Chapter Eleven. Ember
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ember
“What the fuck am I doing here?”
The gorgeous, cavernous room with the huge, elegant sleigh bed, step-down sitting area, large fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows doesn’t reply to me.
Neither do the beautiful French doors or huge armoire that looks like any moment it will invite me to “Be Our Guest.” Not for the first time, I slowly turn, taking in my new surroundings. My new home for the next few years.
Asad’s home.
Huffing out a laugh that sounds abrasive and slightly macabre to my own ears, I cross the room on bare feet to the glass balcony doors.
One hard push on the handles and they give way under my palms. The cool night air immediately wraps around me, it and the chilled stone under my feet causing a shiver to race through me.
But I still don’t return to the guest room until I have to move yet again, four weeks from now.
This time, down the hall to the master suite, to share with my future husband.
Folding my arms on top of the thick railing, I stare at the stunning view of towering trees and the dark.
In the distance, mountains rise to the sky, and I bet they’re absolutely gorgeous at sunrise.
The breathtaking beauty is lost on me though.
Because I’m still confused on how I ended up here weeks ahead of schedule.
And I’m pissed about it. A text. A goddamn text.
He upended my security, my stability with a text.
Didn’t even have enough respect to call and ask me, discuss this with me.
The worst part? Here I am. Right where he wants me.
Shit. I need a fucking blunt, because I swear, I’m about to crash out.
I lean forward, pressing my arms into the railing as if the cool stone can ground me. Can somehow siphon some of the chaotic emotion whirling and screaming inside me.
In the last few days, I’ve had my immediate future changed.
Been blackmailed into marriage. Forced to remain in a company—a fucking “family”—that has barely acknowledged me, and when it did, brought me nothing but pain and sorrow.
It’s taken, taken, taken and given nothing in return.
Yes, I negotiated better terms for myself, but it didn’t change my circumstances.
It didn’t liberate me from soon being Mrs. Asad Prince and chained to this organization when I was so close to freedom, the taste of it had my belly grumbling in hunger.
But even those negotiations apparently don’t mean shit when it comes to the desires of the men in this family. I have four weeks to acclimate myself to this … sentence. Four weeks to retain my sovereignty. Four weeks of limited independence apart from Asad.
On a whim, he stole that, too. Demanded I move into his house, be up under his thumb.
My ol’ bitch of a frenemy, anger, eddies in my chest, and the familiar flush of heat spreads like a virus over my skin, racing up my throat and pouring into my face. My palms and fingertips tingle, and I swallow hard to pop my ears, to clear them of the thick pressure bearing down on them.
Closing my eyes, I deeply inhale, hold it, then exhale. Then I begin my grounding technique, moving through it at a deliberate pace. By the time my eyes open once more, the worst of the warning signs of an imminent explosion have calmed.
“Fuck,” I whisper, pressing my forefinger and thumb to my forehead and massaging it.
I don’t need to be on anyone’s couch to recognize what brought this on.
Fear. Feeling out of control … powerless.
Asad once accused me of being afraid to live with him again.
It amazes me how he can be so damn obtuse in some things, but terrifyingly perceptive in others.
Hell yes, I’m scared of living with him again.
And not just for the reasons I gave him, although they’re very valid.
We don’t have the best track record of living under the same roof.
Not only was he my tormentor but he abetted and aided my main abuser. Still …
Now, there’s an even more lethal one. One that horrifies me more.
’Cause if I’m being one hundred percent down ’n’ dirty truthful, I don’t believe Asad will physically hurt me.
Will he lock me in another closet, chain me to another chair for hours?
No. The threat he presents now is much more hazardous.
He won’t bruise my body but my spirit, my confidence …
my very sense of self is at risk. Asad Prince has the power to strip me bare and leave me shuddering naked in the cold. Vulnerable. Exposed. Unprotected.
And unmitigated fool that I am? I’ll give him the shears to cut away the layers.
“Jesus.”
“Oh, ma, it’s much too late to call on Him.”
I whip around, pounding heart lodged in my throat, pulse crashing under my skin.
The anger and unease churning inside me morphs, sliding into something hotter, fiercer, rawer.
I could almost hate myself that all it takes is the sensual midnight tenor of Asad’s voice.
