“Yours, Daddy. Only yours.” The words were almost a whimper because I felt so horrible being the object of his obsession like this. He deserved so much better.
He rewarded me with a slow roll of his hips that made me whimper. “Good girls get fucked exactly how they need. Bad girls get teased until they cry. Which one are you tonight?”
“Good,” I gasped. “I’ll be so good for you.”
He smiled at me seductively and kept pumping slowly. “Then hold on to me and don’t let go.”
He pulled out almost all the way and drove back in, hard, growling approval and sped up, one hand sliding under me to tilt me exactly where he wanted. “That’s my perfect girl. So obedient when Daddy’s cock is deep inside her.”
His praise made every cell inside me ignite. My whole body lit up for him.
“I’m so close, please?—”
“Not yet.” He slowed to a torturous grind, circling his hips so the head of his cock dragged over that spot again and again. “You’ll wait until Daddy’s ready to feel you squeeze him. Understand?”
“Yes, Daddy,” I sobbed, nails digging into his shoulders, fighting not to fall over the edge.
He watched my face like he was memorizing every desperate expression. When my thighs started shaking uncontrollably, he finally leaned down and bit my earlobe.
“Now, baby. Come all over my cock. Show me who you belong to.”
I shattered instantly, groaning as my pussy clamped down in hard, milking pulses. He snarled, and held himself there, pumping inside me while he praised me in that rough, broken voice.
“That’s it… take every drop from Daddy… such a good girl…” I felt his dick pulsing, filling the condom as his body twitched and jolted. It brought tears to my eyes, and not in a good way either.
Asher was an incredible man whose life had put him through hell. And he was fighting back from the brink.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked, wiping tears from my face. There was that compassionate attentive side I loved so much, and how could I tell him I was crying out of guilt?
"I'm so proud of you," I managed, which wasn't a lie either.
But those tears were all mine.
My guilt and shame and the self-pity I felt because I was stuck between what I wanted and what I owed Clayton Locke with noway out except through, and Asher was destined to be collateral damage no matter what.
11
ASHER
My hands shook as I climbed out of the car, leaving the driver behind to fend for himself. He had instructions to pick me up right here in front of this church when the meeting was over but that was about all I could manage.
I was sicker than a dog, shaking and pale. My chest hurt and my head felt like a warzone on multiple fronts, but I forced myself out of my house to this meeting to meet Robert because he insisted I needed the support, especially in these early days. After the way I'd been feeling the past twenty-four hours since Veda left my home—refusing to sleep over like I requested—I believed him.
At this point, I'd have drunk just to stop the shakes from killing me, but I knew that wasn't the answer. So here I was, five minutes late to a meeting that I didn't want to attend at the behest of a man who should be seeing me as strong and capable, not the broken degenerate I knew myself to be.
Robert sat in the back row again, right where I was seated at the last meeting, and he looked up when I walked in. He smiled,patting the seat next to him and I felt several sets of eyes turn to stare at me. For now no one knew who I was because at the last meeting I’d refused to speak. I didn't know if that was normal or not, but I also didn't know how comfortable I felt giving my real name and talking to these people.
Asher Locke wasn't supposed to be in a basement of a church confessing his sins and addictions. I was the son of a wealthy businessman who handed everything over in an inheritance. Yet, I'd squandered the past few years of my life and everything my father worked hard to build because losing the one thing that mattered most to me hurt so bad I couldn't even talk about it.
My head hung as I listened to the guys open up. This meeting was all men, no ladies in the group tonight, so they were a little more honest, about the fact that their alcoholism drove them to other addictions like gambling and porn. I learned that overlapping addictions like that were common in most addicts because when it came down to it, addiction wasn't a weakness problem it was a knowledge problem—knowing how to handle negative emotions and life circumstances often eliminated the need to hide in substance abuse.
One by one they took turns talking until it was my turn. The entire room went quiet as they waited, and rather than waving it off again, this time I sat a little straighter and with Robert there for moral support I opened up.
"Hello," I grunted quietly. "My name is Asher, and I'm an alcoholic." The words felt painful leaving my chest, but they were necessary. "I'm… uh… I think seventy-two hours sober and I’m miserable. This is hard."
"Hi, Asher," came the group's reply, and a few chuckles erupted too.
"We’ve all been there," one man said gently, and they got quiet again, giving me space to talk.
