Chapter Five
Nora
The last hour of my shift feels longer than the entire day. Not because of the work. Because of him. Asher is here.
He’s been here the entire time, sitting at his usual table like always. But now, everything feels different. He’s mine now. I glance at him for what has to be the tenth time in five minutes, pretending to wipe down the counter.
“You’re staring again,” Freddie murmurs under his breath as he passes by me, carrying a tray.
“I am not,” I whisper back quickly, even though I know he’s right.
“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced. “At this point, it’s less staring and more…claiming.”
I freeze slightly at that word. Claiming. My gaze shifts back to Asher again, and something tightens in my chest. Because that’s exactly what it feels like. Only, I’m not the only one looking. Debby laughs loudly again. Another reason I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
She’s standing close to Asher, leaning slightly against his table. As she talks, her smile gets a little too bright. Asher looks uninterested. It’s like she’s not even there. I should be happy he isn’t paying any attention to her. But I wish she wasn’t near him at all.
My grip tightens around the cloth in my hand.
“She’s been at it for ten minutes,” Freddie mutters, clearly amused. “I almost admire the dedication.”
I don’t respond—because I can’t. All I can do is watch. Debby tosses her hair slightly as she says something else. She laughs again, louder this time, like she’s trying to draw attention. Like she wants a reaction.
Asher doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. If anything, his expression looks colder than usual. His gaze grows sharp and distant, like he’s barely tolerating the interaction. Something else curls in my chest. Something hot. Sharp.
Why is she still standing there? Why is she still talking? Why is she laughing like that?
I clench my jaw slightly as I turn away, focusing on the counter again, but it doesn’t help. I can still hear her. Still imagine the way she’s looking at him.
“Okay,” Freddie says softly, nudging me slightly. “Now you’re definitely glaring.”
“I’m not glaring,” I mutter.
“You are,” he insists. “And it’s kind of terrifying.”
“I just…don’t understand why she’s still there,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Freddie lets out a quiet laugh. “Because he’s hot and mysterious and clearly uninterested, which makes him even more appealing to people like her.”
???
Later, I sit in the passenger seat with my hands folded in my lap, staring straight ahead. My thoughts are tangled in a way I can’t quite sort through. I don’t even know why I’m this upset. I shouldn’t be. Nothing happened. He didn’t flirt back. He didn’t even really acknowledge her.
So, why does it feel like this?
“Say something,” Asher says after a few minutes, his voice cutting through the silence.
“I don’t have anything to say,” I reply quietly, still not looking at him.
He exhales slowly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening just a fraction. “You’ve been quiet since I walked out of the café.”
“So?”
“So, I know something’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s a lie.”
I turn my head slightly, finally looking at him. “Why do you care?”
His gaze flicks to me briefly, sharp and steady. “You really want to ask that?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’t need to. I already know the answer. And that somehow makes everything more confusing.
The rest of the drive passes in the same tense silence. Neither of us speaks again until the car pulls to a stop in front of Wilder House. He gets out without another word, walking around to my side and opening the door like he’s done before.
I hesitate for a second before stepping out. The walk up to his apartment feels longer than usual. Every step feels heavier. By the time we get inside, the silence has stretched to the point where it’s almost unbearable.
The door closes behind us. And then, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice holds a hint of frustration.
I drop my bag onto the chair, shrugging slightly as I turn away from him. “I said nothing.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
A beat of silence passes. Then, quieter and less patient, “Don’t push me, Nora.”
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, turning back to face him. “Or what?” I should stop goading him. But jealousy is a living, breathing fire, and it’s blinding my thoughts.
His eyes darken slightly, his posture shifting just enough to make the air between us feel tighter. “Or I’ll find another way to get you to talk.”
The words send a small, unexpected shiver down my spine. Heat blooms low in my belly in response. But instead of backing down, something in me pushes forward. Maybe it’s the frustration. Maybe it’s the confusion. Or maybe it’s everything I don’t understand about what I’m feeling.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
His gaze locks onto mine, unyielding. “Then you need a good spanking.”
Something snaps.
“I didn’t like it, okay?” I burst out, the words coming fast before I can stop them. “I didn’t like her standing there, laughing like that, acting like…like she had a chance with you. And you just sat there, letting her do it.”
