33: A Jealous Hunger

Asher’s POV

The soccer field, now empty of players, was bathed in the warm, honeyed glow of the late afternoon sun, a deceptive calm that did nothing to soothe the raging storm inside me. Julian, having finished his drills early, was standing near the sidelines, his arm casually draped around Cecilia's waist, his hand possessively resting on the curve of her hip. Just that simple touch sent a white-hot spike of jealousy lancing through me.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my gaze immediately finding Cecilia amidst the small group. She was laughing at something Julian had said, her head tilted back, the sunlight turning the golden strands of her hair into a halo around her face. I imagined those strands tangled in my fingers, the silk of her skin beneath my touch, the taste of her sweet breath on my lips. A possessive ache clenched in my gut, a primal urge to drag her away from him and bury myself deep inside her until she was gasping my name.

I forced myself to focus on putting my water bottle in my bag, the plastic digging into my clenched fist, trying to appear casual as I approached, though every muscle in my body was screaming to pull her away from him. As I drew closer, Julian's casual possessiveness, the way his hand rested so familiarly on her body, was a visceral violation, a stark reminder of what I could only steal in secret. My jaw hardened, the muscles along my temples throbbing, and a primal urge to physically separate them, to tear Julian’s hand from her body, surged within me.

"Hey, man," Julian said easily, giving me a friendly nod, his arm still a solid band around Cecilia's waist. He didn't loosen his grip, didn't even seem to register the barely concealed tension radiating off me. "Good practice today. You were really hammering those shots in at the end."

"Yeah, needed the extra work," I replied, my gaze flicking involuntarily to Julian's hand resting so possessively on Cecilia's hip. His thumb was rubbing gently against the side of her jeans, a casual intimacy that felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Cecilia offered a small, polite smile in my direction, her eyes flicking to mine and then away again a little too quickly. I tried to read her expression, searching for any sign of discomfort, any flicker of the raw desire I knew she was capable of. She seemed to be trying to appear comfortable, leaning slightly into Julian's side, but there was a subtle stiffness in her posture, a slight tension in her shoulders that didn't quite ring true. It was almost imperceptible, but to my hyper-aware gaze, fueled by jealousy and a desperate longing, it was a beacon.

"Isla was just telling us about that ridiculous squirrel that ran onto the field," Julian chuckled, tightening his hold on Cecilia almost imperceptibly as he turned back to Isla.

"It was huge!" Isla exclaimed, laughing, oblivious to the silent war raging within me. "It practically stole the ball!"

I forced a weak smile, my focus entirely on Julian's arm. It looked so natural there, so right in their world, a world where I was the outsider, the interloper stealing glances and forbidden touches in the shadows. But I knew the truth. I knew the frantic gasps that escaped her lips when my hands roamed her body, the desperate way she clung to me when I plunged deep inside her. That casual embrace felt like a cruel mockery of the raw, untamed passion we shared in secret.

"Yeah, crazy stuff happens out here," I managed, my voice tight, my eyes flicking to Cecilia again. She offered another small smile, but her gaze didn't quite meet mine this time. Was she feeling it too? This unbearable tension, this silent acknowledgment of the fire that burned between us, a fire that Julian's casual touch could never ignite? I desperately wanted to reach out, to brush my hand against hers, to whisper a silent message across the small space separating us. But Julian's possessive hold was a physical barrier, a constant, agonizing reminder of the life I desperately wished was mine, a life where her hand would be intertwined with mine, where her body would yield only to my touch. The casual affection he displayed felt like a brand seared onto my soul, a burning reminder of my betrayal and my unfulfilled, aching desires.

"So," Julian said, his arm still firmly around Cecilia, pulling her a fraction closer, "Cecilia and I are actually heading to the movies tonight. That new sci-fi flick we were talking about."

A fresh wave of jealousy, hot and corrosive, surged through me. The image of them sitting in the dark theater, Julian's hand creeping from her waist to her thigh, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck, sent a primal rage clawing at my insides. A dark theater, the perfect breeding ground for his clumsy advances, for touches that didn't know the exquisite sensitivity of her skin, for kisses that wouldn't taste the sweet desperation I knew so well. My fists clenched inside my bag, the leather creaking under the strain.

"Oh, that sounds fun," Isla said brightly, oblivious to the turmoil churning within me.

"Yeah, should be," Cecilia replied, her voice a little too casual, her eyes flicking to mine again, a fleeting, almost apologetic glance that only fueled my torment. Was she dreading it too? The thought of Julian's hands on her, the violation of his touch on the body that had yielded so completely to mine, made my stomach churn.

"Alright, well, we should probably get going," Julian said, giving Cecilia a squeeze. "Wouldn't want to miss the start." His hand lingered on her hip for a torturous extra second before finally dropping away as they began to move.

My gaze locked with Cecilia's, a silent, desperate plea in my eyes. Don't go. Don't let him touch you. Remember what we share. But she offered only a small, tight smile before turning away, her blonde hair swaying as she walked beside him, his presence a suffocating shadow beside her. My feet felt rooted to the spot, my body paralyzed by the agonizing reality that she wasn't truly mine to command, to protect openly from his unwanted touch. I was a ghost in their world, a silent observer of the slow, agonizing erosion of my stolen paradise.

Isla, who had been observing my rigid posture and the barely concealed fury in my eyes, her usual cheerful demeanor completely gone, her gaze sharp and assessing, finally broke the strained silence. “Ash…” she began, her voice low and pointed, cutting through the final pleasantries as Julian and Cecilia walked away. The unspoken question hung heavy between us, a palpable threat to the fragile secret Cecilia and I shared, to our stolen moments of raw, desperate passion. “What’s going on between you and Cecilia?” The question hung in the air, thick with suspicion, the potential for exposure a cold dread coiling in my stomach, a dread that mingled with the burning image of Julian's hand on Cecilia's body in the darkness of the movie theater.