Chapter Four. Asad #2
My cell vibrates against my chest, and because every call is a potential business opportunity and I never miss out on money for anyone or anything, I release Ember and slide a hand into the inner pocket of my suit jacket.
Irritation flickers inside me when a swift glance down at the screen reveals Aryn’s name.
The fuck does she want? After leaving Marcus and Michelle’s house—well, now only Michelle’s—I went and took Aryn up on the offer she made at the reception.
I even beat up the pussy along with that bottomless throat and left her in the damn fetal position with a pillow between her legs.
I got a nut and she got several of them, so ain’t shit for us to talk about.
Silencing the phone, I slip it back into my suit pocket.
A snort drags my gaze back to Ember’s face and the twisted smirk riding her mouth that’s about to get her good and fucked.
“As I was saying, you can go now. Play with your bitch, don’t play with me.” She adds a little wave of her fingers, apparently trying to dismiss me.
She got me fucked-up and confused with one of her little lab rats. I got something to fix that shit though. Sometimes muthafuckas just gotta be reminded of who the fuck you are. Lucky for Ember, I don’t mind writing recaps.
Before she can lower her hand, I snatch it, curling my fingers around hers and tugging her forward.
Her free arm rises, breaking her fall against my chest, but that shit doesn’t work, because I step into her so it’s trapped between our bodies.
The tendons running along her neck stand out in sharp relief, and her deceptively soft, thick body quivers with the rage radiating off her.
I absorb each tremble and savor it like a well-earned trophy.
“Nah, I just had my dick drained, so I’m good on that.
But don’t worry, ma.” With the hand not gripping hers, I gently tug on a shorter strand of hair that’s escaped her top bun and slide it behind her ear, nudging the diamond-encrusted hoop piercing the upper and outer cartilage.
A small shudder passes through her, and this close, I don’t miss it.
Grim, fierce satisfaction snarls inside me, and gotdamn, I want to drop to my knees, press my open mouth to that beautiful peanut-brown skin, and let every one of those shivers vibrate over my tongue.
“In all these years, I’ve never found anyone capable of replacing you.
No one’s able to take pain like you so beautifully can.
Nah, Ember. You’ll never need to worry. You, ma, will always be my favorite playmate. ”
I loose her hand and shift my hold to her sports bra.
Thrusting three of my fingers down the front of the top, I fist the tight spandex-and-cotton material.
A soft cry escapes her, and her palms slap against my chest, breaking her forward fall.
That light pop vibrates through me, but not as much as the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against my fingers.
Or all that silken flesh encasing my fingers in that damp heat …
I clench my teeth, and a throbbing ache pulses along my jaw.
In this moment, it’s the closest I’ve come to imagining what it would feel like being plunged into the damp, fleshy warmth of her pussy.
And that quick, I’m addicted.
Fuck that. I’ve been addicted. For years.
Now I’m obsessed. Consumed. Gotdamn fucking feral.
“Now, do what the fuck I said and go change your clothes.” My grip tightens on her sports bra …
But instead of tugging her closer and sucking on her until a violent dark blue and purple bruise rises on her skin, I shove her away from me.
Ember stumbles back several steps but quickly regains her balance, glaring at me.
“Either that or I have a conversation with the print of that fat-ass pussy instead of you.”
She stares at me, her chest heaving up and down on the loud blasts of breath punctuating the deafening quiet of the living room. Her fingers flex and straighten next to her thick-ass thighs, those golden eyes reflect the need, the hunger to inflict damage. To be the harbinger of pain.
I smile.
And though it feels foreign as fuck and strained on my face, it’s still genuine.
Her “fuck you” isn’t spoken. Then again, what’s understood doesn’t need to be explained.
After several more seconds where she continues to silently consign me to hell and back, she whips around and stalks out of the room toward the marble staircase leading up to the second level of the apartment.
I couldn’t tear my starving gaze from her slender back and plump ass, rippling with every angry step, if I wanted to. And fuck if I want to.
As soon as she disappears, I exit the living room, walking past the elegant dining room with its wall of glass-block windows and long, gleaming ebony table with matching chairs.
The area, with its brick fireplace, formal serving buffet, and bar, was designed for family and friends—a particular group, aside from her lab rats and Sam, Ember had neither.
I made sure of that.
