I straddle him, the dress bunched around my hips, and reach down to free his cock. It's already hard, burning hot against my palm.
He pushes my thong aside, dragging me down onto him in one rough thrust. I gasp as he stretches and fills me all at once.
He doesn't give me time to adjust. He clamps one hand around my hip and moves me how he wants, up and down, grinding me against him until I'm shaking. His other hand slips between my cheeks, his fingers clutching at the flared base of the plug.
His eyes lock with mine as he slowly pulls it out like he's going to remove it. Except, right when it's about to pop out, he pushes it back inside, fucking me with it.
I throw my head back, moaning at the dual sensations.
"You fucking love this, don't you?"
"Yes," I whimper, unable to deny it.
The car jerks over a pothole, and I nearly bite through my tongue as it forces him and the plug deeper. He fucks me with it for several moments, his other hand sliding up to my throat.
"Say it," he growls, pounding up into me. "Say you're mine."
I shake my head, but it's useless. My body is already betraying me, my pussy clenching around him while I claw at his shoulders.
He squeezes my throat, just enough to make the world narrow to a single point of fire, and pushes the plug in again, grinding it against my asshole.
"Say it," he repeats.
"I'm yours," I say, my voice a desperate whisper against his shoulder.
He groans, slamming into me harder. I feel my orgasm building, wild and perfect, both pain and pleasure.
His hand slides from my neck to my jaw, forcing my face up to meet his eyes. "I want to watch you come," he says.
I shatter around him within seconds, my whole body shaking. I fight to keep my eyes on his, refusing to look away. He keeps fucking me through it, every stroke relentless.
When he comes, he pulls me down onto him, biting my lip until I taste blood. I shiver, licking it from my lips, loving the metallic tang and the way it makes me feel so alive. Or maybe it's his cum sliding down the inside of my thigh that makes me feel alive.
Even after his cock finishes pulsing inside me, he holds me down on him, his hands still locked around my hips.
"There isn't a single man alive who could survive you," he breathes against my neck.
"You're doing a pretty good job so far," I murmur, slumping forward against his chest.
He laughs, pressing a kiss to my hair. For once, I feel like maybe he's actually happy. Maybe I am, too.
When the car stops, he doesn't let me fix my dress. He makes me walk through the lobby with his cum dripping down my thigh, wearing nothing but his jacket slung around my shoulders, heels, and a ruined thong.
The doorman's eyes go wide, but Asher just nods at him. "Good evening," he says politely.
I want to die from embarrassment, but I love it. God help me, I do. If people could see me now, they wouldn't think I was my mom, destined to follow in her doomed footsteps. They'd see me—fucked up, complicated, disastrous me.
Asher drags me into the elevator, pins me against the glass, and fucks me again before we even reach the penthouse.
This time, he doesn't make me say anything. But I feel the truth echoing in my soul anyway.
I'm his. In every fucking way possible, I'm his.
Chapter Twelve
Brielle
He drives me to work Monday morning, completely silent. I try to engage him in conversation, but all I get in return are grunts and monosyllables. Eventually, I give up and just stare out the window, not entirely sure what his mood is about, but he is definitely in a mood.
