Chapter four

Asher's POV

Freedom never looked so beautiful. I watched Xander sign the discharge papers with a flourish, his ocean blue eyes sparkling with excitement. The doctor droned on about follow-up appointments and medication schedules, but Xander wasn't listening. His gaze was fixed on me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth that made my heart race.

"And the private nurse will arrive at your penthouse this evening," the doctor concluded, handing Xander a stack of papers.

Xander's smile disappeared instantly. "Nurse? I don't need a nurse."

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Mr. Fauler, you've suffered a significant head trauma. Having professional care during your recovery is essential."

I stepped forward. "It's just for a few days, Xander. Your mother arranged everything."

Xander's fingers wrapped around my wrist, his touch unexpectedly gentle despite the firmness in his voice. "I don't want a stranger in my home, watching me, touching me." His eyes locked with mine, filled with vulnerability I'd never seen before the accident. "I want you, Asher. Please."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I asked, already knowing my answer regardless of his.

"I feel safe with you," he whispered, and those five simple words destroyed any resistance I might have mustered.

I turned to the doctor. "I'll be staying with him. I can work remotely, monitor his medication, drive him to appointments."

The doctor frowned but didn't argue further. Twenty minutes later, we were walking out of the hospital into the bright afternoon sunshine. Xander squinted against the light, instinctively moving closer to me.

"This way," I said, guiding him toward the parking garage where I left my car. "Are you comfortable? Do you need to rest before we drive?"

Xander shook his head. "I'm fine. Just get me home."

The drive to his penthouse felt surreal. Traffic crawled through Manhattan's busy streets, but I barely noticed the honking horns or the pedestrians darting between cars. All I could focus on was Xander beside me, his profile sharp against the window as he stared out at the city like he was seeing it for the first time.

In a way, he was.

Fifty-eight floors up, Xander's penthouse occupied the entire top level of one of Manhattan's most exclusive buildings. As the elevator doors opened directly into the foyer, Xander's jaw dropped.

"This is all mine?" he asked, stepping onto the marble floor.

"All yours," I confirmed, setting down his hospital bag.

Xander moved through the space like a curious child, running his fingers along the custom furniture, pausing to examine the art on the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking view of Central Park, the green expanse stretching out below us like a carpet.

"It's so... perfect," he said, turning in a slow circle. "Too perfect, almost. Like a museum."

I couldn't help the giggle that escaped me. "That's exactly what you said when you bought it. Then you spent three months with designers making it even more perfect."

Xander's head whipped around at the sound of my laugh. His eyes darkened as he crossed the room toward me in three long strides. "Do that again," he demanded.

"Do what?"

"Laugh like that." His voice dropped lower. "That little sound you just made. It's the most adorable thing I've ever heard."

Heat rushed to my face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Xander stepped closer, backing me against the wall. "Yes, you do. That giggle. It makes me want to hear what other sounds I can get out of you."

The air between us changed, crackling with electricity. One moment we were standing apart, the next his hands were cupping my face, his lips crushing against mine with an urgency that stole my breath away.

"Xander," I gasped when he finally pulled back for air.

"I know we just got here," he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck, "but I need you, Asher. I've been thinking about touching you since I woke up in that hospital bed."

His confession unleashed something wild inside me. I spun us around, pressing him against the wall instead, claiming his mouth in a kiss that left no doubt about my own desires.

Clothes scattered across the pristine floor as we stumbled toward the bedroom, a trail of fabric marking our path. By the time we reached the king-sized bed, we were both naked, skin flushed with anticipation.

I pushed him gently onto the mattress, drinking in the sight of him spread out before me.

"Tell me if anything hurts," I whispered, mindful of his recent injuries despite the fog of desire clouding my thoughts.

"The only thing that hurts is how much I want you," he replied, voice strained.

I started slow, pressing kisses along his inner thighs, feeling them tremble under my touch. When my tongue finally flicked against his balls, the sound he made was pure sin—half moan, half whimper. I took my time, licking and sucking gently, savoring the way he writhed beneath me.

"Asher, please," he begged, hands fisting in the sheets.

My tongue circled the frenulum with deliberate precision, and Xander's back arched off the bed.

"Fuck! That feels incredible," he gasped.

Encouraged by his response, I slicked my fingers with lube from the bedside drawer and slowly pressed one inside him. He tensed momentarily before relaxing, allowing me deeper access. When I curled my finger to stroke his prostate, his whole body jerked as if electrified.

"Oh God," he moaned, eyes wide with surprise at the intensity of the sensation. Without warning, he came hard, painting white streaks across his stomach and my face, his body convulsing with pleasure.

But we were far from finished. The sight of him coming undone only fueled my own desire. I reached for a condom, rolling it on with shaking hands.

"Turn over," I commanded softly, and he complied eagerly, presenting himself to me.

I entered him slowly, giving him time to adjust to the fullness. The tight heat of him was almost too much to bear. When I began to move, setting a rhythm that quickly grew from gentle to urgent, Xander responded with sounds I'd never heard from him before—soft, almost feline purrs of pleasure that drove me wild.

"More," he demanded, pushing back against me. "Harder, Asher."

I gripped his hips tighter, driving into him with abandon. The room filled with the sounds of our pleasure, skin against skin, breathless moans and whispered encouragements. When release finally claimed us both, it was with such intensity that I saw stars, collapsing beside him on the sweat-dampened sheets.

For long minutes, we lay there panting, our bodies still trembling with aftershocks. Xander's eyes were closed, his expression one of complete contentment. I traced lazy patterns on his chest, trying to memorize this moment, knowing it might not last.

"That was..." Xander began, then laughed softly. "I don't even have words."

I smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "There's more where that came from."

He turned to face me, suddenly serious. "Promise me something?"

"Anything," I replied, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

"If my memories come back..." he hesitated, vulnerability flashing across his face. "Don't let me push you away again."

The request pierced straight through my heart. I wanted to promise, wanted to believe I could prevent him from retreating behind those walls once more. But deep down, I knew it wasn't that simple.