He kissed me.
I slapped him.
He liked it.
And now?Now, I’m curled against him, our skin still sticky with sweat, and his heavy arm draped over my waist like he has any right to keep me here. Like we didn’t just fight, break apart, then come back together in the most primal, devastating way possible.
Neither of us moves.
I should. I should be the first to leave. I should push his arm off, stand up, and pretend this was just sex—dirty, delicious, and bruising sex. But my body betrays me, sinking deeper into his warmth. My fingers twitch against his chest, as if they have the right to trace the defined lines there, to claim a little more of him while I can.
He lets out a slow breath. “You’re thinking too much.”
I scoff, shifting again and wincing when the soreness flares up. “My ass hurts.”
His chest shakes with a low chuckle. “Yeah, I bet it does.”
I slap his arm, but it’s weak. “Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”
“Oh, but I am, Kitten.” His fingers press into my hip possessively before he finally moves, sitting up and stretching like he didn’t just rearrange my insides.
I watch him, heart pounding as the intimacy of the moment threatens to crash down on me. He doesn’t look at me right away, just rakes a hand through his hair and exhales. Then his gaze drops to mine, unreadable, and assessing.
And then, like nothing happened, he stands. “I should get to work. I’ll be home all day, handling meetings. Expect people coming and going. Just… don’t stir up trouble, alright?”
That surprises me but also feels right on point for Asher. “What, no post-sex cuddling? No breakfast in bed?”
He smirks. “I don’t cuddle.”
I roll my eyes and push myself up, hissing as another dull ache shoots through me. “Right, of course not. That would require a heart.”
Asher leans over, brushing his knuckles along my jaw before gripping it, forcing me to look at him. His voice drops. “This isn’t a fairytale, Kitten.
My stomach flips violently. Because he’s right. He’s my captor, my tormentor, and the man who has locked me away for weeks. And now, for the first time, he’s working from home.Why? What changed?
Is it because I told him I was lonely last night? Was it because of the sex?
No.No, that’s ridiculous. He’s not here to make me feel better. He’s here because he wants to be, because it suits him, and because he likes to keep me guessing.
I force a scoff, shaking off the ridiculous yearning curling in my chest. “Lucky me.”
His grip tightens for a second before he tugs me forward, capturing my lips in a kiss that steals my breath. It’s rough, possessive, and over too fast, leaving me dizzy. Then, just as suddenly, he lets go and steps back. “You're stuck with me, Kitten.”
I make a face at him. "Oh no, how will I ever recover from missing out on spreadsheets and hostile takeovers?"
He gives me a knowing look before disappearing into his office. The second the door clicks shut, I sag back onto the couch, rubbing my face.
This man is going to kill me. And I think I’d thank him for it.
An hour later, I hear the ding of the private elevator. Asher told me people would be coming for meetings, so I expect stiff suits, briefcases, the scent of cologne, and old money. Instead, the doors slide open, and a man steps out who looks like he could kill someone with his bare hands.
I recognize him. He was at one of Cami’s parties. I just can't quite place him.
Tall, and broad-shouldered, his presence is a weapon in itself. There’s no slicked-back hair or tailored three-piece suit—just raw, unfiltered danger. His expression is unreadable, his movements controlled but predatory, and my skin prickles as every survival instinct I have flares to life. This is not a businessman. This is something else entirely.
He walks past me without hesitation. He knows where he’s going. My skin prickles as I shrink against the wall, heart pounding so hard I’m afraid he’ll hear it.
One firm knock. The sound reverberates through the quiet penthouse.
