Asher's smile doesn't waver. "And now, you'll never forget it."
Miles shakes his head and stalks out, slamming the door behind him.
Asher doesn't move for a long time. He just stands there, breathing hard, his cock still out, his fist still knotted in my hair.
The office is silent, but there's a vacuum in the air, the kind left behind when someone drops a bomb in the middle of a building, even though the walls are still standing.
I'm not sure if I want to scream, cry, or kill him. Instead, I glare up at him, my heart hammering like a war drum against my ribcage. I'll be surprised if half the city doesn't know what happened before tomorrow. No one will ever take me seriously then. In their eyes, I'll always be the girl who sucked Asher's cock in front of Miles Andrews just because he demanded it. They'll all know just how much I enjoy this fucked up, twisted game between us.
Dammit.
"He was right. You are a fucking psycho."
The words barely make it past my lips before Asher detonates.
One swipe of his arm, and every single thing on his desk is airborne. Papers, the pen cup, his fucking laptop—it all crashes to the floor. The violence of it stuns me, rooting me in place.
He's on me before I can even blink.
He wraps his hand around my throat, his grip like iron, and hauls me to my feet, shoving me up against the bank of windows. The city stretches out behind us, endless and cold, but the glass is warm where my body slams into it.
He doesn't say a word at first, just breathes me in, his forehead pressed to mine. The possessive rumble in his chest is so loud, I feel it vibrating through his skin.
When he finally speaks, it's a growl. "You. Are. Mine."
The way he says it pisses me off, so I do the only thing I know how to do. I push him further over the edge.
"Fuck you," I spit, clawing at his arm. "I'd rather belong to an actual fucking demon."
He yanks my legs open, pressing his body between them, his cock pressing against my thigh. He tears at my blouse, buttons flying, rips my bra down to expose my tits, and then bites my collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. His other hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back so I can't look away from him.
"You belong to me," he says, his voice soft and deadly.
I slap his face hard enough to sting, but he just laughs, the sound so dark it's nearly a growl.
"Go on. Hit me again," he dares.
I do, so hard the sound echoes off the glass.
He grabs both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head, and then tears my skirt up to my hips. His fingers slip inside me, rough and unforgiving.
I gasp because I'm already wet, so fucking wet from the chaos, the humiliation, and his sick, twisted ownership.
"God, you're wet for this," he says, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit until I see stars. "You fucking loved sucking my cock in front of him, didn't you?"
I try to glare, but it's useless. I can't even breathe.
"No," I manage to gasp.
"Liar." He leans in, licking a line from my jaw to my mouth. He bites my lower lip, then kisses me so hard that my teeth clack together.
I bite him back, drawing blood, but he just moans, his cock jerking against my thigh.
"That's my girl," he snarls, and then he's dragging me to the desk, slamming me down onto the cleared surface.
He's inside me in a single, brutal thrust, stretching me wide, filling me to the point of pain. The angle is obscene—my ass hanging off the desk, my heels digging into his ribs, one of his hands around my throat.
He pounds into me, hard enough to make the desk rattle. I claw at his arms, his chest, his face, anything I can reach. I bitehis shoulder, leaving a mark. When that doesn't slow him, I rake my nails down his neck, drawing blood.
