And all these years later, he's still suffering in ways that I'm only just beginning to realize. He doesn't stay and wait for me to wake up because he doesn't think he deserves to stay. He thinks he's only allowed softness from me when he steals it in the dead of night.
Eventually, we have to deal with the past, right? We have to allow ourselves to heal from it before it destroys us both. We have to forgive.
I stalk into the office at five minutes after seven, determined to do precisely that.
Asher is already at his desk, glowering at something on his screen.
"I want to change the terms of our agreement," I announce, dropping my bag on my desk.
"Too bad," he grunts without even looking at me. "You already sold yourself to me."
I plant my hands on my hips, refusing to let him piss me off enough to forget what I'm after here. "If you're going to fuck me in the middle of the night, at least have the balls to stay until morning."
That gets his attention. His head shoots up, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You want me to sleep over?" He says it like I've just suggested we get matching tattoos.
I don't flinch. "Yeah. I want you to stop sneaking in and out."
He stares at me for a long moment, his gaze raking over my face, searching for the joke, the trap, or the hidden razor. I'm not sure which he expects to find, but there isn't one. Not this time. "Why?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The truth bounces around my skull, too loud to ignore.
Because I want you.
Because I hate that I broke you.
Because it feels less like dying when you're there.
Because I like the way you curl around me like I'm the last good thing you'll ever have.
I'm not nearly ready to admit any of that to him, though. Just like he isn't ready to hear any of it. Instead, I shrug. "Because if you're going to fuck me while I'm asleep, you should at least stick around for breakfast. Or coffee. Or something."
He doesn't speak. The silence is absolute.
Then, slowly, he pushes away from the desk, stands, and walks toward me. Every step is deliberate, as if he's stalking prey, but the look in his eyes is anything but cruel. It's worse. It's wounded.
He stops with his body crowding mine, his hands braced on either side of my head against the wall. "You think this is a relationship?" His voice is pure venom, but he's shaking a little. "You want to pretend this is real, princess? That you didn't sell yourself to me for five million?"
I laugh, but nothing about this is funny, not even a little. "No. I want you to stop treating me like something you're ashamed of after you fuck me at three a.m. I signed up to be your whore, not to be some dirty little secret who wakes up not knowing if you were there or if some other psycho broke in while I was asleep. That's all."
His jaw tics, his body radiating tension. For a second, I think he's going to yell at me or break something. Instead, he bends me over my desk, dragging my skirt up past my ass before I can even spit out a protest.
"Here's how this works, princess," he hisses, his breath hot against my neck. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want, whenever I want. And you'll stop pretending you hate it. We both know you stay this fucking wet because you love the way I use you."
He yanks my panties down and plunges his fingers inside me, working them with ruthless efficiency. I gasp, caught between outrage and pure, overwhelming need. He kneels behind me, pinning my hips in place, and swipes his tongue over the tight ring of my asshole.
I nearly bite through my lip to keep from screaming. The angle, the invasion, the tenderness he almost—almost—shows just before forcing his tongue inside, is enough to send me over instantly.
I come so hard my vision goes black, my forehead pressed to the desk, my body on fire.
He doesn't stop. He licks my ass until I'm sobbing and begging for mercy, too wrung out to withstand another orgasm. Only then does he stand, tugging my panties off completely before tucking them into his jacket pocket with a slow, deliberate smile.
"No more panties," he tells me. "I want you open and ready for me at all times." The order is so matter-of-fact it barely registers as filth.
I scowl at him, but that only makes him grin wider. He tucks a hair behind my ear, so gently I whimper.
"If you want me in your bed, fine. I'll stay with you. But don't think it changes anything. You're still my toy to use however the fuck I want."
I glare, refusing to let him see how deep his words cut or how much the promise in them matters. "No, I'm not," I whisper, myvoice shaking. "You're just too afraid to admit what I really am to you."