Only requires the sight of him leaning against the open balcony doorway, arms crossed, gray eyes hooded.
If it wouldn’t betray my weakness—my pussy’s weakness—when it comes to him, I would close my eyes, block him out.
But that would be like me turning my back on a ravenous lion on the hunt.
That would be destruction.
Mine.
And I’ve already compromised too much already. If I’m not careful, I see myself slipping more and more away into the shadow of him. The all-consuming heat of him. And there won’t be anything left of me but ash.
Mimicking him, I cross my arms and tilt my head.
“You’re in the wrong room,” I remind him, voice cold, flat. Revealing nothing of the storm battering me.
“Jesus … God … You already know they’re not listening to you, right, Ember?
” His gaze, glittering like jewels, sweeps over me, heating my skin as if it’s the sun itself kissing it.
I curl my fingers into my palms to keep from trailing the tips over my exposed throat, arms, and upper chest. But short of slapping my hand over his mouth to shut him up, there’s nothing I can do about that sinful voice.
“You know what the difference between you and me?” He pushes off the doorway and stalks across the balcony, approaching me.
My breath catches in my throat as a shiver trips down my spine at the sight of his hooded, molten gaze, the small smirk and that intimidating stride.
“I don’t try to hide what I am. People look at me, and know they got life fucked-up if they try me.
They look in my eyes and see nothing. Not remorse, not regret, not mercy. And I like that shit.”
He draws to a halt in front of me and, without releasing me from his visual entrapment, he lifts a hand and cuffs the front of my throat. It’s not gentle; he’s ensuring I feel him, feel his intent. But his grip isn’t bruising either … yet.
My breath snags in my throat, and I still, waiting for that first punch of fear.
But it must be off somewhere getting drunk off its ass because fear doesn’t make an appearance.
Lust does. Like there’s a shimmering thread that connects his hand to my clit, a dirty, grinding lust twists its way up my stomach to my chest and then winds back down between my legs.
I clench my thighs against the wet, terrible, and delicious ache.
He chuckles, and it’s as mean as his grip on my neck. And my pussy quivers, spilling moisture onto my panties, making a mess.
“No one sees you coming though. No one guesses that underneath your ice-bitch demeanor, ol’-lady suits, and many degrees, there’s a killer as brutal, as depraved and heartless, as me.”
Warmth at his praise sweeps over my skin, sinking lower into tendon and bone. Pride balloons behind my rib cage, and I feel seen.
Except for …
“I don’t wear old-lady suits.”
The cruel slant of his mouth deepens. His hold on my neck tightens.
And my pussy volunteers herself as tribute.
“They’re cover, just like everything else about you is, so no one guesses the real you.
” He lowers his head so his mouth barely brushes against mine in a dick tease.
I taste the bourbon he must’ve drunk either before arriving here or on the way to the guest room.
My head swims, intoxicated by him even as my belly spasms in hunger for a sip.
“You’ve been bad, ma. What have you been up to tonight?
” he damn near purrs. “And before you think to lie to me”—he squeezes my throat—“I’m like God.
I already know the answer to the question I’m asking. ”
He knows.
He knows.
I hike my chin up as far as his hand allows.
“What have I been up to besides moving into your house when we agreed I wouldn’t have to for another month?” I arch an eyebrow and lean my head forward until our lips play patty-cake. “Moving.”
Admit muthafucking nothing.
He slowly dips his head in a mocking nod.
“Is that what we’re doing?” His lips stretch into the first genuine smile I’ve ever witnessed on his face.
And both dread and excitement carve out a bottomless hole in my belly.
And when he opens that beautiful, corrupt mouth over mine, gliding his wicked tongue over my bottom lip before sucking on it so hard my pussy twinges in sympathetic pain, lust and an instantiable, shameful need rushes in.
A whimper escapes me, and before another wave of embarrassment can wash over me, his lewd groan nearly drowns the sound out.
“Good. I was hoping you’d go there. ’Cause I for damn sure didn’t want to go easy on you. ”
He thrusts his tongue between my lips, taking immediate control of my mouth, of this kiss.
It’s wet, nasty, wild. And I adore every teasing suck, every long, luxurious lick.
He just took my virginity twenty-four hours earlier, but already he’s made me crave him.
He’s branded himself on my senses, my skin, my damn bones. Definitely my pussy.