwear, no bra. I can tell the second his hands pass over my peaked nipples, realizing I’m bare underneath the shirt. A quiet, almost imperceptible inhale leaves him—sharp, restrained—like he’s breathing me in, like he’s memorizing the way I feel beneath his touch.When his fingers finally press into my waist, his grip tightens, just for a second, like he can’t help himself. A low sound rumbles in his chest—not quite a groan, not quite a sigh—but something in between, something primal.He drags his hands up, bringing my shirt over my head, and I lift my arms until I’m standing naked before him.“Fuck, Ari,” he rasps, voice frayed, almost like the word scrapes against his throat. His nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths, like he’s been starving for this—for me.His tongue drags over his bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he’s tasting the idea of me before even laying a hand on my skin.“You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice is low, almost reverent, but there’s an edge beneath it—something dangerous, something claiming.“Only took you two years to notice,” I bite back, trying not to smirk.I don’t want to ruin whatever is.this He doesn’t say anything. He reaches for me, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin just beneath my breasts, and for the briefest moment, his touch stills. His fingers flex, a subtle tremor betraying him before he exhales through his nose, steadying himself.And I can hardly breathe.My heart races, and arousal pools between my legs at the way he’s taking charge.Is this part of him trying to read me better?If so… I’m for it.all His hands roam my body slowly, more sure, more certain than ever before.And that’s the thing.I’ve begged for this before—for him to stop being so careful, to stop waiting for permission.And now?He finally is.His fingers skim my thighs, slow and deliberate, a friction that’s almost too smooth.His lips graze my throat, breath warm against my skin. I get a whiff of that same unfamiliar scent. The one from the last time I was on Ambien. It’s richer than Asher’s scent—more like a forest, more powerful. It wraps around me, and I groan as he runs his hands between my legs.“You’re different,” I murmur, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath my touch.A sharp inhale. A slow exhale.“Is that bad?”I hesitate, my brain swimming in the thick, velvety fog of the Ambien. No. . I don’t know. I blink up at him, his face blurred at the edges, shifting in and out of focus like a dream that won’t stay still.YesNot real. real.MaybeMy thoughts feel slippery, unsteady, like I’m trying to hold on to water. “No,” I whisper. “Just… not like you.”He’s still for a moment.Then… a low hum, a sound that shouldn’t send warmth curling through my stomach but does.“You’re tired,” he murmurs. Soft. Soothing. A lie wrapped in silk. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is just the Ambien twisting my reality, making everything feel different, making him feel different. Because this is Asher. I’d know his voice, his anywhere.feel He presses his weight against me, and the thought dissolves.I arch into him, dragging my hands up his arms, over clothed muscle, nothing exposed.My fingers skim under the waistband of his pants—or at least, they try. But before I can push lower, he catches my wrist. The movement is smooth, controlled—but firm.I smirk. “Since when are you shy?”“I’m not,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t let go.Instead, he kisses me, deep enough to erase the question, to make it irrelevant. His tongue pushes into my mouth, hot and claiming, and it makes me whimper.Something is different. The way he holds me—not careful, not hesitant. The way he kisses me—like he’s taking, not giving. And then, the taste—not quite right.Not bad. Just… unexpected.A hint of something smokier, something sharper, something entirely unfamiliar.But the thought drifts away as quickly as it comes, swallowed by the haze.I let my nails scratch against the fine fabric of his shirt. He makes a sound—low, rough, somewhere between approval and restraint. But he doesn’t stop me. He just moves faster. Hungrier. His hands pull my waist closer until I’m pressed against him, and I stand on my tiptoes as I grip his shirt, more.needing Then his hand is around my throat again.Not too tight. Not too soft. Just enough to make me dizzy, to make my pulse stutter.A slow, indulgent squeeze, like he’s testing something. Like he’s finally touching me exactly how he’s always wanted to.