Chapter three

Asher's Pov

The cafeteria coffee scalded my tongue, but I barely noticed. My mind was still upstairs in that hospital room, replaying the kiss over and over. That wasn't the Xander I knew. The man who had just kissed me with such passion bore no resemblance to my boyfriend of the past year.

I stopped walking, nearly colliding with a doctor rushing past. Was it wrong to enjoy this version of him? The Xander who looked at me with wonder instead of that practiced indifference? The one who asked if we were happy instead of assuming everything was fine?

The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside, clutching my coffee cup like a lifeline. My reflection stared back at me from the mirrored wall—disheveled hair, dark circles under my eyes, lips still slightly swollen from that kiss. I looked exactly like what I was: a man completely thrown off balance.

For a year, I'd been settling for crumbs of affection from a man who treated our relationship like an afterthought. Now, suddenly, those walls had come crashing down. And God help me, I liked it. I liked this version of Xander—unguarded, emotionally available, looking at me like I was something precious.

"But he isn't real," I whispered to my reflection. This Xander was temporary, a product of trauma and amnesia. Sooner or later, his memories would return, and with them, all his defenses.

The elevator dinged, jolting me back to reality. I stepped out, walking slowly down the sterile hallway. What if his memories never came back? The thought made my stomach twist with guilt. How could I wish for that? How could I hope that the man I claimed to love never regained his true self?

"Because his true self is miserable," a small voice whispered in my head. "And so are you."

I paused outside his door, taking a deep breath. Whatever happened next, I needed to be careful. Xander was vulnerable right now. The last thing I wanted was to take advantage of that vulnerability.

When I pushed open the door, Xander was sitting up in bed, examining his hands as if they belonged to someone else. The nurse was gone. He looked up when I entered, and the smile that broke across his face made my heart stutter.

"You came back," he said, relief evident in his voice.

"Of course I did." I set my coffee down on the bedside table and eased back into the plastic chair. "I just needed a minute."

Xander nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. "The nurse said I'll be discharged tomorrow if all goes well."

"That's great." I tried to ignore how the hospital gown slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin I rarely got to touch. "Your mom's getting the penthouse ready. She's hired a nurse to help with your recovery."

"I have a penthouse?" Xander asked, eyebrows raised.

"You have three." I couldn't help but smile at his surprised expression. "But you mainly use the one in Manhattan. It's close to the Falls Magazine headquarters."

"Tell me more about that," he said, leaning forward. "About the magazine. About us working together."

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through photos. "Here's the building. Your family has owned it for generations." I showed him pictures of the sleek glass skyscraper that housed Falls Magazine. "And here's some of your work."

Xander's eyes widened as I scrolled through his photoshoots. "That's me?"

"That's you. Top model for the magazine, face of multiple luxury brands." I showed him more photos, watching his face as he tried to reconcile the images with his current reality. "You're very good at what you do."

"And you're the editor?" he asked, taking the phone to study the pictures more closely.

"Chief editor, yes. I oversee all the content that goes into each issue." I paused, debating how much to tell him. "That's actually how we met. I was assigned to your photoshoot when the regular editor called in sick."

Xander looked up, eyes bright with interest. "And?"

"And you were insufferable," I said honestly. "Demanding, cold, critical of everyone. But brilliant. The way you moved in front of the camera, the way you transformed... I'd never seen anything like it."

"So you fell for my charm," he said with a smirk that was so familiar it made my chest ache.

"No," I replied. "I fell for the moments when you forgot to be charming. When you were just... real."

His smile faded, replaced by something more serious. He handed the phone back to me, our fingers brushing in the exchange. That simple touch sent electricity up my arm.

"Like now?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," I whispered. "Like now."

The tension between us was palpable, a living thing that filled the small hospital room. I swallowed hard, trying to remember all the reasons why I shouldn't lean forward, why I shouldn't kiss him again.

"What if the nurse comes in?" I asked, even as I found myself moving closer.

Xander's eyes darkened. "To hell with that."

He reached out, grabbing my shirt and pulling me toward him. Our lips crashed together with none of the hesitation of our earlier kiss. This was hunger, pure and simple. His tongue pushed past my lips, exploring my mouth with a desperation that matched my own.

I gripped his shoulder, feeling the warm skin beneath the thin hospital gown. His hand found my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he held me in place. Every thought of caution evaporated in the heat of his mouth against mine.

When he pulled back slightly, his breath coming in quick gasps, I could see the flush spreading across his cheeks. "Touch me," he whispered. "Please."

My hand moved before my brain could form a coherent thought, sliding beneath the blanket to find him already hard. The sound he made when my fingers wrapped around him nearly undid me. I stroked him gently at first, watching his face as pleasure washed over it.

"Is this okay?" I asked, voice rough with desire.

"More than okay," he breathed, eyes fluttering closed. "Don't stop."

I glanced toward the door, making sure it was closed. The logical part of my brain screamed that this was a terrible idea, but logic had no place here, not with Xander arching into my touch, not with those soft moans escaping his lips.

I pulled away from the kiss, ignoring his sound of protest. "I want to taste you," I murmured against his ear, feeling him shiver in response.

I moved carefully, shifting the blanket aside as I lowered my head. The first touch of my tongue against him drew a sharp intake of breath. I licked slowly along his length, savoring the salt of his skin, the way his thighs trembled beneath my hands.

When I reached the sensitive spot just below the head, I circled my tongue around it deliberately. Xander's entire body convulsed, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle a cry.

"Oh God," he gasped. "Asher..."

Encouraged by his response, I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I moved up and down. Xander's moans grew louder, competing with the wet sounds of my mouth around him. His hand found my hair again, not pushing, just holding on as if he needed an anchor in the storm of sensation.

I lost myself in the rhythm, in the taste of him, in the sounds he was making. This wasn't the Xander who barely tolerated my touch. This was a man completely undone by pleasure, all defenses stripped away.