Chapter 13 #2
“Don’t do this.” Ash stands up and scowls viciously. Theatrically. Trying and failing not to let his obsession for me obliterate his brain and his logic. I’m counting on it. “Don’t touch me.”
I touch him, hands on his chest.
When I was considering facts, his obsession was one of them.
“I said don’t fucking touch me.” His hands tighten like manacles on my wrists, forcing me to lift up on my toes so I can lick his jaw. He smells like iron and gasoline, tastes like sacrifice and soap. He must’ve tried to clean Lexi’s blood off before coming to see me.
“Screw your boundaries. You don’t want boundaries with me anyway.
” I ignore him, pressing a smoldering kiss against the corner of his pissy mouth.
“What you need is to be inside of me. Right now, you slippery little fuckboy. How stupid do you think I am?” I kick him in the shin and he releases me, stumbling back like he doesn’t know how to handle the situation.
Ash is off-balance both mentally and physically. Ash is crumbling.
“Perhaps incredibly stupid since you don’t seem to realize the severity of the situation that we’re in.
” His eyes flash. “Your sister is dead. Your house is nothing but ash. The entire Springfield police department was on the hunt for you tonight. For Bohnes. Widow. Alexei.” A pause as he adjusts the sleeves of his jacket.
“Bolin’s orders were to shoot first, ask questions later. ”
I roll my eyes. I ain’t afraid of cops.
“You’re good at playing Aspen onstage, but I’m better than that.” I point at my face with two fingers. “Your eyes are the giveaway. Fuck me and prove that I’m right.”
“Scarlett, no. We…” Ash’s voice tapers off in a lewd moan as I mold my soft body against his hard one, curving myself into him and clutching a handful of his black dress shirt.
Underneath my fist, his heart is wild, cracking the shell of his ribs.
Each frantic beat of it tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
He put on a great show earlier but now that we’re alone, he’s falling apart.
Exactly like I said he would. “You need to say goodbye to me and—”
My hand wraps around his throat, and he goes completely still.
“Enough.” My voice is a growl, one that sends goose bumps prickling up Ash’s spine. “I get that this was hard for you, but it’s over now.” I stroke a thumb down his jugular, making him quiver. The tip of my nail digs into his carotid like a threat. “You’re not in this alone anymore.”
I grip his neck and force him onto the edge of the bed again, lifting my skirt with my other hand and spreading my thighs wide over him.
Those ivory fingers of his wrap around my legs, sliding up to cup my ass.
Kneading the soft flesh as he meets my eyes without flinching. His are glossy with lust and fury both.
This guy killed my sister; I killed his twin brother.
It’s so beyond screwed up, and somehow, here I am. Because I’m a fucking psycho, too.
My fingers slide up his neck, over his jaw, pressing two against the pout of his plush lips.
He opens for me, sucking me into his hot mouth like a good boy.
I’m not delusional enough to think it’ll be this easy.
But even though I have a hundred other pressing items on my to-do list, this has to happen now.
If Ash’s intentions are for us to run and leave him here, then we probably don’t have much time. I can’t slowly cajole him into behaving. He needs to be tamed. He equates sex with emotions, and I’ll happily use that weakness against him. It’s a weakness you share, Scar. You big liar, you.
Here’s what sex means to me: mine. Fuck me and it’s over. I’m very possessive.
“Take my clothes off, Ash.” I say it softly, huskily. The words sink into the silks and wood and muted colors of the shadowy room. It’s a depressing place, dripping with wealth and despair. I’m springing this prince from his tower.
First, I gotta screw him stupid.
He curses at me in Japanese which is fine so long as he obeys. His mouth is on my breast, sucking my already taut nipple through the ruined bloody silk of my blouse. It’s unhinged. Unsanitary. It’s mental for me to screw the guy that executed my flesh-and-blood and then kidnapped me.
I’m wet for him though and he knows it. He can feel me through the fabric of my panties as his right hand slides up the back of my thigh, finger slipping under the edge of my soaked undies.
He’s lucky I’m not a barbarian. I took the tampon out at Wesley’s, scrubbed Bohnes’ cum off with a wet paper towel.
Furious with him for his bullshit on the track. Furious with all of them.
I’m still furious, but following my own rules. Feelings are for later. Claiming Ash is for now.
He jerks the panties aside, nudging his shaking knuckles against my bare body and finding me slick and greedy for him.