“God, yes,” I whimper, the ache between my thighs settling low and deep, a throbbing pulse of need that makes me shudder.My skin feels too hot, too tight.I’m soaked—dripping against my own thighs, making every movement feel slick and uncomfortably wet.I want him to see. To feel. To take.I barely have time to gasp before his mouth is at my throat, his teeth dragging along the sensitive skin, his hands gripping my thighs, prying them apart.His voice is low, dark, starved.“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”A shiver unfurls inside me.It is.I should question why he finally gave in. Why now, after all this time, he’s finally touching me the way I’ve always begged him to.But I don’t.Because when his lips trail down my body, when his grip sinks into my thighs, when he kneels before me, settling himself between my legs, every thought disintegrates.And then he flicks his tongue against my throbbing clit.His breath is hot against my inner thighs, his hands spreading me wider, his touch both reverent and obscene.He licks up my slit once, twice.I bite my lip, my chest rising fast as a half whimper, half growl escapes my lips. The sharp burn of facial hair surprises me for a second, because Asher doesn’t have any stubble.His grip tightens. “Sit on my face.”Before I have a chance to digest what he’s saying, he lies down on the floor.—right in the middle of the fucking bedroom.Lies downAsher and I have only ever fucked in a bed. And he has asked me to sit on his face.never“Don’t run from me now,” he growls, his voice soft like velvet. “I want you to fuck yourself. I want you soaking my fucking mouth.”“Ash—”“Sit on my face, little warrior.”That’s an unusual nickname, and not something he’s ever called me.Little warrior. I hesitate, but he remains lying on the floor, arms at his sides, barely visible in the darkness.My sweet, cinnamon roll of a boyfriend who’s only gone down on me a handful of times, is asking me to sit on his face?Asher. “I need to taste you again. Right now.”A slow, wicked pause. Then— “Or I might fucking die.”My whole body clenches.Heat slams between my legs in one long, throbbing beat. I’m already desperate for friction, for his tongue, for anything to ease the ache.I let out a shaky exhale as I stumble over his large body and straddle his chest. I hesitate briefly—but he doesn’t give me time to think. Gripping my thighs firmly, he hauls me up his body and positions me exactly where he wants me. My breath stutters, and a raw mix of confusion and arousal floods through me. I try to lift myself slightly, but his hands lock around me, holding me there.Despite being on top, I’m completely at his mercy.“Stay right there,” he growls, his voice rough, almost desperate as it feathers against my aching core. His fingers dig into my thighs, keeping me exactly where he wants me—where he needs me. “You don’t run from this, Ari. Not when I’ve been starving for you. Not when I need you more than my next fucking breath.”Then his tongue is on me⁠—And every single coherent thought disappears.Throwing my head back, I let him hold my hips against his face as he feasts on me. The rough texture of his scruff only spurs me on, and I groan when he pulls me down further, pressing every inch of me against his mouth—and nose.“Fuck, yes.”I vaguely wonder if I’m going to suffocate him.His tongue darts into my cunt, piercing me over and over as the most erotic-sounding noises fill the air.“Oh—fuck—Asher,” I moan.He goes still.His fingers dig into the fleshy part of my hips before one large hand clamps gently but firmly over my mouth. The sound dies against his palm.“Shhh, angel.”My whole body ignites at the contact, at the taste of his skin, warm and salty. The threat of being overheard, the knowledge of who’s just down the hall, only makes me wetter. I rock my hips against his mouth, desperate, breath hitching behind his hand.And then, his voice, low and dark, vibrates against me. “Don’t say his name while you’re riding my face.”The words sink straight to my core, curling hot and heavy in my stomach.My breath catches against his palm. When he releases me, I am feral for him. My body moves on its own, instinct overriding thought. My hips rock harder against his face, my skin flushed and electric.His thumbs brush against the base of my spine, right where I arch for him, right where I start to tremble.