Endless Obsession

“I love you, too, Asher.”

The look that crosses his face is one I will forever remember. The pleasure from my words so powerful it takes all my breath away and almost leaves me gasping. That was the first time I’ve told him that and from the look in his eyes, I can tell he’s been waiting a long time to hear them. I vow to tell him every single day for the rest of our lives.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Poppy

I slowly trace the lines of Asher’s tattoos on his chest as he idly plays with my hair. We’re snuggled up in bed in his apartment. He was surprised when I didn’t fight him on it when he brought the subject up again. We’ve been here two days and have done nothing except laze around in bed, getting to know each other’s bodies and minds. There is so much I’ve learned about Asher. He’s told me more about his hacking abilities. He assured me he doesn’t use his skills illegally anymore, “Except when I’m trying to garner information about beautiful brunettes,” he finished with a chuckle. I slapped his stomach and told him as long as I was the only brunette he was interested in getting information about.

I learned that he had a good childhood. His parents met in high school and have been together ever since. He has an older sister named Bea and a younger brother named Alexander. Bea is Kia, his niece’s mother. His brother has a daughter named Vanessa, or Nessa for short. Alexander’s wife died giving birth to Nessa and has so far shown no interest in meeting anyone else. The love that flows with his words proves he cares for both little girls deeply, especially Kia. The close bond he has with his sister passed down to her daughter. He’s very close with the rest of his family as well. You can tell by the way he talks about them. It was weird hearing him talk about his family. I already know some things from when he spoke of them when he was playing Sterling, but I think he wanted me to hear it again as Asher.

He made excellent grades in school, which earned him a full scholarship to Harvard. I was very impressed, but not surprised. I’ve always known Asher was extremely smart. After Harvard, he worked for his dad’s company for a couple years as the head of network security, before he branched out on his own. He admitted to using ill-gotten money to start his business, but hasn’t used it since.

I believe him.

I cringed when he told me about his days in college. He was smart and didn’t have to study. Instead, when he wasn’t filtering money from high powered people, he and Eric were off partying and sleeping with any girl they deemed fit to fill their beds. He grabbed my hand when my nails started digging into the skin on his stomach. He brought it to his lips, kissed my palm, and murmured, “You are the only girl that has ever, and will ever matter. As soon as I saw you, they became non-existent.” I melted against him when he hovered over me and proved his words right.

My fingers move down to the puckered scar on his lower stomach. That’s one thing I haven’t asked him about. Truth be told, I’m scared to. Just the thought of possibly losing him terrifies me. Even though he told me he’s okay now, the chance that one day he might not be…

I clench my eyes shut. Opening them, I lean over and kiss his lean stomach, right over the scar. His stomach muscles tighten in response.

Laying back down on his chest, my fingers still running over his scar that could have taken him away from me forever, I ask softly, “Does it still pain you?”

He stays silent for a moment. He pulls my fingers away from their exploration and intertwines his hand with mine.

“No. The doctors were quite impressed I healed so quickly,” he chuckles. “What they don’t know is I was in a lot of pain when I came back to work. It had been weeks since I had seen you face to face. I had my videos,” I stiffen slightly, but he continues. “But they weren’t the same. I came back to work early because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Something pierces my chest at the thought of him enduring more pain just so he could get back to me, and me being oblivious to it. I hate knowing he did that just because he couldn’t bear the thought of going another day without seeing me.

“When do you go back for tests?” I ask.

“A month,” he murmurs.

I twist and see him watching his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. I pull my hand from his and turn more to rest my hand over his heart with my chin on top.

“Can I go with you?”

He smiles. “I would love it if you went with me.”

I smile in return and lay my cheek down so my face is still turned toward him. His hand lands on my bare hip. We went back to sleeping naked when he brought me back to his place, much to both of our delight.

“My mom’s dinner is in a couple days. I’ll understand if you’re not up to going, but if you are, I’d really like you to.”

I think back to him telling me about the dinner when I thought he was Sterling. I was hesitant then, and still am now, but I’m ready. Things were so uncertain just a week ago. I didn’t know who he was, had no idea of what meeting his parents would entail, what it would mean for our relationship. But now it seems natural. Yes, our relationship is still new, more new to me than him, but I now know Asher is the man I’ll spend the rest of my life with, so it’s right that I meet his parents. I’m nervous, but looking forward to it at the same time. Asher talking about them, I know they are good people. I just hope they deem me worthy of him.

“I want to go,” I tell him and am graced with another brilliant smile. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and each time takes my breath away.

My eyes land on a tattoo that’s placed over his heart. It’s another piece of him I’ve been curious about. It’s a four leaf clover, but instead of all four leaves being green, two are a bright purple. There are two dates and initials. My guess, it’s a memorial to someone. The dates say the person was eight years old.

I trace my fingers along the lines of the clover and ask quietly, “Will you tell me about this?”

Although he knows which tattoo I’m talking about, he still looks down at it, acute sadness washing over his face.

“Her name was Cara,” he says softly, reverently. “She was eight when she died.”

I suck in a breath at the apparent pain I hear in his voice. This child meant a lot to him. My brows pull down into a frown. Could she be his… He would have been young when she was born… about eighteen?

“Was she…” the words try to stick in my throat, but I force them out, “your daughter?”