I clamp my lips shut, determined not to make another sound.
Asher smirks against my skin. “Still fighting it?”
I grit my teeth, but the only thing I manage is a sharp inhale as he circles my clit, slow and unhurried, spreading the wetness pooling there.
“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick with amusement. “So fucking wet.”
His fingers slide down, pressing one inside me, stretching me with a slow, and agonizing push. Then another. My head falls back against his shoulder, my fingers curling against the wall as he strokes deep, curling just right, and brushing against the spot that makes my entire body tighten.
I suck in a breath, fighting to stay in control, but Asher sees right through me.
“You want more,” he hisses, his fingers working me open, his thumb rolling slow, and lazy circles over my clit. “You need more.”
I shake my head, still clinging to my last thread of defiance.
He laughs, dark and amused. “Liar.”
Deep, controlled strokes that push me closer and closer to the edge. His thumb presses harder, rubbing my clit in perfect rhythm, and each movement winds me tighter.
I break.
A choked whimper spills from my lips as I rock my hips forward, chasing the pleasure, while the fight drains from me entirely.
Asher hums his approval. “That’s better.”
My back arches. My fingers dig into the wall. Everything blurs except the heat, the pressure and the way he seems to understand exactly how to unravel me without breaking a single sweat.
“Asher,” I gasp, my nails scraping against the wall.
“Let go,” he commands, his voice all heat, all dominance. “Come for me.”
And I do.
Pleasure crashes through me, shattering and violent, and my body tightens around his fingers, while my moan breaking on his name.
Asher doesn’t stop. He strokes me through it, his touch gentling only when I’m spent, and trembling against him.
Then, just as easily as he takes control, he lets go.
He steps back, adjusting his sleeves like he didn’t just wreck me in the dark.
I sag against the wall, trying to find air, balance, or dignity—something. He walks another step away with the smug ease of a man who knows exactly what he’s done.
He leans in one last time, his voice a warm drag along my ear.
“Until next time, Kitten.”
And I’m left in the dark, panting, trembling, while my body still thrums with the memory of his hands.
Chapter 11
The Devil is Watching. And He’s Amused.
Asher
The penthouse is finally quiet, but the silence doesn’t settle the way it should. It hangs heavy, dense, threaded with the ghost of bodies, sweat, and spilled champagne—and the faintest memory of her still clinging to my fingers. Nights like this are supposed to leave me satisfied, smug even. Victorious.
But not tonight.
