Chapter 15 #3
I pressed my face into the bedding, arching my back and rocking against his touch.
When his fingers curled just right, they found a spot that made my vision blur, pleasure crackling through me like I’d grabbed a live wire.
God, all this time I’d had no idea. If I’d understood what this felt like sooner, I might have thrown myself at him the first day we argued, let my body settle what our words couldn’t.
All those years of fighting, and this—this could have been our resolution all along. One thrust and our rivalry would’ve melted away like ice in summer.
“Just fuck me already,” I said through gritted teeth, my voice rougher than intended.
His fingers kept working that spot inside me with devastating precision. If he kept this up, I’d be finished before we even started, and there was no way I’d give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel so easily.
I flinched as his fingers withdrew, leaving me clenching around nothing but air.
The emptiness felt wrong somehow—urgent.
Minutes ago, I’d never had anything inside me there, and now I ached for it.
Asher wouldn’t coddle me; that wasn’t what either of us wanted.
Maybe I was selfish, channeling his rage into this, but wasn’t I also giving him exactly what he’d fantasized about for years?
Beneath all our venom and verbal sparring matches, a strange trust had formed—unspoken but absolute.
No matter how much we’d torn each other apart with words, I knew with complete certainty he would stop if I asked him to.
He gripped my hips and yanked me to the edge of the bed in one swift motion.
A sound escaped me—high and embarrassing—as my body slid across the blanket.
His hands spanned my waist, thumbs pressing into the dimples above my ass, fingers digging into my hip bones.
My breath caught at how easily he moved me, like I weighed nothing at all.
I felt the blunt head of his cock at my hole, impossibly large. I inhaled sharply, my fingers clutching at the comforter. Three fingers hadn’t prepared me for this—the stretch would burn, would split me open. Yet I arched back, silently begging for exactly that.
He pushed inside without a word, the pressure building until my body finally gave way. I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste copper, refusing to make a sound. If I stayed quiet, this could just be what it was supposed to be—a performance, a job, two coworkers fulfilling a contract.
My fingers dug into the soft material beneath me as he inched deeper, the burning stretch sending lightning up my spine.
Behind the sharp edge of pain bloomed something warmer, darker, something I couldn’t afford to name.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, remembering what I’d read online about relaxing, about bearing down against the intrusion.
The slick glide of lube eased his path as my body surrendered, accepting him inch by inch while my mind scrambled to maintain the walls around my heart.
I buried my face into the comforter, teeth clenching the fabric as a groan vibrated through my throat.
Behind me, Asher’s breath hitched, a whispered “fuck” escaping between his lips.
My fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles whitening as I fought the urge to rock backward.
Every muscle in my body tensed with the effort to remain still, to betray nothing.
I bit down harder on the comforter, tasting detergent and sweat, while my thighs trembled with the effort of holding back.
One move, one word from either of us would shatter this fragile standoff—this silent agreement that whoever broke first, whoever begged, lost everything.
But Asher saw through my silence. He withdrew—the emptiness lasting just long enough for me to inhale—before driving back in with enough force to jolt me forward on the mattress.
Each thrust came faster than the last, skin slapping against skin in a rhythm that echoed off the walls.
The bed frame creaked beneath us, protesting as he claimed me with a ferocity that sent tremors through the entire mattress.
Asher’s palm pressed into my upper back, forcing my chest lower while his other hand yanked my hips higher.
The new angle sent him crashing against something that made white spots dance across my vision.
My spine arched involuntarily, fingers clawing at the comforter as a sound I didn’t recognize tore from my throat.
The mattress shifted beneath us with each impact, my knees sliding wider apart.
“Oh, fuck—” The words dissolved into a broken gasp as my resolve crumbled.
My eyes stung with unexpected tears, body surrendering completely while his ragged breathing above me hitched into something desperate and raw.
“You’re doing so good, Beckett. Taking me so well. Do you like my thick cock breaking you open?” He asked.
My mouth fell open, but only broken sounds escaped as he hit something deep inside that made my vision blur.
I could feel myself on the verge of an orgasm already, my balls drawn tight and a tingling at the base of my spine. A pressure built low in my abdomen, coiling tighter with each thrust, my neglected cock leaking against my stomach without a single touch.
“Tell me you’re a slut for me,” Asher demanded, his voice low.
“I’m a slut for you,” I answered instantly. I didn’t have to think about it. It was true.
The feeling of fullness, of connection—it rewired something fundamental in me.
I wondered if Theo felt this same revelation when Asher was with him, this same sense of being unmade and rebuilt.
Theo, who had somehow become my anchor when everything else in my life—my family, my future—had proven so unstable.
“You’re my slut.” Thrust. My hole to use whenever I want.” Thrust. That’s all you are.” Thrust.
His words should have stung, should have cut deep—but instead they sent electricity crackling down my spine.
Each degrading syllable only made me harder, made me want more.
Something about being simultaneously worshiped and destroyed by that voice awakened something primal I hadn’t known lived inside me.
I couldn’t help wondering if he spoke differently to Theo in these moments.
The brief glimpse I’d caught of them together haunted me now, making me curious to witness more.
With Theo, I imagined Asher’s commands melting into reverence, that same mouth forming words of devotion rather than dominance.
“I—I didn’t know it could feel so fucking good,” I mumbled, hoping he couldn’t hear me, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “H—harder,” I demanded.
Asher granted my demand, releasing my back only to seize the nape of my neck, forcing my cheek against the mattress as he drove into me with renewed intensity. Each thrust pushed me deeper into the bedding, the friction against my neglected cock unbearable.
Profanities spilled from my lips, each one louder than the last as the pressure built inside me.
“I can’t—I’m almost—” My words dissolved into incoherence. “Fuck, Asher, right there.”
