I try to spit a denial at him, but it collapses into a whimper when he scissors his fingers inside me, twisting viciously.
I come before I even realize it's happening. Pleasure rips through every nerve ending as I claw at the wall, desperate to anchor myself to something real.
He doesn't let up until I'm whimpering and shaking, and then he slips his hands free and steps back just long enough to undo his belt and drop his pants. His cock is hard, the head slick with precum.
He forces me down onto the bed, stomach-first, my ass in the air. My cheek is against the comforter, my hands clenched around it like it might root me to reality. He climbs on behind me, grabbing my hips and pulling me back until I can feel the blunt head of his cock at my entrance.
"I'm not using a condom, princess. Not ever. Deal with it." He slides in, slow at first, then brutally fast. The pain lights up every nerve, but the pleasure rides right behind it, turning everything hot and exquisite.
He fucks me like he means it. Like he can't stop. Every thrust is a punishment, every slap of his hips a reminder that I'll never be free of him.
He grabs my hair and yanks my head back. "Look at me while I ruin you," he says.
I turn my head, meeting his eyes. They're wild, not cold at all. For a second, I see the man I used to know before the accident—the one who sometimes smiled at me like I mattered when he thought no one was looking.
"There she is," he murmurs, driving into me with a force that makes my vision swim. "That's my girl. That's the pretty, filthy slut I've been waiting for."
His hands are everywhere—palming my hips, sliding up my ribs, fisting in my hair to force my head back so I can see his face. There's nothing soft about the way he takes me, but the words he breathes into my ear are molten, dangerous tenderness.
"Look at you," he pants, fucking me in a way that borders on reverence. "You're perfect. I knew you'd feel like heaven." His hand slips closes on my throat, the pressure just enough to make my vision swim. "Fuck, Brielle, you make me insane. Nothing has ever—" He grits his teeth, thrusting deeper, my entire body jolting from the force. "Nothing will ever make me lose control like you do."
His rough voice whispering worship while he fucks me raw is a mindfuck.
"God, you're so beautiful. Every inch. I want to bury myself in you and never come up for air."
I want to tell him to shut up, because every time he calls me beautiful or admits the depth of his obsession, it unravelssomething I've spent years trying to sew back together. But I can't speak. I can't even breathe except in desperate half-sobs.
His free hand slides down the curve of my back and then between my cheeks, the pads of his fingers slick from the mess he's already made of my body. He circles my asshole, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.
I tense, my breath catching in my throat, but he just leans in and licks the sweat from my spine.
Then he pushes two fingers inside again, past the point of resistance until I'm split open and gasping. The stretch burns, a savage reminder that I'm his now, inside and out.
I bury my face in the sheets, mortified by the helpless, wild sounds tearing out of me.
Even then, Asher's voice is low and reverent, branding me with his kind of worship. "Fuck, you look perfect when you're stretched wide and so fucking full of me like this." He pounds into me, his fingers scissoring in my other hole, twisting and stretching until I'm delirious with the sensation.
I come hard and sudden, my body clenching around him. Wave after wave rushes through me, leaving me gasping his name.
He groans and slams into me, fucking me through it. His fingers never let up, fucking my ass until I'm coming again, sobbing his name into the pillow.
When he's close, he pulls me up with the hand still around my throat, so my back is to his chest. He fucks me like that, one hand choking me, the other still lodged in my ass.
He comes with a savage shout, filling me until he leaks out.
For long moments after he's done, he stays inside, breathing hard, his grip on my neck never fully softening. I don't want him to move. I want to keep him right here, trembling against me. Wrecked in my arms.
When he finally pulls out, he bites my shoulder hard enough to bruise.
"You don't get to wash me off of you unless I say so, princess." He licks the mark he's left. "You'll sleep covered in me like a good girl."
"Go fuck yourself, Asher," I retort, but there's no heat in it.
He laughs, rolling off me and flopping onto his back. I instantly miss his heat. "Why? That's what I have you for."
I roll over and punch him in the chest, but he just grabs my wrist and kisses the inside of it, his lips soft.
"You're an asshole," I say, hating the tremble in my voice.