The adrenaline is everything, standing over this guy’s lap on an educated guess and no proof.
Ash could still be a villain, sitting here and taking one last semi-submissive fuck for fun before he reveals the horror he’s unleashed on my life.
I smile and tighten my hand around his neck, not enough to choke him. A firm grip. Controlling. Bossy.
He tears the underwear off with a wrench of fabric and chucks them onto the floor of a room I never expected to see. So I was right (again, duh) and here we are inside the mayor’s mansion in Ash’s bedroom.
With worshipful eyes and alabaster fingers, Ash tugs on the bow at my neckline. Unzips my skirt. Unwraps me with a somber reverence that tells me he’s savoring this as our final encounter. This is sayonara to him. Deadass, that’s annoying.
My clothes are on the floor. His hands are searching.
It’s electric and beguiling, the drag of his palms and fingers over my naked bronze skin.
We make a stunning contrast, me naked and grinding against the strain in his tailored slacks.
Him, cloistered in a timeless, costly suit that he hates, fully clothed and leaking at the tip. His pants are soaked.
There’s an incredible amount of wetness between the pair of us, and it’s not all me.
“You gonna nut in your pants, sweetheart?” I ask, drawing a dry husk of a laugh from his throat.
My hips shift forward and back, sweeping desire between my loins and teasing him with more than just my words.
“If you need to release a little steam, go ahead. Not just any man can handle Prescott pussy.”
Ash flips us over, pinning me and drawing his gun. His eyes are feverish as he twists our roles, one last valiant attempt to save me. I’m not the princess here though. He is.
“Once I handle Bolin, you’re leaving and you’re taking Emma Jean with you. I haven’t given you the go-ahead for shit as of yet.” He points the gun at the floor, like he’s waiting for something. Someone? “She was delicious by the way, our little virgin reporter.”
The shifting power dynamics between us are thrilling to me, like sunlight through a rainbow prism. All those dancing colors. Exhilarating. I flip them again by grabbing onto his hand and forcing the barrel of the gun to my own throat.
“Shoot me. Go on now. Prove that you’re the big bad guy, that you’re Aspen, the sort of man who rapes an innocent suburban girl into submission.
It’s the only way that I’ll believe your nonsense.
Pull that trigger.” I’m panting like crazy as my arms shake, fighting Ash for control of the gun without accidentally setting it off.
It’s a delicate dance. Must actually be loaded then.
With a snarled foreign epithet, he tosses the weapon onto the mattress behind me.
I surge up and throw my arms around his neck, kissing him even as he’s cursing my name.
His hands are all over me, stroking my needy, swollen pussy between my legs.
Taking handfuls of my ass cheeks. Splayed across my heaving rib cage.
Touching like he can’t get enough, like he’s starved for my skin.
He’s leaving the role of Aspen tonight. Exiting stage left without a bow for his audience. We’re absconding with this motherfucker. It’d just be a lot easier if he didn’t fight the kidnapping process.
Ash drops his head, sucking my left nipple into his mouth as I gather him to me with possessive arms. My fingers are spider legs in his silky black hair, tangling and creeping. I dig my sharp fingernails into his scalp, encouraging him to bite harder.
He’s an animal, ravenous as he attacks my skin, knocking us to the bed in a tangle of limbs, both clothed and naked.
Ash’s hands are frantic between us, ripping his pants open and freeing that wet, sticky cock.
He’s soaked himself in his own pre-cum, made his pretty ivory dick into a slick monument.
His face lifts up, leaving behind a dozen bite marks sparkling on my skin. His lips are wet. Swollen. Parted.
Those eyes of his, they’re so eager, like a pet wanting to please.
My hand presses against his right shoulder, using very little pressure to move him to a standing position.
I don’t need to manhandle Ash, he listens.
I position him with his dick straining obscenely between us.
I tickle my fingers down the length of it as I sit up, rising to stand beside him.
There’s a single blue vein there that I trace, my version of offering a treat for a job well-done.
“Sit,” I say. He obeys, instantly. A very good boy. I decide to tell him so. “That’s a good boy, Ash. Always such a good boy for me, isn’t he?”
He reclines on the bed with his palms on the mattress behind him, legs spread in insouciant incivility, erection heavy and blatant. Demanding. We’re looking at each other, taking one another’s mettle. Searching for limits.
We have this in common: neither of us wants limits. None. No lines between this and that, him and me. I’m going to own his soul and he’s going to thank me for the privilege.