Chapter 34
GRACE
The dress I chose clings to my skin, and I feel mildly uncomfortable in it, but I wanted to look sexy.
Like the girls who go to places like Haven.
It has thin straps, a deep V-neck that shows more cleavage than I'm used to, and a hem that stops mid-thigh.
Easy to take off, Asher said, and this one should pull right over my head in one go.
No zippers or snaps. My stomach flutters as I envision him ridding me of the material.
Who cares what the dress looks like if the intention is for it to end up on the floor?
I study myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. Hair loose in waves, makeup subtle but polished, skin glowing from weeks of proper sleep and regular meals. The anxious girl who showed up at Asher's office in January feels like a stranger now.
Asher appears, filling the doorway in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to expose those forearms that make my mouth go dry. His gaze travels over me, slow and deliberate, heat flaring in his steel eyes.
"Perfect." His voice drops an octave. "Turn around."
I spin, the dress swishing against my thighs. His hand finds my waist, pulling me back against his chest. Lips brush my neck, just below my ear.
"You look good enough to devour." His teeth graze my skin. "I want to bend you over and fuck you right now. Was that your intention when you picked this skimpy little thing?"
I swallow. "Maybe."
"Come on, Sugar. Wallace is waiting." He kisses my temple before leading me to the car.
The drive to Haven feels longer than it should. Asher's thumb traces circles on my palm, grounding me, but anxiety creeps in with every block we pass. What if Candace sees us? She fired me. She knows I'm not one of them. I'm not a member who belongs there.
Candace will take one look at me hanging on Asher's arm and see right through this facade. The broke waitress she fired, now clinging to a billionaire's sleeve. Heat crawls up my neck because part of her judgment would be true. The money is the reason I agreed to this arrangement with him.
Wallace pulls up to the unmarked warehouse. No sign, no indication of what lies inside. Just exposed brick and a single door with a keypad.
Asher helps me out, his hand settling on my lower back as we approach. He punches in a code, the lock clicking open.
"Breathe." His lips caress my ear. "You're with me."
We step inside, and Haven unfolds exactly as I remember—velvet alcoves, leather furniture, dim amber lighting that casts everyone in shadows and gold. But this time, I'm not balancing drink trays or dodging wandering hands.
A woman in a collar kneels at her partner's feet near the entrance. Another man guides his date toward the private rooms, hand firm on her neck. Everything here operates on a frequency I'm only beginning to understand.
Asher leads me to the bar, finding a table with two chairs nearby.
He orders from the waitress in the same black uniform dress I used to wear, not even bothering to look up at her. "Macallan 25, neat. And a glass of champagne for my wife."
Wife. The word feels foreign, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
The waitress comes back a moment later with our drinks, and I reach for the champagne, tilting it back, but Asher's hand darts out and stops me.
"Sip it slow. I want you relaxed, not drunk."
Nodding, I take a small sip, bubbles fizzing on my tongue. The club hums with conversation, people moving in and out of shadowed corners. A woman laughs, high and bright. Somewhere deeper in the club, a sharp crack echoes.
My pulse kicks up with equal parts dread and anticipation, remembering that Asher promised to spank me. Heat pools low in my belly even as my shoulders tense.
"How are you feeling?" Asher leans closer, voice low enough that only I hear.
"Nervous," I admit.
"Color?"
I meet his eyes. "Green."
His smile is slow, approving. "Good girl. Finish your drink, then we'll head upstairs."
I take another sip, letting the champagne warm me from the inside. Across the room, I spot a familiar flash of purple hair. Kacey, deep in conversation with someone I don't recognize.
Asher's hand finds mine under the bar, squeezing. "Eyes on me, Sugar."
I tear my gaze away from Kacey, focusing on him instead. Steel-gray eyes, sharp jaw, the way his thumb strokes my knuckles.
"Better." He finishes his whiskey in one swallow. "Ready?"
I drain the last of my champagne and nod. "Yes, Sir."
He stands, pulling me with him. We bypass the main floor, heading toward a staircase tucked behind a velvet curtain. Each step takes us higher, away from the crowd, into quieter territory.
Private rooms.
Asher's domain.
The hallway upstairs is lined with doors, each one closed and soundproofed. He stops at the third one, punching in another code. With a soft click, the lock disengages.
He pushes the door open, gesturing me inside.
The room steals my breath.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall reflect everything. A king bed draped in black silk dominates the center. Along the far wall, there’s an overwhelming amount of equipment that I've only seen in movies—leather cuffs, ropes, a bench with restraints, a cabinet I can only assume holds more tools.
Asher closes the door behind us, the lock clicking back into place. He moves to a small table, lighting candles that cast flickering shadows across the mirrors, before his eyes lift to meet mine.
"This is where I come when I need control." His voice is measured, careful. "And tonight, I'm going to share it with you."