His voice dropped to a growl. “Show me how good it feels. Cover these sheets in your cum like a good boy.”
In one fluid motion, he yanked my hair back, arching my spine until my shoulders met his sweat-slicked chest. His ragged breath scorched my ear, punctuated by deep, guttural sounds that vibrated through both our bodies.
I nodded frantically. “Y-yes, please—”
“What makes you think you’ve earned it?” His voice dropped lower, rougher.
The shift was immediate—his rhythm turned brutal, each thrust driving me further up the mattress.
His fingers found my throat, applying just enough pressure to make my pulse hammer against his palm.
“Look what’s happening to the arrogant, smug son of a criminal now,” he growled against my ear.
“Coming undone for the poor, broke guy who fucking hates him.”
I gasped. “Please don’t stop,” I begged and pleaded.
The rest dissolved into incoherent pleas as heat coiled at the base of my spine, my toes curling against nothing. I could feel it building, unstoppable now.
Behind his cruel words, I sensed his pain. Whatever had happened, he’d decided I was to blame. Yet beneath that anger was something else—something that made me certain he didn’t fully believe what he was saying. This was exactly what I’d asked for: his rage channeled into me, through me.
“I’ve waited for this,” he growled against my ear. “When anyone else touches you, you’ll remember this—remember me—the nobody you looked down on.”
His teeth sank into my shoulder without warning. The sharp pain tipped me over, and I cried out as pleasure crashed through me in blinding waves. My vision whited out, my body convulsing as an intensity I’d never known before claimed me completely.
“Whose making you cum right now?” Asher demanded as my strength gave out completely, his strong hands the only thing keeping me from collapsing while my body continued to violently clench around his cock, as if it were trying to keep him inside me forever.
“Asher,” I said, my voice breathy and almost unrecognizable from how hoarse my throat had become from screaming and moaning.
“That’s right. Me. Because you’re mine. Only I can bring out this pleasure in you.”
The aftershocks of pleasure still rippled through me when Asher’s palm pressed between my shoulder blades, guiding me down into the evidence of what he’d done to me—what I’d let him do.
I should have been repulsed, but something in me craved the way he reduced me to nothing but need and surrender.
“My turn to use you for my pleasure.” Without time to adjust, Asher’s hips snapped forward in a relentless rhythm that sent lightning up my spine with each thrust. My vision blurred at the edges, mouth falling open in a silent scream as he hit that spot over and over until it became almost unbearable.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my body clenching around him involuntarily as I gripped the sheets so hard my knuckles turned white.
His voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “Do you want me to fill you with my cum, or do you want me to paint you in it?”
My mind raced between the two possibilities, each with its own appeal. We were filming this, after all, and certain shots sold better than others. But beyond the practical considerations was a deeper need I barely understood—to be claimed, to bear visible evidence of what we’d done.
“On me,” I managed between breaths. “I want everyone to see what you’ve done to me. Please, Asher—mark me as yours.”
Something in my words pushed him over the edge. His rhythm faltered, grew desperate, then he withdrew completely. I propped myself up and twisted to face him, mesmerized by the sight of his fist working furiously over himself, his jaw slack with approaching release.
He spread me open, his gaze fixed on what he’d done to me. “God. Look at your pretty, ruined hole,” he breathed, his voice breaking as he finished, his warm cum suddenly marking me exactly how I had asked, landing on said ruined hole.
Never had I felt so stripped bare, so utterly seen—yet somehow, watching him come undone because of me filled me with a strange new strength. We’d created this current between us, this circuit of vulnerability transformed into power and back again.
I let myself fall forward onto the mattress, a small gasp escaping when he slid free of my body. Every muscle ached, every inch of skin felt tender and alive—delicious evidence of what we’d just done.
Asher collapsed beside me, his body landing on its back while I remained face down. Our heavy breathing filled the silence between us.
Words seemed impossible now. What could either of us possibly say?
My body hummed with satisfaction, but something hollow spread through my chest—a strange emptiness replacing the high I’d just experienced.
I remembered reading about sub drop on some forum—that vulnerable feeling after intense sex when reality comes crashing back.
Part of me craved reassurance, gentle words, maybe even just a hand on my back, but my pride kept me silent.
He was the experienced one. If I needed something more, surely he would know.
“Well…we’re going to have to heavily edit the talking in that,” Asher mentioned, clearing his throat.
I turned my head to face him, and he turned on his side, facing me.
“I…I’m sorry for the things I said. I don’t feel that way about you anymore, truthfully.
I was pissed earlier when I found evidence in your room that you profited from your dad’s theft, remembering what he did to families, but I’m trying to remind myself that you didn’t know. ” Asher sighed.
His eyes softened with that unmistakable look of regret— the one people get when they realize they’ve been too rough with something fragile.
I wanted to scream at him. It wasn’t the way he’d used my body that made my throat tighten with rage—it was how easily he’d slipped back into seeing me as nothing but my father’s son.
The bank notice had been sitting on my dresser like a confession. Yes, my accounts were tainted. But he knew—he fucking knew—I’d been in the dark about where that money came from.
Every dollar I had now came from sweat and humiliation in front of that camera. Mine. Earned.
Between him and Theo, I was becoming someone new, someone better. Yet in his eyes, I remained that entitled brat who deserved to lose everything. And lose it I had—my entire life vanished like a magic trick gone wrong.
The cushion of wealth, the family name, the sprawling house with its manicured gardens…
all of it, gone. As if it had never existed in the first place.
The memory of it all clung to me like a phantom limb, simultaneously reminding me what comfort felt like and how easily money had corrupted everyone I’d trusted.
“That sounded…intense,” Theo’s voice cut through the air. Asher and I bolted upright, sheets clutched to our bodies, neither of us having noticed him slip into the room.