Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
ANABELLE
The next morning, I wake up with a fuzzy feeling in my head that’s accompanied by a headache. Last night, I forced myself to drink my weight in water after my brother dropped me off at the gates of Midnight Manor. Otherwise, my head would likely be pounding, and I wouldn’t be able to leave my bed.
The last thing I want to do is go for a run, which is exactly why I force myself out of bed and into my sports bra and leggings. The vision of my mother spending days in bed, staring aimlessly at nothing haunts my mind. I refuse to let my grief turn me into her.
Though we’re well into spring and approaching summer, a dense fog covers the property when I step outside. The sun is likely just beginning to crest over the horizon, but it’s not visible yet. It should burn off most of this mist once it makes its appearance though.
Thankfully, Marcel went to bat for me with Mr. Voss after I complained to him about not having my phone to listen to my audiobooks when I run.
He agreed, but first removed the SIM card and forbade Marcel to tell me the wifi password so I’m limited to what I already have downloaded. At least it’s something though.
I put my AirPods in my ears and hit Play on the mafia romance audiobook I’m listening to, then I slide my phone into the side pocket of my leggings. After a few stretches, I start on the path.
No one is out. It’s too early on a Sunday morning for anyone to be hanging around the grounds or working yet, and I have to shove away the feeling of trepidation when I set off.
Being unable to see any farther ahead than about ten feet because of the fog is weird, but if I stay on the path, I should be fine.
As long as I don’t get lost. I still don’t have the layout of this place cemented in my mind, and without being able to see any points of reference in the distance, I could quickly lose track of where I am.
I start at an easy jog to warm up and get my body back into the idea of running.
Once my limbs are limber, and I’m in my groove, I pick up my pace until I’m running, sweat dripping from my hairline down my neck.
My lungs burn, but the punishment to my body feels good.
It keeps all the horrible thoughts from my mind until I’m only focused on the here and now.
My legs burn, and I realize that I don’t even know where I am anymore, but I also don’t care. I just keep running as if to outrun the demons themselves.
A figure appears in the mist ahead of me.
I try to slow down to a stop before I hit them, but I can’t.
I plow into the body with a grunt and almost fall back until two hands grip my upper arms. I blink and realize I’m staring into the deep blue eyes of Asher Voss.
Tired eyes. Eyes that look as if they’ve seen things no man ever should.
Neither of us says a word until I sputter out, “I… sorry, I was going so fast…”
He’s still holding onto me, staring at me impassively. Gone is his usual aggression and predatory ways. Right now, he reminds me of a defeated man. I don’t know what to do with that, nor do I know why I care at all.
“I’m okay now, you can let me go.” I nod in the direction of where one of his giant paw-like hands is wrapped around my arm.
He blinks, seeming to come out of a haze, and his hands drop. “What are you doing here?” His voice is a little gruff, but nowhere near his usual ornery tone.
It dawns on me that I can hear him because one of my AirPods has fallen out of my ear. “Going for a run. What does it look like?”
It’s then that his gaze skirts over my body, which is clad in tight black exercise wear. His gaze feels like a caress even though I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to be.
When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Why are you out here so early?”
He’s dressed in black dress pants and a white shirt, no tie, with the top few buttons undone.
The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and rather than his clothing looking perfectly pressed, it’s rumpled.
Even his hair isn’t in its usually coiffed style.
Some of it has curled over his forehead.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been in this outfit all night and never went to bed.
When I arrived back at the manor last night, nothing seemed to be amiss, and there was no sign of anything untoward going on. In fact, there was no sign of the people who had funneled through town up to the manor, besides their empty vehicles. Maybe that was the sign that something was amiss.
Asher doesn’t say anything, just pushes his hands in his pockets and turns so I’m looking at his profile. He heaves out a sigh, and his shoulders drop, giving him a world-weary sort of look.
I turn my head to see what he’s looking at, and my stomach feels as if it’s been scooped out when I realize we’re standing beside the Voss family plot. An iron fence surrounds the graves of generations of Voss family members. The fog prohibits me from seeing how far back the plot goes.
My grief rises to the surface, and I hate the empathy I feel toward the man at my side. I know what it is to miss someone you love.
Finally, Asher says, “Yesterday was the anniversary of my dad’s death.”
I’m shocked he’s telling me this bit of personal information—not that it’s not publicly available if I cared to search it out. I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with why he was so hard on me this week.
I swallow, unsure what to say, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. “I haven’t been able to go visit my father’s grave on our estate yet. Not since the day we buried him.”
He doesn’t say anything. When I glance at Asher, there’s sorrow and desolation in his deep blue eyes.
“Do you miss him?” I ask.
His head dips in my direction and meets my gaze. “The day he was murdered was the best day of my life.”
My eyes widen.
Everyone knows that Ramsey Voss was murdered, but it was never proven by whom. All four brothers were suspects at one point or another, from what I’ve been told, but there was never enough evidence on any of them to lay charges.
Could Asher have murdered his father?
What kind of monster does a father have to be to have been murdered by his own child?
What kind of beast does a child have to be to murder his father?
I don’t know what drives the impulse to open up to him.
It might be how forlorn he looks and what a contrast that is to his usual self, but I can’t help the truth coming from my lips.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why you feel that way, but I know what it feels like to have the love of a good man…
even if my father was hiding things from me.
I’m sorry you didn’t get to experience the same. ”
I don’t dare ask why he feels the way he does. I guarantee he wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway.