If I couldn’t have her—couldn’t get close to her, be inside her, fucking have her—then no one else would either.
Call me an asshole, a bully. I really don’t give a fuck.
I’ve been called worse and deserve every one of the names. I own them. Don’t give a fuck about them either.
My footsteps echo on the hardwood floors as I make my way into the kitchen toward the refrigerator.
I open it, grab a cold bottle of water, and close the door.
I’d be a liar if I claimed to be surprised at the beautifully appointed room.
Top-of-the-line appliances. Freestanding indoor grill and separate island.
A bar, large double oven that wouldn’t have been out of place in a restaurant, range and hood, warming drawer, gorgeous stone counters.
Huge breakfast nook with a cedar table, chairs, and sitting area looking over the covered patio, fire pit, and pool.
It’s a kitchen for someone who enjoys being here. Someone who loves cooking, creating.
“You really have no boundaries. Marcus leaves you the kingdom, and you walk up in my shit—illegally, I might add—and act like you own it, too. This is what happens when muthafuckas never hear the word no. Spare the rod, spoil the child, and all that shit.”
I turn around, eyebrow raised, careful not to exhibit any expression other than that as Ember strolls into the kitchen.
It’s a struggle though. Because she’s trying me.
I swear to fuck, no one pushes me like my stepsister.
Yeah, I’m a violent man, and I embrace it.
Fuck, I love that shit. Everyone else goes out of their way to avoid inciting that side of me.
But Ember? She does it like the government is handing out mu’fucking stimulus checks for the shit.
This woman. I twist the cap off and lift the bottle to my lips, swallowing water along with a harsh, sarcastic chuckle.
The dark blue, ankle-length, sleeveless dress should be modest, boring even. And on someone else, it probably would be. But this isn’t “someone else.” It’s Ember. And there’s not shit boring about her.
She’s gon’ make me order her to take her hardheaded ass back up those fucking stairs and change—again.
Gorgeous, thick thighs and those sexy-as-fuck, round hips press against the thin material, stretching it to the max.
Even though she’s facing me, I can still see the spread of her ass, and my fingertips tingle, desperate to dent all that juicy flesh as I grab all on it while delivering death strokes from the back.
My stomach knots, my dick lengthening, hardening behind my suit pants with just the thought.
With the hunger to have my hips slapping against her as that undoubtedly tight, gushy pussy drowns me.
Fuck.
The dress clings to the small pooch of her stomach and to the thrust of her full breasts.
She’s not a small woman; the thin straps are damn near fighting for their lives holding up the weight of those titties.
Still, they’re sitting up pretty, stirring a deeper, gnawing ache in the pit of my gut.
Imagine me sitting in a doctor’s office trying to explain an ulcer from hungering to be face-deep in titty and balls-deep in pussy.
Wait.
I narrow my eyes on her chest …
Nah.
Can’t fucking be. My dick jerks, and shit if I’m not seconds away from cummin’ in my gotdamn pants.
“What the fuck did you do?” I growl even though it’s quite fucking obvious what she did. Yeah, I sound like a rabid animal. Fuck, I feel like one.
I pride myself on being aware of Ember’s movements, of keeping tabs on her. So this …
Ember mimics my gesture from moments ago, arching an eyebrow. “What’re you talking about?”
Instead of replying, I slam the bottle on the island, not caring about the water erupting out of the top and splashing across the spotless surface.
I stalk across the kitchen, not stopping until she’s caged between my body and the grill.
She leans away from me, and a sibilant voice warns me to back off, give her space.
But the hungrier, much louder part of me ignores all whispers of caution.
It just needs to feed, and I surrender to it.
My hands curl around the edge, and I grasp it like it’s the only thing saving me from falling ass-first into a pitch-black pit.
“Is this what we’re doing?” I chuckle, and though she recovers quickly, it’s not fast enough to conceal her slight flinch.
I don’t blame her. Wasn’t shit humorous about the sound.
And ain’t shit jokey-jokey about the lust tearing at my insides in great, greedy, bleeding handfuls.
I shake my head, loosing another low, mean laugh.
“You out here sounding like a broken record with all the shit I supposedly put you through—”
She snorts, mugging me. “Supposedly. Muthafu—”
I crush a finger to her lips, pressing so hard, the ridge of her teeth lightly scrapes my skin.