Before her arm drops, I catch her wrist. She tries to pull away, but my grip is iron. I walk her backwards until her back hits the wall, my cheek stinging from the force of her slap. My dick throbs in time.
"You asshole!" She's breathing fast, her eyes wide and wild.
I'm well aware that I'm a fucking asshole for wanting the things I do, but I want them anyway. Maybe once I own her the same way she's always owned me, she'll stop looking so goddamn tempting. Maybe then, I'll finally be able to exorcise her from my mind.
Somehow, I doubt it'll work that way. I could have her for a lifetime and still want more. But that's my cross to bear, not hers. She's a weakness I can't afford, and the longer this goes on, the more dangerous this becomes for her. So I'm solving the problem here and now.
Thirty days under my control, and then I'll let her walk away. She'll let me do whatever the fuck I want, take her and break her however I want. And then she'll be free of me—free to marry some little fuckboy who will never understand her. One who won't come close to worshiping her the way she deserves. But he'll be a safe option for her, one better for her than I'll ever be.
I'll learn to live with it, even if it kills me.
"Hit me again," I say, my lips planted against her ear. "I dare you."
She wrenches her arm to accept my challenge, but I pin it above her head. Her other hand claws at my tie, trying to shove me away. I grab that wrist too, so she's flat against the wall, my body caging hers in.
"You want to know the real reason I blackballed you, Brielle?"
She's shaking, but not with fear. That's the thing about her. Not a goddamn thing about me scares her, even though it should. If she were smart, she'd be terrified of the way I want her and the things I want to do to her. Instead, she looks at me like she's just daring me to do my worst, like she wants the pain and the pleasure and the goddamn destruction we'll leave in our wake.
"Yes," she says.
"Because you love trying to drive me insane," I say, pressing my hips into hers so she feels exactly what she does to me. "And I can't have you out there, dragging my associates under your spell, pretending you aren't just trying to piss me off every time you flirt with one of them."
Her eyes flick down, then back up. Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip. "You're delusional if you think I give a shit about you at all," she whispers, but it's a lie, and we both know it. She's never truly wanted a single one of the men she flirts with. She does it only to piss me off and get my attentionbecause she knows—goddamn her, she knows—that I'll never allow anyone else to touch her if I can help it.
"You almost cost me everything," I say. "You remember that?"
She blanches, but I see the flicker in her eyes, like she's remembering the screaming metal and her hands slippery with her own blood. That night is a bleeding wound that never healed for either of us.
It torments me in the dark of night and in the silent moments of the day. I've tried drinking it away. I've tried pretending it never happened. I've fucking tried everything, but I can't ever forget the way she went limp in my arms the moment she stopped breathing.
I can't forgive myself for it, either.
"You were driving," she says.
"And you kissed me," I reply, refusing to let her forget that she wanted me once. Just like I'll never forget the moment of terror when I saw the garbage truck barreling through the intersection, and realized it was already too late to stop what was about to happen.
She tries to look away, but I don't let her. I press my thumb under her chin, forcing her to look up. "That's what you do, Brielle. You distract me like it's a fucking game to you."
She spits in my face.
It's desperate, childish, and so fucking her that I almost laugh. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, then lean in, my lips just shy of her ear. "You're going to break before I do," I whisper. "You always do."
She's trembling now, her body pressed flush to mine, her breath hot against my throat. "Let me go," she grits out.
"Say please," I tell her.
"Go to hell."
I smile. "Been there, princess. Even built a summer home."
Her leg snakes up, aiming for my balls, but I shift my weight and catch her thigh between mine. I dig my fingers in, just enough to leave marks.
"Try that again," I warn, "and the whole fucking building will hear you screaming my name."
They won't. My office is soundproof. But she doesn't know that.
She glares, but her pupils are dilated, her eyes glossy. Even now, she wants me. She's never been able to hide that truth from me. "You're sick, Asher. An absolute fucking psycho."
