The door slams open to Asher filling it, all dark and predatory, his hazel eyes glittering with something I don't want to name. He doesn't say a word as he stalks toward me. He just grabs my hips and bends me over the counter, the cold marble biting into my skin.
"Asher." I'm not sure what I'm going to say. He doesn't give me a chance to find out before he's flipping my dress up and shoving his hand between my legs.
This time, he's rough and wild. Two fingers slam inside me, hard and fast, his thumb on my clit. He presses against the plug with the other, grinding it into me.
I bite my arm to keep from screaming in pleasure.
My body isn't my own. It's a fevered, traitorous machine, clutching at his fingers, grinding back on his hand even as my mind scrabbles for a shred of dignity.
But I have none. With him, I don't think I ever did.
I shatter into pieces.
His palm clamps down over my mouth before I can even whimper.
"Look at you," he rasps, his fingers so deep I swear I can feel him in my throat. "This bratty little pussy comes the second I get you alone."
I squeeze around him, hating how the next wave rips through me, so brutal my knees threaten to buckle.
He laughs, a low, dangerous sound, and then curls his fingers, finding that spot that has me biting his hand to keep from screaming. "Say it," he growls, his breath hot on my neck. "Tell me that this pussy and asshole are mine, princess."
"Fuck you," I hiss against his palm, but I'm already gone again, heat detonating through my body so hard my legs buckle.
He keeps going, not stopping until I'm shaking and boneless.
When he's satisfied that I'm properly ruined, he withdraws his fingers, then presses a slow, almost gentle kiss to my temple. I think he might show a little mercy and remove the plug. Instead, he licks his hand clean and then walks out, leaving the door swinging in his wake.
I stare at myself in the mirror, my cheeks flushed, my hair wild, with mascara smudged in black shadows under my eyes. I don't recognize the woman looking back at me.
"What the fuck?" I whisper, but the girl in the glass doesn't have an answer.
By the time I stumble back into the ballroom, I'm numb from the inside out. I don't speak to anyone. I barely hear the speeches, the auction, or the music. I sit there, legs crossed, napkin bunched in my lap, while Asher talks business with a hedge fund manager to his left and ignores me like it's his job.
He doesn't touch me again, not even a finger on my knee. I'm not sure if it's a punishment or a reward, but I'm crawling out of my skin within minutes.
When the gala is finally over, he stands and waits for me to rise, the way a warden would escort a prisoner. He doesn't say a word as we leave the ballroom and cross the marble lobby. The same photographers from earlier are there, snapping us in quick, disorienting bursts as we stride through the revolving doors.
Asher's hand hovers at my back, never quite making contact, but somehow still making it clear that I belong to him. He doesn't answer a single question they shout at us. I don't either.
What am I supposed to say?No, we aren't dating, but he is paying me five million to fuck him?God. They'd probably love that.
The limo is silent, the city a blur. I expect him to order me to his penthouse or to say something cruel, but he just stares out the window, ignoring me. My heart pounds harder with every block we pass, like it's working too hard to keep me alive in his presence.
When the car stops outside my building, he finally looks at me. His eyes are bottomless, glinting with all the things he refuses to say, all the things that keep me tied to him tighter than his fucking leash around my throat.
That's always the problem, isn't it? He looks at me like that, and no matter how much I want to hate him, no matter how much Ishouldhate him…I can't.
"You're sleeping with the plug in tonight," he says, blinking his infuriating mask back into place. "You can take it out in the morning. Be at my office at seven a.m. on Monday." His tone is bored, as if he's assigning a time slot to new talent. "And bring the plug with you."
"That's it?" I ask, my voice raw. I hate myself for how disappointed I sound. I hate myself even more for wanting a damn thing from him.
"That's it," he says, not even bothering to look at me as I open the door and step onto the curb.
I stand there, shivering, waiting for him to call me back. To finish what he started.
"Sweet dreams, princess," he says instead, right before the limo drives off. And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel like he won. I just feel like I lost.
I'm not sure I even want to know why that bothers me. But I'm more certain than ever that Asher Blackstock is going to ruin my life.
