And right now, I feel small. Like I'm playing a role I was never qualified for, and no matter how much I love it, it's still going to be ripped from my fingertips.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.
Adingin the penthouse, accompanied by the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, precedes footsteps echoing across the floors as Asher comes into the living room.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself. I’ve lost track of time, and I’m not waiting at the door like I’ve agreed to.
He pauses in the doorway, loosening his tie with one hand while his eyes sweep over me.
Shrugging off his suit jacket, he drapes it over the chair before coming closer, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my forehead.
"How was your day, Sugar?" he asks, settling next to me on the couch. He’s ignoring the fact that I didn’t follow his orders, but I know he hasn’t forgotten.
"Okay." I force a smile.
Asher doesn't buy it. He studies me for a moment. "How many words?"
When I don't answer, he reaches for me, his thumb tracing my collarbone, right over the pearls. "Grace," he says sternly.
Heat crawls up my neck. We've had this routine for weeks. I write two thousand words by the time he gets home, and then we have amazing sex as my "reward." I've never not hit my writing goal since we've started.
"I wrote some..." I lie, the words tasting like ash.
He tilts my chin up, gray eyes locking onto mine. "How many?"
My throat tightens. "Two hundred."
His jaw tics. "Grace."
"I know." I pull away, staring at my closed computer as if it's at fault. "It was a bad day."
“And why weren’t you waiting in the foyer?” he asks.
My head drops. “It was a bad day,” I repeat.
“Mm. I’ll give you a choice. Would you like your punishment before or after dinner?”
I swallow as dread twists in my gut, mixing with that low hum of anticipation. I've been waiting for the first time he'd punish me, but up until now, he's never had a reason to.
"It's just one day…" I groan out.
I'd be lying if I said there wasn't something stirring inside me. A part of me that's curious about what an Asher punishment would feel like. And right now, I could use the distraction that being out of my head brings.
“Now,” I answer breathily.
For the first time in our relationship, Asher brings me upstairs to his room. Sex between us has happened everywhere in this penthouse but this room. I take in the dark fabrics, the large king-sized bed, the lack of personal details as Asher begins pulling my clothing from my body.
“On your knees,” he orders, and I drop down.
There's something completely freeing about being naked and on my knees. If you would’ve told me a year ago that I’d feel this way, I would’ve laughed in your face.
But now, my mind slows, my breathing even as Asher ties soft silk around my wrists, binding them in place behind my back.
There's a juxtaposition in how gentle he is when restraining me and how harsh he is when he uses me. It's also in the way he stands before me, still fully clothed while I kneel completely naked. But I think he knows that it only serves to make me needier for him. If he dipped a finger between my thighs, he'd find me dripping.
But he also knows that. Asher knows how to work my body without even touching me. With his words, his movements, everything he does has a reason, and right now, his reason is to bring me immense pleasure in the most degrading way.
He trails his finger over my collarbone, up to the strand of pearls that's locked around my throat. The collar that signifies I belong to him, even more than the ring that’s on my finger.
