The Get-Go [Ashton Irwin]

21: Get An Answer (Part C)

    A cool, wet washcloth is pressed to my forehead when I recover. It's still dark outside, but the light on the table in my hotel room is turned on, giving the room - and the concerned man hovering over me - a warm glow.

    As soon as my eyes are opened, his lips are on my forehead, and I'm being embraced way too tightly for comfort. "Ash! Choking, not breathing!"

    "Sorry, baby," he smiles. His hold on me loosens, though only slightly, and he kisses my forehead again. "I'm just happy you're okay."

    "What happened?"

    "You tell me," he chuckles, ruffling a hand through his hair. "One minute, we're having sex, and you're moaning and pulling my hair and telling me you're coming, and the next, you're passed out under me, basically dead to the world."

    "Oh." Now I remember.

    "Oh?" My boyfriend - fiancé, now, holy shit - raises an eyebrow and laughs again.

    "I passed out."

    "I figured that."

    I roll my eyes at his smart-alecky attitude, musing silently about what the hell I've gotten myself into by agreeing to marry this man-child. It feels dumb to be lying down, so I sit up and rest my back against the headboard. My automatic reflex is to grab the sheet to wrap around myself, even though he technically saw me naked not that long ago. "Shut up. I'm just like… I'm trying to put this together. My head's kind of numb right now."

    "Is it because I'm just that good?" He's giggling again, still using a hand to dab the washcloth on my forehead. I know he's kidding, but I can still almost see his ego inflating with each giggle.

    "As if!" I snicker, deflating that ego like the loving girlfriend I am. "Maybe it's because I'm just that good at pretending you're that good. It takes a lot of effort, babe."

    Ashton's face is a mask of faux shock, but there's laughter in his eyes. He ducks down to nip at one of the (I assume) many marks he left along my collarbone, eliciting a quiet whimper from me. "'Ohh, Ashton!'" He whines, in a very bad impersonation of my voice and accent. "'Oh my god, that feels sooo good!'"

    He practically falls over with laughter, especially when I half-heartedly slap at his bare chest. "I love you, baby, and you're a great little actress, but you're not that great. You were just as into it as I was."

    "Shut up," I blush, shoving Ashton's chest again. He catches my hands and pulls me into his chest, wrapping his free arm around my bare back to hold me as close as possible.

    Neither of us says anything for a while; my head rests on his chest and listens to his steady heartbeat, coupled with the whooshing noise of his breaths, and he just holds onto me like it's the last chance he'll ever have to do so. Occasionally, he kisses the top of my head, or rubs his thumb on my bare skin, but he never makes a move to let go.

    I like it a lot. Yes, having sex with Ashton was amazing and great and all the nice things people say about having sex. But this feels almost better, more intimate, in a way. Maybe it's the nature of our relationship – the long-distance part, anyways – but I've always liked being near Ash, feeling him closeby; the warm breath on the shell of my ear as he mumbles something funny, his rough, calloused hand squeezing mine way too tightly when he gets excited. I've never told him that, mostly because I don't understand it. As I've said, I'm not an overall touchy-feely person. But right here, right now, there's nothing I'd rather feel than Ashton's touch.