Chapter 29
Twenty Nine
Kinsley
Iwake to the unfamiliar sensation of soft, expensive sheets against my bare skin and a dull, aching soreness between my thighs—a brutal reminder of the night before.
My body feels heavy, used, a vessel that has been emptied and claimed.
For a blissful, fleeting second, I don’t know where I am.
Then it all comes crashing back: Asher’s cold eyes, the emerald green dress, the slow descent of the zipper and the shattering, involuntary pleasure he wrung from my body.
My eyes flutter open.
He’s already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching me.
The morning light streams in through the vast windows, painting him in shades of grey and gold.
It’s Saturday. There are no classes, no clinicals, no structured reason to escape.
The unstructured expanse of the day, of the entire weekend, stretches before me.
A hot flush of shame crawls up my neck. He saw me break, he watched me come undone. He was the first, and as he so brutally reminded me, the only.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble in the quiet room. It’s a simple phrase, yet when it comes from his lips, it sounds like a declaration of victory.
This time, I don’t just pull the sheet tighter. I glare at him. A simmering rage has replaced the exhaustion of last night. “What do you want?” I snap, my voice rough from sleep but laced with defiance. “I need to go home.”
He doesn’t flinch. A slow, appreciative smile spreads across his face, a predator enjoying the renewed struggle of his prey.
“There’s that fire. I was wondering if it had burned out.
” He reaches out, his fingers gently prying the sheet from my white-knuckled grip.
“You’re not going anywhere, Kinsley. Not yet. ”
I scramble back, pulling the sheet with me, pressing myself against the headboard. “You can’t keep me here!”
He laughs, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Can’t I? You’re in my penthouse, Kinsley. My building, my rules. And you walked in here willingly last night.”
“I was exhausted!”
“And you still came,” he counters, his eyes dark with triumph. “You still surrendered. Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it. Don’t pretend you didn’t want it.”
My cheeks burn. He’s right, and that’s the most infuriating part. “I have things to do! I have a pathophysiology exam on Monday. I need my notes, my laptop.”
“They’re already here,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards a door across the room. “My assistant retrieved them from your apartment an hour ago. Along with some clothes.”
My blood runs cold. He sent someone into my apartment, into my private space. The violation is so profound, so absolute that I feel dizzy. He has anticipated my every move.
I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my back to him. The movement sends a sharp ache through my core, another humiliating reminder. I scan the room for my clothes—the emerald dress lies in a heap on the floor, a discarded snakeskin.
“Looking for this?”
I turn. He’s holding up a dark t-shirt. His t-shirt. It’s the same one from the other night, the one he wore in the lab.
“I thought you got my clothes sent here,” I challenge, my voice tight.
“Your clothes are in the guest room closet, but I prefer you in this for now,” he says, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
He holds it out to me. It’s not a request. I snatch it from his hand, pulling it on with a frustrated grunt. It swallows me whole, the hem falling to my mid-thigh. It smells of him. Of his soap, his skin, his scent. I am wrapped in him, branded by him, inside and out.
My phone, which he had placed on his nightstand, rings. Chloe.
I lunge for it, but he’s faster. He picks it up, glances at the caller ID, and a knowing smile plays on his lips. “Your friend.” He hands it to me. “Answer it. Don’t make her worry.”
I snatch the phone. “Chloe?!”
“Kinsley! Oh my god, where are you?! I’ve been calling you all morning! I was about to send out a search party!” Her voice is a frantic torrent of worry.
I glance at West, who is watching me with an unnerving intensity. “I’m… I’m okay, Chloe. I just… stayed with West last night.”
“I know you’re dating, but you just disappeared after that dinner with his uncle! I was worried sick! Are you okay? Did he finally… You know?” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Was it amazing?”
My stomach churns. She’s celebrating my surrender. She’s cheering for my captor. “I’m fine, Chloe. Really. I’ll call you later, okay? I just woke up.”
“Okay, okay! But don’t you dare come back until you have every single detail for me! And for god’s sake, text me more often! You scared me half to death!”
No sooner do I put the phone down than it rings again. This time, it’s a different name. Blair. My brother’s wife. Blair is sharp, perceptive, and has always had a knack for seeing through my carefully constructed facades.
West gestures for me to answer. He wants to see how I handle this.
“Blair? Hi!” I manage a more genuine smile this time, the familiar comfort of her name a small anchor.
“Hey, Kins! Good morning! Just doing my usual weekend check-in. How’s my bestie doing?” Blair’s voice is warm, easy, a familiar balm. “Braxton just learned to say ‘ball,’ and he won’t stop throwing everything he can get his hands on. Kane’s about to lose his mind.” She chuckles.
I laugh, a real, unforced sound that surprises me. “Oh god, tell him I said good luck. I’m sure he’s loving it.”
“He is, secretly. So, what are you up to this weekend? Anything exciting?” Blair asks, her tone casual, but I can feel West’s gaze on me, sharp and expectant.
“Just… studying,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Big exam coming up. And… hanging out.”
“Hanging out, huh? With anyone special?” Her voice holds a teasing note. Blair knows about West from Chloe’s excited gossip, but she’s more reserved, more observant.
“You could say that,” I reply, forcing a lightness I don’t feel.
“Well, don’t work too hard, and don’t forget about your favorite nephew. He misses his Aunt Kinsley.”
“I miss him too. Give him a big hug for me, and tell Kane I said hi.”
“Will do. And you call me later, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. Love you, Blair.”
“Love you too, Kins. Bye!”
I hang up the phone. Blair knows about my vulnerability, about the fragile balance of my mind. She’s a lifeline, a connection to a world where I am loved and seen for who I truly am.
I finally turn to him, all excuses gone, left with only the raw, desperate truth. “West, please,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I just want to go home.”
He walks over to me, his expression serious as he tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.
“No,” he says, the word soft but absolute.
He reaches into the pocket of the suit pants he discarded last night and pulls out a single, sleek black key card.
He presses it into my hand, his fingers closing mine around it.
“This is home now, Kinsley. At least for the weekend.” He looks at the key card in my hand.
“This is for my building. The elevator, my floor, my door. You’re not a guest, you’re not a prisoner you need to escape from.
” He leans in, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. “You live here now. With me.”
He kisses me, a hard, possessive kiss that is not for show, but a statement of fact. A reminder, a brand, a promise.
When he pulls away I’m left standing in the middle of his room, wearing his shirt, holding the key to my cage. The entire weekend stretches out before me, an eternity under his roof, under his control.
I lost my virginity last night. I lost the war, and he didn’t just take me home for a night. He moved me in for the weekend.