“What should I call you?” I whisper, breathless, a little dazed. I can’t deny it—I’m really fucking enjoying this new game we’re playing. The intimacy laced with command. The power he takes, and the freedom I feel in giving it to him.He considers my question for a few seconds. “Call me the Phantom,” he says finally, the word slow, smooth, rolling off his tongue like he’s testing how it feels.The word lingers between us.My stomach clenches—excitement, unease, something I can’t name. Recognition, maybe.Phantom?Something snags in my mind, but the Ambien doesn’t allow me to follow the thought.I let out a breathless laugh, a weak attempt at brushing it off. “That’s… dramatic.”A slow chuckle rumbles against my skin. “Maybe.” His voice is low, knowing, just shy of amused. “But I think it suits me, don’t you?”I blink, disoriented at how different he’s acting.“Okay, baby,” I whisper feverishly. “Are we doing a little role-play or something?”He chuckles, low, dark, and dripping with amusement.“Sure,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue over my swollen bud. “Let’s go with that.”His hands tighten on my hips, fingers flexing, dragging me forward until I feel the raw strength of him beneath me. The way he holds me there, keeps me exactly where he wants me, sends a shudder through my body.I should move, should breathe, should say something—but then he groans.Low. Rough. .RawThe sound vibrates against me, his mouth relentless against me. His tongue flicks, swirls, claims, and I gasp, clutching at his hair, hips jerking forward on instinct. He grunts at the movement, hands hardening, guiding me harder, faster against his mouth. The pressure coils inside me, hot and sharp, and I can barely hold myself up as pleasure overtakes me completely.“Oh god,” I whisper-sob, my back arching as the orgasm rips through me, raw and all-consuming, my body shuddering in his grip. A low groan escapes his mouth, humming against my core, sending another shock wave of pleasure spiraling through me.The world tilts, my vision blurring at the edges, my entire body coiling, trembling, unraveling all at once. Heat licks up my skin like a flame, my pulse thundering in my ears as the pleasure crests, spilling over, unstoppable, uncontrollable. My thighs quake around his head, fingers gripping his hair like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.And still—he doesn’t stop.His entire body locks beneath me, his fingers digging into my flesh, his head pressing deeper between my thighs as another ragged, guttural groan rips from his throat. He jerks beneath me, sharp and uncontrollable, a desperate, pleading sound ripping from his throat. The grip on my thighs digs into my flesh—almost bruising—his fingers flexing, shaking. His breath stutters against my skin, hot and uneven, and then I feel it.The sudden, subtle tremor of his body. The way his body tenses hard beneath me, the deep, velvety groan vibrating through his chest. A second later, a low, shuddering exhale leaves him, his entire body going tight.Did he just…The realization slams into me like a shock to the system. He lost control. Completely.Because of me.His forehead presses into my stomach, his breathing still uneven. But then—he laughs. Low. Dark. Not embarrassed—. Possessive. Fucking insatiable.pleasedThe realization makes my stomach knot, makes something dark and possessive twist inside me.He just came in his pants.I made him fall apart.For a moment, the only sound in the room is our frayed, uneven breaths. I feel his chest rising and falling like he’s trying to regain control, like he’s trying to process what the fuck just happened.The warm, hazy pull of the Ambien tugs at me suddenly, insidious and soft. My eyelids flutter, heavy, my body begging to give in to sleep. But I fight it. I blink fast, trying to hold on to this moment, to the overwhelming heat of him, to the pulse still echoing through my limbs.“Fuck,” he mutters, his voice so low it sends another shiver down my spine. His fingers flex at my hips, slow and lazy now, like he’s memorizing the feel of me.“I hope you know I’m not done with you.”But then he moves.A slow, deliberate shift as his hands slide from my thighs, trailing down my legs, leaving a path of heat in their wake. He sits up, his breath still heavy. It’s so dark, I can’t see him.I blink, still hazy, my body still buzzing, trembling, needing. “Wait⁠—”He exhales sharply, like he’s at war with himself, then grips my chin between his fingers, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, his touch rough but deliberate.“Not yet,” he murmurs. He shifts, adjusting his pants, his movements tense, restrained, like stopping now is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.“Next time, Ari?” His voice is lower now, almost a promise. “I won’t be gentle.”And then, before I can find my voice, before I can even fully process what just happened—the Ambien tugs at me, heavy and insistent.Sleep drags me under, I can’t help but wonder if any of this was ever real at all.