I pull back to glare at him, but it just makes him smile. "You're disgusting," I snap.
He shrugs like the insult doesn't bother him at all. "I'll take that as a yes."
We make it through two dances, and then he drags me back to the table. My seat is between him and a retired senator who keeps trying to peek down my dress, only to grin at me when I catch him. When he notices Asher's dark glower on him, he gulps audibly, quickly finding somewhere else to look.
Asher doesn't eat. He watches me toy with my salad, his fingers drumming on the white linen in time with my heartbeat.
Halfway through the first speech, I feel his hand on my thigh.
I slap it away without looking at him.
A minute later, it's back, higher this time.
What game is he playing here?
I cross my legs, trapping his fingers, but he just squeezes. I try to keep my breathing even and focus on the speaker's words. But it's impossible to concentrate when he's playing this game, the pads of his fingers stroking the inside of my knee.
The senator clears his throat. "Beautiful event, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." I smile sweetly. "I always love a good cause."
Asher's hand inches higher, skimming the hem of my dress.
I elbow him hard, but he doesn't even flinch. He doesn't remove his hand, either. He just keeps it resting on my thigh, just beneath the hem of my dress.
A second speech and another glass of champagne pass in a blur, his hand unmoving.
I'm just beginning to think I'm safe, and that he won't take it any further, when I feel his fingers slide under the fabric of my dress, no longer satisfied with my thigh. He finds the damp heat between my legs and presses, just once.
My fork clatters onto my plate.
A few heads turn. I smile, mortified, and pick it up with a shaking hand. I'm going to stab him with it, right in the throat where his heart beats so he bleeds out right here at the damn table. Except…I don't.
And he keeps his hand there, rubbing circles against my clit until the room blurs. He's silent, drinking his whiskey, acting as if nothing is happening.
I'm spiraling, inching closer to an orgasm by the second.
I push his hand away, desperate to halt that feeling in its tracks. He lets it fall, but a minute later, it's back, more insistent than before. He slides a finger into me, slow and steady.
My jaw clenches. I can't move, can't breathe. It feels good, better than it should, given the fact that I'm seated next to a retired senator with two hundred other people in the room.
"You're soaked," Asher says under his breath, his lips not even moving.
My cheeks burn with humiliation.
"Stop," I whisper, but there's no force behind it. I want him to stop, I do. But I want him to keep going even more. My whole body aches for him to push me over the edge right here and now. After wearing his plug for the last few hours, I need it.
He pumps his finger in and out, rhythmic and deep, and I have to dig my nails into my thigh to keep from crying out. My entire body is strung taut, ready to snap.
When the senator asks me a question about Liam, I barely hear him. Asher answers for me, his voice calm, while he continues fucking me with his fingers beneath the table.
I come close—so, so close—to losing it when he withdraws his hand and licks his finger clean.
When he slips it between my legs again, I bolt from my chair, muttering something about the restroom as everyone turns to look at me. I walk as fast as I can in heels, ignoring the way my knees tremble.
The powder room is empty, mercifully.
I lean over the sink, gripping the porcelain, trying to steady my breath. I feel like I'm going to fly apart or shatter into tiny pieces. I'm not even sure it'd be a release. Maybe an eruption.
