The second climax hits harder, my scream muffled against the cushion as I collapse into it.
He doesn’t relent, pushing me through a third as he whispers in my ear, “That’s my filthy girl, soaking for me, we're gonna keep doing this until you can’t stand."The vibrations continue,dragging me under again until I’m a convulsing heap, liquid heat dripping down my thighs, utterly spent.
Only then does the vibrator finally stop. I pant, dazed, as Asher’s hands roam my trembling body, gentle now, almost reverent. He eases the plug slightly, playing with it, tugging just enough to make me moan, a raspy sound that barely resembles my voice. “I'm going to fuck you now, Sugar,” he murmurs, his tone rough with hunger. "Scream my name when you come again.”
I feel him position himself, the heat of his arousal pressing against my entrance, and then he thrusts in, deep and hard, the fullness of the plug amplifying every stroke. I moan, loud and unrestrained, as he sets a punishing rhythm, one hand toying with the plug, pulling and pushing in sync with his thrusts. “Asher!” I scream, the pressure building impossibly fast, my body a live wire.
“That’s it, Sugar, come on my cock. Let me feel you,” he growls, and I do, shattering around him with a cry, my walls clenching tight. Moments later, he pulls out, and the sound of the condom being ripped off echoes in the room before I feel the hot spurt of his release across my back, a final mark of possession as he groans, low and guttural.
We stay like that for a few minutes, my body slumped and boneless, his hands steadying me as the aftershocks ripple and make me twitch and whimper. The blindfold still darkens my world, but I feel his presence, intense and grounding, as he begins to untie the silk rope from my wrists and removes the blindfold. Then he pulls the plug from my ass slowly and discards it somewhere.
Asher's arms slide beneath me, lifting me effortlessly from the cushioned chair. My legs dangle, useless and trembling, as he carries me through the suite. I feel the shift in temperaturewhen we enter the bathroom, the tile cool beneath my feet when he sets me down briefly.
"Stay still," he murmurs, his hands steadying me at the waist.
Warm water runs somewhere behind me, the sound echoing off marble. His touch returns, a soft cloth gliding across my back in careful strokes. The sticky evidence of his release disappears with each pass, his movements methodical yet tender. Something shifts in my chest at the way his fingers trace my spine like I'm something precious rather than something used.
The water shuts off. Steam rises, warming my skin. After, he carries me to a massive soaking tub filled with hot water and a lavender fragrance. He steps in first, then guides me between his legs, settling me back against his chest. Arms circling my waist, he anchors me as I sink into the heat.
My body feels disconnected, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. My thoughts drift, untethered, as his fingers draw lazy patterns along my ribs.
"Breathe, Sugar," he says against my temple, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "Just breathe."
I try, pulling air into my lungs in shallow gasps that gradually deepen. His heartbeat thuds steadily against my back, a rhythm my own begins to match. Minutes pass, I can't tell how many. The water laps over my skin soothingly as feeling gradually returns to my limbs.
"How do you feel?" His question rumbles through his chest.
"I don't know," I whisper, hoarse and small. Overwhelmed. Claimed. Terrified. Safe. The contradictions tangle in my throat, impossible to voice.
His grip tightens fractionally. "That's okay. You don't have to know yet."
I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. His fingers trace the pearls still circling my neck, apossessive touch that sends a shiver through me despite the bath's heat.
Something fundamental has changed between us, something I can't name or take back.
And I'm not sure I want to.
36
ASHER
Memorial Day weekend has been the opening of the Hamptons house for the summer every since I was a kid, and this year is no different. Except that I've officially met all of my father's criteria for succession, and this should be a soft launch for me to take over the company, considering my mother has invited the entire board.
The next meeting is in September, and I expect my father will be ready to announce by then.
But he hasn't said a word about it.
I need to bring it up with him subtly. Feel him out. Understand what he's thinking without appearing desperate.
Wallace navigates the Mercedes through the wrought-iron gates, down the quarter-mile private driveway lined with manicured hedges. The Hamptons house sprawls ahead, all shingled elegance and whitewashed stone.
Grace sits beside me, fingers worrying the hem of her linen dress. She's been quiet the whole drive, staring out the window at the passing estates.
I reach over, squeezing her thigh until her fidgeting calms and I feel her body relax. She's wearing her pearl collar, andthe sight of it always seems to make my dick twitch. I've never collared a sub before. I never had the desire to own someone for more than just a few nights. But seeing Grace wearing it does something to me. It’s more than Domming to get off; she’s given me so much of herself, trusted me, and it’s affecting me more than I anticipated.
"What's going on?" I ask, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple, a gesture that I know calms her anxious mind.
She sighs. "I don’t think your family likes me very much."