The room goes quiet instantly. His expression doesn’t change. But something shifts behind his eyes.
“You think I asked for that, that I liked that?” he asks slowly.
“I think you didn’t stop it,” I shoot back.
“I didn’t engage with her.”
“You didn’t shut it down either.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I walked away.”
“After ten minutes,” I counter.
Silence stretches between us again, heavier now, loaded with tension and heightened need.
“Is that what this is?” he asks finally, his voice lower now, more level. “You’re upset because another woman talked to me?”
“It’s not just that,” I insist, though I’m not even sure what else it is. “It’s the way she looked at you. The way she acted like she could just…just hold your attention like it didn’t matter.”
“And it does?” he presses.
“Yes,” I say immediately.
The word hangs in the air between us, undeniable.
His gaze sharpens. “Why?”
I hesitate. Because I don’t have a clean answer. Because everything I’m feeling is messy and confusing and too big for something that started just days ago. But the words come anyway.
“Because you haven’t made me yours,” I say, my voice quieter now but no less firm.
Something dark flashes in his expression.
“Not fully,” I add, swallowing slightly as my heart starts to race. “So how am I supposed to act like I have any right to feel this way when technically…I don’t?”
He takes a step closer. Slow. Deliberate.
“And you think that’s the problem?” he asks.
Another step. Closer now.
“What would you have done,” I continue, my voice shaking just slightly, despite my attempt to stay steady, “if it was the other way around? If some guy was standing too close to me, talking like that, laughing like he knew me, like he had a chance?”
His expression hardens instantly. There it is. That reaction.
“That wouldn’t happen,” he says flatly.
“But what if it did?” I push.
His jaw tightens, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “It wouldn’t.”
“That’s not an answer,” I insist.
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I shake my head slightly, frustrated. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You expect things to just be a certain way, but you haven’t—”
“That’s enough.”
The words cut through mine sharply, final and commanding. I freeze. Not because I’m scared. Because of the tone. Because of the way it settles over me, heavy and undeniable.
“You’re pushing me into something you don’t understand,” he continues, his voice lower now, controlled but edged with something darker.
“Then make me understand,” I fire back, even though my heart is racing now.
There’s a pause. A shift. Then, “Go to the kitchen counter and turn around.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“You heard me,” he says, his voice steady, leaving no room for argument. “Turn around.”
A flicker of hesitation moves through me, but it’s brief. Something in his tone tells me this isn’t a request. Slowly, I walk to the counter and turn, resting my torso on it. My pulse rushes loudly in my ears, my thoughts suddenly scattered as I try to anticipate what he’s about to do.
I don’t have to wait long. The first sharp contact startles me. It’s more from the surprise than anything else. A soft gasp leaves my lips before I can stop it. It should hurt, but instead, it spreads heat to my core. Enough to make my breath catch.
“You want to test boundaries.” His voice comes from behind me, calm but firm. “Then you deal with the consequences.”
Another loud spank follows, reinforcing the point more than punishing. My fingers tighten on the counter’s edge. My pulse is racing for reasons that have nothing to do with fear.
“You don’t get to throw around words like that,” he continues, his tone lower now, closer. “Not about other men. Not about what’s yours.”
The sting of his hand on my backside sends a jolt through me, igniting a fire I hadn’t anticipated. I gasp. The sharpness swirls into something intoxicating. Asher’s grip tightens around my waist, pulling me flush against him, my heart racing as I try to process what I’m feeling.
“You need to learn, baby girl,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “No one else can have you. You’re mine.”
His words wrap around me like a warm embrace.
And despite the initial shock, a thrill shoots through me.
I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly, the tension coiling tighter.
He eases me back down over the counter, one hand splayed warm across the small of my back to hold me there.
The next spank lands lower, closer to where I ache, and I gasp.
Each one blurs the line between sting and something molten, until the burn and the wet ache are the same feeling. My panties are soaked. I’m whimpering and trembling, rocking back into his hand without meaning to. “P-please, Daddy,” I whimper.
“Please, what,” he asks in a growly tone. Not letting up.
“L-let me c-come,” I beg.
“You think you deserve it?” he asks.
“I’m s-sorry,” I sob.
