Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

I stare out at the city. The views offered from my apartment aren't like this at all. At any given time I can gaze out my bedroom window to see the street below. It's generally quiet since it's on one of the brownstone lined streets on the Upper East Side. I love it there. I'm not complaining but this view, from Asher's apartment, is what a photographer's dreams are made of. I can see the landscape of much of the city from here. I feel like I'm almost on top of the world.

I feel his hands on my waist as he takes a step so he's behind me. He rests his chin on the top of my head. "You're staring, Falon. You love this city as much as I do, don't you?"

I cup my hands over his, savouring the way it feels to be this close to him. "I do love it here. I think about moving to London sometimes though."

"London?" He runs his cheek over my hair, his lips settling next to my ear. "What's in London?"

I have to stop and think before I answer. "Freedom."

"Freedom?" He tugs on my waist to turn me so I'm facing him. "Freedom from what?"

I don't look up at him. I can't. I've never admitted this to anyone before, not even Maya. She's suspected. I haven't confirmed it to her, or maybe even to myself, because it borders on abandonment in my eyes, and in my heart. "My family."

He sucks in a short breath. "I think I might understand. There was a time, not that long ago, when all I wanted was freedom from my family."

"You don't want that now?" I look up at him even though I know I might see disappointment or judgement in his eyes.

"All I want now is to belong to them, all of them."

***

I don't press for more. I want to. I can tell by the way he releases me and takes a step back that he's trying to shield himself from whatever he's feeling. I don't know any of his family, although he was right earlier, when he joked that I might have been at a Nar-Anon meeting with his brother. I was. It wasn't the brother he mentioned though. I saw Caleb Foster at three meetings when I was in college. I didn't realize it until the other day when I was searching for Asher facts online and saw a picture of him with his two brothers.

Only a few people from the meetings have rooted up residence in my memory the way Caleb has. When he spoke in one meeting about his younger brother's addiction he cycled from bitter anger to inconsolable sadness. He was scared of losing him. It struck such a deep and resounding chord in me because I saw myself in him. I was terrified of one day waking up to the reality that Shirley had overdosed. I still feel a pang of anxiety each time I see her and she has that faraway look in her eyes.

"How long have you lived here?" I ask the question solely as a means to break the thick tension in the room.

He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. The motion pulls the blue t-shirt he's wearing taut across his muscular chest. "I guess it's been about six years now. I'm not here a lot anymore, but I like it. I feel comfortable here."

My eyes drift from his face to the room we're standing in. It's an open concept living and dining room. It's not overly large, but there's more than enough space to entertain a large group of people at one time.

It's decorated just as I suspected it would be, in deep earthy tones, with expensive art hung on the walls. Anyone entering it would know that someone with wealth lives here.

"It's a nice apartment," I offer, unsure of what else I can say. It's beautiful, especially the view. If I lived here, I'd stand by this window for hours each day with my camera in hand, capturing the vibrancy of the city.

"It's a place I can call home." He reaches his hand out to me. "Let me give you a tour. I want to show you my bedroom."

I dip my chin towards the floor in an effort to hide my uncontrollable smile. "Lead the way."

***

"You're so beautiful, Falon." His eyes rake over my almost nude body. "Every time I see you like this, the earth stops for a minute or two. That's what it feels like."

I know that I blush from his words. I can feel the rush of heat on my cheeks. I've never been with anyone who was as complimentary as Asher is. I've had men tell me that they like my body, but with him it's different. I can feel it in his words. I see it in the way he stares at me, not with lust in his eyes, although that's there. It's softer than that though. It's need.

"You make me feel beautiful, Asher."

He cups his hand over my cheek as he leans down to kiss me. His lips are soft, warm and needy. He pushes them into mine with force. It's tender but there's blatant desire there too. I circle his waist with my hands, running the tips of my fingers over his bare flesh.

I can feel the heaviness of his erection as it presses against me. I've only taken him between my lips once. It was in my shower the morning after we first made love. I didn’t have the time I wanted to tease him and tempt him. I didn't get to explore every thick vein and ridge of his cock the way I wanted to. I pull back now, determined to drop to my knees on the floor of his bedroom so I can show him how much I crave the taste of him again.

"No." He shakes his head as his lips rest against mine. "I need to be inside of you. I want your mouth on me so much, but first, let me fuck you."

I grab his hands and inch back on my feet towards the bed. When I first followed him into the room it actually caught my breath. The bed is king size, the other furnishings sparse and the lighting is muted. There are three guitars on stands lined up in a corner. It's what I would have expected except for the views. In this room, there are floor to ceilings windows that seem to reach out into Manhattan. I can see the Empire State Building, its tower awash in white light, less than four blocks away. It's large, commanding and a brilliant beacon. He can see it all when he's in bed, staring out at the city.

He lowers me gently to the bed, his knee between my legs as he kisses me again. This time it's more eager, his tongue like velvet as it strokes against mine. I arch my back, wanting him to tug off my panties. He'd left them on when he undressed me, after I helped him strip off his clothes. I'd giggled when I realized he wasn't wearing any underwear. He laughed and shrugged his shoulders, muttering something about needing to do laundry.

When he pulls away from the kiss, I moan. I know he hears it, the smile on his face tells me he does.