His expression is a mixture of confusion and disbelief, but it’s almost as though he doesn’t see me. He’s looking through me. “It’s all changing. It’s changing, and it’s going to come crashing down.”
I frown. “What’s changing?”
He shakes his head as though he’s back from wherever his mind was. His attention goes to my ear that still has the AirPod in it, and before I register what he’s doing, he crouches and retrieves the one on the path.
“What are you listening to?” he asks as he straightens.
He brings the AirPod to his ear. The audiobook I’m listening to automatically starts playing again in my ear, as well in the one he’s holding. My face heats as the words reverberate through my skull.
“Let me see that tongue, bella.”
She opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue. Still fisting the base of my cock, I step close enough that her tongue is on the underside of my balls. Without me having to tell her, she licks and worships them, pulling one into her mouth and sucking gently, then the other. It feels phenomenal.
I decide to reward her for her efforts and bring the vibrator to the juncture of her thighs. She jolts from the surprise, moaning instantly. Her back arches, and her head twists, so I pull the vibrator away.
Instead of lunging for the AirPod, I’m frozen to my spot. His lids become heavy as the book continues.
Aria makes a disappointed sound. “Please don’t stop.”
“You stop, and I stop, understood?”
“Yes.” The word is desperate and breathy.
“I’m going to tuck this in your underwear, between your pussy lips. Do you think that will feel good, cara?”
“Oh god, yes.” She moans as though she can already feel it.
“And then I’m going to fuck this mouth. And if you stop, it stops, got it?”
His blue eyes don’t leave mine as we listen to the characters in the book play out the scene. They don’t leave mine as he pulls the AirPod from his ear. And they don’t leave mine as he asks, “You enjoy that, do you?”
Part of me wants to deny it, pretend that I could take it or leave it, that it doesn’t get me hot, but I refuse to cower in front of him again. Not anymore. “I do,” I say with confidence.
His nostrils flare, and his entire body goes taut before he takes a small step toward me, closing the distance between us to mere inches. I arch my head back to look at him.
“What do you like most about it?”
I swallow. Admitting I like to listen to steamy romance novels is one thing, but admitting to this man what turns me on sexually is another. He’ll most likely use the information against me somehow at a later date.
Asher takes my hand, moving his thumb back and forth over the inside of my wrist. It’s such a small thing, but I swear he might as well be running his thumb over my clit for the way my body reacts.
An electric current races up my arm and settles between my thighs. My nipples pebble in my sports bra. His eyes dip as he notices.
Asher licks his lips like an animal ready to devour me. “Don’t make me ask again.”
My breath is shallow, and I struggle to suck in enough oxygen to keep me upright. “I like that he’s in control. That he’s telling her what to do.”
He closes his eyes, and his head rocks back as though he’s savoring my answer. I don’t know what to make of his reaction. Then he chuckles and straightens his head, his eyes once again open and on me. Embarrassment floods my body. Why must he be so cruel?
I yank my hand from his grip. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I’m laughing because you’re perfect. Of course you would be.”
Perfect for what? What is he even talking about?
But before I ask, his large hand rests on the edge of my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek, and his fingers push into my sweaty hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail.
I don’t dare move except for my chest heaving up and down to keep breathing.
It’s not as though Asher Voss has never touched me before, but this is different. This is a new level.
His gaze roams my face, and that invisible string between us grows taut, dragging both of us forward.
There’s no time to question what we’re doing or whether this is smart or not.
A man like Asher Voss could easily chew me up and spit me out.
I’d be left like roadkill on the other side of his wrought-iron gates.
Our lips touch, and he retracts, a rush of air leaving him before he places his lips on mine again, and his tongue glides along the seam of my mouth. I part my lips for him, eager for more. I could never deny this man, as messed up as that is.
He tastes like expensive whiskey, and I realize he’s drunk. Hence the reason he’s kissing me and all the strange things he’s said to me.
It dawns on me that I should probably push him away. But if this is the one time I’m going to know what it feels like to be kissed by a real man, a man like Asher Voss, then I’m going to take it for all it’s worth. The consequences will be the same at this point anyway.
I sink into the kiss. His other arm wraps around me until I’m cocooned by his large body, and his hand splays across my lower back. He dominates the kiss, setting the pace and using the hand along my cheek to direct me.
No one has ever kissed me like this. As if I were their possession, and they’d die if they didn’t have me.
When a low moan works its way up my throat, it sparks something feral in him, and our kiss turns frantic, animalistic.
The hand on my back dips lower, fingers spreading over my ass.
He squeezes, pulling me into him until I’m pressed against his hardness at my stomach.
The memory of exactly how thick his length looked in his bathing suit causes me to grind against him.
As I willingly give myself to him, I’m thrust away from his body. I stumble back, and he looks at me in horror. When he wipes the taste of me from his mouth with the back of his hand, it feels like a swipe across my face from a set of claws.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roars.
My head rears back. “You kissed me!”
He stalks forward then stops and takes two steps back, increasing the distance between us. “You kissed me back!” He clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides.
I guffaw. “Isn’t that what someone does when they’re kissed?”
He pushes both hands through his already disheveled hair.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it ends now.
Even if I were to fuck you, it wouldn’t mean anything.
It wouldn’t change the situation you’re in.
You owe me a year, and a year is what I’ll get.
Not even a taste of your cunt will change that. ”
I gape at him, and he whips around and stalks off.
As he strides away, disappearing into the mist, I have one disturbing thought… I hate that man as much as I want him. Which is a bad position to be in.