Then, he slides his hand beneath my skirt, works two fingers into my soaked panties, and strokes deep. I let go instantly, convulsing and gripping the counter as I cry out my relief. He lifts me, carries me to the bed, and lays me down, stripping my clothes away.
I lie back, breathless, my body still humming as he undresses. Seconds later, Asher looms over me, his expression fierce and possessive. He wraps his hands around my ankles and drags them slowly up my calves, my thighs, spreading me open as he settles between them.
He brushes his lips against mine, coaxing me to respond. I melt into him, kissing him back with a hunger that surprises me. His tongue teases mine until every nerve ending in my body wakes.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
The words send heat rushing to my cheeks. He trails kisses along my jaw, down my throat, over the swell of my breasts—unhurried, like he has all night and intends to use it.
“Please,” I breathe, the need building within me as he takes his time, savoring every inch of my skin.
He pauses, pulling back to look at me. For a moment, the world outside fades away. The intensity in his gaze sends my pulse racing.
“Tell me what you want, Nora,” he commands.
“I want you to make me yours,” I whisper.
That's what breaks his patience. He drops lower, mouth closing over one nipple while his hand slides between my thighs.
“Is this what you want?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my nipple as he presses his palm flush against my pussy.
“Y-yes,” I gasp, my body thrumming with urgency.
His fingers slide through my slickness, slow and deliberate. I cry out as pleasure spirals through me.
“Daddy,” I pant, losing myself in the pleasure he’s giving me.
He looks up at me, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that mirrors my own. “I want to hear you come for me,” he commands.
I nod in urgency. He returns to his task, stroking my pussy deeper. The tension in my body coils tighter and tighter, and I can feel the edge of ecstasy hovering just out of reach. Just when I think that I can’t take it anymore, he curves his fingers inside me, and I see stars.
“P-please, don’t s-stop,” I beg, my voice trembling as he adds another finger, his pace relentless.
With each thrust, I feel myself spiraling closer to the edge. “Come for me, baby girl,” he urges, his voice low and commanding.
The wave crashes over me, pulling me under as I cry out his name, pleasure consuming me entirely. I quake beneath him, feeling every tremor of bliss. He holds me tightly, his fingers still working me through my orgasm.
He lets me ride out the high before finally positioning himself between my legs.
He pauses at my entrance, the blunt head of him pressing just barely against me.
His eyes find mine, dark and intent, and I feel the tension in him—the restraint, the way he’s holding himself back for me.
He knows. He’s known since that first night.
“Easy, baby girl,” he murmurs, low and rough. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
He eases in slowly, giving me every second I need to stretch around him. God, he’s big—the stretch borders on too much, a sharp bright edge of pain that has me gasping, nails biting into his shoulders. He goes still instantly, buried only partway, jaw tight with the effort of holding back.
He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He watches—my face, my breath, the way my body slowly loosens around him—and when the pain finally melts into something molten and needy, I arch up into him. He takes it as the answer it is.
“Oh…” I moan aloud as he moves.
I feel every inch of him. “More,” I say, his shallow, testing thrusts turning me mindless.
His strokes deepen, and each one sets off a fresh wave that rolls through me. He builds a steady rhythm, sliding deeper, and my body answers on its own, arching to meet him.
“You feel so good,” he groans, his grip on my hips tightening as he loses himself in the moment.
He thrusts harder, filling my pussy until my nerve endings sing. My inner walls spasm and clench around him with every deep stroke, and the ache coils tighter and tighter—an eruption waiting to break.
I rake my nails down his back, thrashing with an intensity I’ve never felt. He gives one more thrust, and I shatter into a million pieces.
“Asher!” I cry, clenching around his cock so tightly I feel every pulse of him inside me.
The waves pull me under, and his loud grunt breaks over me as he releases inside me, claiming me in the most intimate way there is.
We collapse, breathing hard, bodies tangled. Asher’s arms wrap protectively around me, and I nestle into his warmth, feeling safe and cherished.
“You’re mine. Never forget that,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
I smile, the weight of everything fading away. “I won’t,” I promise, feeling blissfully happy.
The smile lingers as I sink into sleep. The last thing I feel is the steady warmth of him beside me, the quiet certainty of his presence wrapped around me like something unbreakable.