As if fighting the urge to resist and losing, Ashton’s eyes lift to take me in before his face turns away to look at the corner of the room. “Jesus Christ, Irish,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his hands squeezing the edge of the mattress, trying to restrain himself. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

Reaching back to unhook my bra, I let that fall to the ground in answer. Those stupid garters follow immediately. Soon, I’ve pulled every last piece of the ridiculous costume off and Ashton’s still not looking at me. In fact, his eyes are closed.

I swallow as I reach out to run my fingertip over the bird on his arm, intentionally avoiding the scar. I lean down to place a gentle kiss on it. “Tell me what this means.” It’s not a question. I’m not giving him a choice.

There’s a long pause where he says nothing. “Freedom.”

I let my finger skate up to the one on his shoulder. I demand again. “And this? Tell me what it means.”

A little louder. “Freedom.”

I place a kiss on it in response.

I reach down to pull his towel loose and throw both ends away. I quietly climb on to straddle his lap. Ashton hasn’t touched me yet, but his eyes are now open and taking in my body with a strange expression that I can’t read. It’s almost like shock or awe, as if he can’t believe this is actually happening.

I place my hand over the symbol on his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath. “Freedom?”

His eyes lift to meet mine immediately, his voice more steady, more defiant than before. “Yes.”

I don’t let that distract me, though, as my hand skates around to where I know the script with my name is. I don’t need to ask him what it means because I now know beyond a doubt. He’s already told me in so many ways.

He says it without my prompting. “Freedom.”

I don’t have all the pieces to fix this beautiful, trapped, broken man, but I do have one piece and it’s mine to give. For one night, for all nights. For however long he wants it.

Me. Completely.

I know what I have to do next. I don’t know how he’ll react. Whether this is a good idea or not, I have to do it. Holding his gaze, trying to tell him that it will all be okay with my eyes, I reach for his wrist, for the belt strap, for the snaps that affix it. A flash of panic skitters across his face and his neck muscles cord. It’s a moment when I think maybe this is a bad idea. But I grit my teeth against it, using all the anger I have over his father and what he’s done to him, what he’s still doing to him and, inadvertently, to me, and I rip that damn belt strap off and whip it across the room. “I’m giving you your freedom tonight, Ashton. So fucking take it.”

I don’t regret a second of it.

Not as he flips me onto my back.

Not as he pushes into my body without hesitation.

Not as I cry out with that moment of pain.

And certainly not as he claims his freedom.

And gives me a part of mine.

In the darkness, with the dull sounds of a party dying in the background, Ashton opens the vault just far enough that a memory slips out, unprompted. “She used to sing this song in Spanish.” His fingers swirl over my back as I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, still in awe of him and me and us together. It was . . . incredible. It feels right in a way that nothing else has ever felt right. “I can’t remember the words, and to this day I don’t know what it meant. I just remember the tune.” My cheek vibrates under the low melodic rumble as he begins to hum.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, rolling my face forward to kiss that perfect chest.

“Yeah,” he whispers in agreement. His hand slows. “When he put the duct tape over my mouth, I couldn’t do anything but hum. So I’d hum for hours. It helped.”

For hours.

“That’s my favorite memory of my mother.”

Lifting to my elbows to take in his face, I see the tears trickling down from the corners of his eyes. I so badly want to ask him what happened to her, but I can’t bring myself to do it right now. All I want to do is kiss away his tears.

And help him forget.

We’ve found that if we ignore the knocking, it goes away after a few minutes. It’s worked three times already. Now, as I lie in a twisted heap of flesh and soft white sheets with Ashton at noon, sore in ways I’ve never been sore before, I’m hoping that it will work for a fourth time. Because I don’t want to leave these four walls. Within these four walls, he and I have cast away all of our fears, our commitments, our lies. Within these four walls, we both have found our freedom.

“How are you feeling?” Ashton whispers in my ear. “How sore are you?”

“A little bit,” I lie.

“Don’t lie, Irish. It won’t be favorable to you.” As if to prove his point, he presses his erection against my back.

I giggle. “Okay, maybe a bit too sore for that.”

He sits up and yanks the covers off me completely. Adjusting my legs, he takes his time staring blatantly at my body, the heat in his eyes intensifying by the second. “I want to memorize every square inch of you and have the image branded in my brain and burning hot twenty-four-seven.”

“Wouldn’t that be distracting?” I tease, but I don’t shy away from his scrutiny. I think my body is starting to crave it. It’s certainly not as shy around him now, after twelve hours straight of naked Ashton.

Running his large hands up and down the sides of my thighs, he murmurs, “That’s the idea, Irish.”

“Even my feet?” With a playful giggle, I lift my leg to flick his chin with my toe.

He grabs my foot. With a sly smile, he grips it tight and runs his tongue along the bottom. I clamp my hands over my mouth to keep from howling with laughter as I struggle to break free, but there’s no point. He’s too strong.

Thankfully he stops that torture, crawling back over to lie on his side next to me, his hand brushing strands of hair off of my face as I let my finger run over the spot where I know my name permanently sits on his body.

“Tell me why you call me Irish.”

“Sure but, first things first.” His eyebrow arches pointedly.

“God you’re stubborn!” I release a heavy sigh. Given that I’m lying naked with the man, I figure I’ll humor him to get the truth. Pursing my lips to keep the grin from showing, I mutter, “Fine. I may want you.”

“May?” He grins at me. “You walked up and practically ripped my toga off as you pulled me down, shouting, ‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’”

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth as the words trigger the memory of Ashton’s shocked expression at that very moment, and the ensuing kiss he laid on my lips. My first real kiss. “Ohmigod, you’re not lying.” My cheeks flame, which only makes Ashton start chuckling.

“And then you just turned around and stormed off to dance.” A twinkle skitters through his eyes. “I was going to leave you alone, but after you did that . . .” His thumb rubs my bottom lip affectionately. “No way in hell was this mouth touching anyone else.”

I run my fingertip along his defined collarbone as I accept that I started all of this. My unleashed beast somehow knew exactly what she wanted from the very start, long before I could come to terms with it.

Taking my fingertips within his, he kisses each of them, his gaze burning with intensity as it settles on my face. “You do know why I dug through Coach’s dusty-ass attic for a week straight, right?”

My heart swells with the mention of that. Of what this sweet guy did for me. I’m not sure exactly why he did it, other than to make me happy. But I know what it meant for me. It helped me see the one thing that I know I want, buried amongst a pile of uncertainties.

“Because you’re madly in love with me?” I repeat what he said to me that day in class with a teasing wink to let him know that I’m just joking around.