Chapter Five. Ember
CHAPTER FIVE
Ember
I blink.
Stare at Asad.
Blink again.
No, his stoic, flat expression doesn’t change. No bare hint of a smile. No glimmer of amusement in those gray eyes. Nothing.
Still, I laugh. And laugh. And laugh some more. I can’t stop. Every time it’s almost under control, You’re going to marry me in a month echoes in my head, and I’m gone all over again. Tears sting my eyes, and wheezing out a breath, I press my fingers underneath them, wiping away the moisture.
“Whew. I needed that,” I rasp. “Who knew you had a sense of humor?”
“Are you finished?” he asks, voice even, void of emotion.
“Are you?” I curl my legs under me and yawn. “Thanks for the laugh, but your idea of a joke is weird as fuck, and I don’t get the punch line. Then again, I threw out any fucks I had left to give last night along with the leftover shrimp egg foo young. Should’ve broken in here yesterday.”
My unbothered tone is a charade and a shield.
As Asad’s steady gaze roams over my face, moves lower to my breasts, stomach, and thighs, I force myself not to fidget or cross my arms in a fruitless effort to conceal the effect that stare has on my body.
Because, fuck, it’s having an effect. My skin prickles with this awareness that’s damn near painful, like tiny needles.
And I’m so disgusted with my hot-in-the-ass pussy, who can’t differentiate between the enemy and a less psychopathic potential lover who wouldn’t consider fucking foreplay to be murder.
“First thing I’m going to do after we’re married is tame that mouth. And make no mistake, I’m going to enjoy it.”
Slowly, I straighten, my spine pushing against the back of the chair.
Panic flares inside me, hot and bright like an SOS to my brain that Asad isn’t fucking around.
This whole marriage thing just might not be some sick joke.
The last vestiges of humor evaporate under the heat of the dread and fear eddying in my belly, and I stare at him, at the coldness of his gaze, the aloof expression, as if threatening me with unholy matrimony bores him.
“Asad.” I carefully say his name. “What the fuck is going on? No more cryptic-ass messages.”
“Cryptic?” He tilts his head. “Tell me what I’ve said that confuses you.”
“That would be the marry and me parts,” I say, with a sarcastic chuckle.
Shaking my head, I drag a hand over my hair, my fingers bumping against my bun. It takes everything in me not to rip the band out of my hair and scratch the hell out of my scalp like a woman who’s lost her shit.
I deliberately inhale a breath and stretch my arms high above my head, aiming to appear calm.
Trying to seem as if my heart isn’t playing kickball with my rib cage.
Especially when his attention dips to my breasts, and his inquisition about my piercings replays verbatim in my head.
My nipples seem to have perfect recall as well, because they tighten to the point of pain, sending a throbbing ache straight to my clit.
The fuck?
What the actual fuck?
That, that … abomination of heat that briefly flared in my belly and had my pussy quivering in the kitchen was an aberration. A delusional—and forgivable—blip from being up for nearly twenty-four hours. But this … This spasmodic clenching of my walls around an aching emptiness is inexcusable.
This is Asad.
My fucking nemesis.
Talking about marriage. Why marriage? No engagement? Just skip that—wait. What am I thinking, and where am I going with that? Marriage, engagement. It’s all bad, and all a big-ass no.
“Okay.” I hold up a hand, palm out. Anything to distract him from the beaded tips of my breasts that have no goddamn shame. “I’ll play. Why are you under the impression that we will be husband and wife in a month?”
“Because it’s in your best interest to do so.”
I scoff, waving him off. “It’s also in my best interest to get a caffeine enema, but you don’t see me bending over and shoving Folger’s breakfast blend up my ass, sooo…”
That frigid, gray stare settles on me for several long seconds. Then he smiles. It’s a slow, gradual curving of those almost too-lush lips. It’s stunning. It’s breathtaking.
It’s unnerving.
“My dick,” he murmurs.
“Excuse me?” I jerk my chin toward my neck, scowling.
“My dick,” he repeats, still wearing that unsettling, beautiful smile. “That’s what I’m going to use first to break that mouth in.”
The explosive puffs of air escaping my lungs competes with the deafening silence in the room.
“The fuck?” I rasp.
He didn’t just say that to me. He couldn’t have … Asad doesn’t … We’re not …
Oh shit. Now I can’t even complete whole thoughts.
I’m a fucking double-master’s-degree-holding scientist, for God’s sake, and he’s reduced my mental to, to rubble.
Instead of words, vivid, revolting, and—shit—hot-as-fuck images crowd into my head.
Images of me, down on my knees, head tilted back, mouth wide open as Asad feeds me his big, long, veiny dick until I’m choking on it …
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Muthafucka, I don’t even want the dick.”
That smile widens and it’s still beautiful. Still disturbing.
“Okay, ma.” He chuckles. “You’re seeing it.”
It’s not a question. He’s stating fact in that smug tone, and I hate it and him even more because of the accuracy.
Bitch.
“All I’m seeing are the hours of sleep passing me by because you won’t get to the point of this little visit.
” I cross my arms over my chest. Fuck pride.
I can’t die on that hill when my nipples are saluting like good little well-trained soldiers.
“Now, please. Explain how my idea of entering hell on earth would be in my best interest.”
“Because I assume you enjoy living.”
I blink. This muthafucka just threatened me. That in itself shouldn’t be shocking. I know what Asad is—a liar, thief, psychopath, murderer. But that he’s in my fucking house, sitting in my study, threatening my life to my face? It’s the audacity for me.
“Married to you or breathing.” I wrinkle my nose, pretending to weigh the pros and cons. “I’ll take Breathing Is Overrated for two hundered, Alex. Now.” I uncurl my legs and arms and prepare to stand, ending this pointless, inane conversation. “If that’s all—”
“Ember, if you move your little ass out of that chair, I’ll tie you to that mu’fucka and make what you endured as a kid seem like recess. Try me.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but that doesn’t prevent a shiver from trampling down my spine.
I believe him.
Just the mention of what I’d suffered at his hands is enough to ossify my muscles. I remind myself every day that I’m over the abuse of my childhood, that I’m no longer a prisoner to it. But the primal part of me stills like prey catching scent of a stalking predator on the wind.
Asad Prince is my walking, living nightmare. Him and Michelle.
But while I’ve outgrown—desperately fought my way free of—my fear of Michelle, it’s not so with her son.
Maybe because I sometimes find myself foolishly captivated by all that pretty, nut-brown skin, brutally sharp angles, beautifully dirty mouth, and startling silver eyes.
Maybe because at times my pussy forgets he’s the enemy and weeps like a Kardashian after she’s been cheated on …
again. This makes him far, far more dangerous than any drug, any weapon. No …
This makes him the drug, the weapon.
And my guaranteed destruction.
So it’s fuck him forever.
If only my gotdamn ignorant-ass coochie would get on one accord with me.
With his quiet warning echoing in my ears, I ease back into the chair, body rigid, fingers like claws gripping the arms, pulse like rapid gunshots in my ears.
Still, I force my muscles to unlock, to deliberately relax so I at least appear to not be on red alert.
The worst thing one could ever do is show weakness in the face of a hunter, a predator.
Asad taught me that. In spades.
“There are several reasons you’re going to marry me,” he says as if he’s reading the details of a new distribution contract instead of dictating the terms of my immediate future.
“One. Marrying me grants you access to your trust five years ahead of schedule. And as an incentive, I’ll relinquish my role as trustee—”
I snort in disgust. “And have your bitch of a mother take your place? No thanks. I can’t believe these words are actually coming out of my mouth, but I’d rather have you than Michelle. Letting that ho near anything associated with my mother…”
Fuck. I bite the inside of my cheek. Shut. Up. God knows I didn’t intend to let that much slip out. I should know better than to give Asad anything personal that he can later weaponize.
“No trustee at all, Ember. Marcus relied on your intelligence and knowledge to fund his entire operation. It makes sense you can also manage your funds without a babysitter,” he says, his full lips twisted into a sardonic half … shit, I’d say smile on anyone else, but this is Asad.
“You’re right.” I nod. “That is an incentive. But not enough of one to sell my soul. You, Marcus, Michelle, Kareem—the whole fucking lot of you would do and probably have done anything and anybody just to acquire money and power. Hell, I don’t have to look too far behind you to see all the bodies littering the streets like piles of steaming dog shit.
If I have to wait five more years to access that trust, or even never access it at all, I’m good on you. On all of you.”