Chapter 43
GRACE
Dove resigns from her position at Sanctum, packs a suitcase, and leaves New York City. The society papers gossip and speculate about her for a week and, finally, the scandal of her wedding starts to fade.
I hear from her once after she leaves. She sends me a text, thanking me for being there for her, even though she didn't deserve it. I tell her she did deserve it, and I'm here if she needs anyone to talk to.
The more time I spend with Asher, the more I realize he and his siblings are just searching for the unconditional love I get the feeling they lacked in childhood.
In July, we attend Gabe's first gala as the President of Sanctum Cares. My brother-in-law looks sleek in his fancy black suit, his hair slicked back, and his beard neatly trimmed.
With the exception of Dove, the entire Caine family is here. Asher has been pulled away from me several times since we've arrived. One thing after another. Even after seven months together, I still haven't gotten used to these kinds of events.
"Grace, my favorite sister-in-law." Wren has his signature grin on his face when he approaches me, a man with graying hair and tortoiseshell frames next to him.
"I'm pretty sure I'm your only sister-in-law," I retort with a quirked eyebrow as he leans in to side-hug me, his lips coming near my ear.
"Save me," he whispers. "This man is so boring.
" When he pulls back, I have to pretend he didn't just say that to me when the man is standing right here.
"This is James Rock," he says pleasantly, as if he didn't just call him boring.
"He works at some kind of publishing something or other.
Grace is a writer; you two should get to know each other.
" And then leaves us, just as quick as he came.
James and I look at each other before we both burst into laughter, Wren's motives very clear.
"I'm sorry about my brother-in-law." I smile, trying to break the ice.
"No apology needed. I've heard stories of the infamous Wren Caine." He chuckles. "So, you're a writer?"
"Aspiring," I correct.
"Are you currently working on anything?"
I chew on my lip, unsure if I should tell him what I'm actually working on. A steamy story about a girl exploring the tantalizing world of BDSM.
I'm not sure if James Rock is ready for that kind of intro, so I shrug. "Drafting a romance. Still in the early phases." It's not a complete lie.
"That's a hot market these days." He leans in with interest.
I shrug. "It's growing, for sure." I don't argue that romance has always been a hot market and that women have always, and will always want to, read love stories.
"Have you published anything? Do you have an agent?"
"Not yet, and not anymore." I'm not sure why I phrase it like that instead of just saying no, but James latches onto the subtext.
"Who were you with?" His eyes narrow curiously.
I hate saying his name. But I swallow the lump in my throat and tell James the truth. "Richard Caldwell."
"Oof." His expression changes instantly, twisting with distaste. "You might have dodged a bullet there."
My face must show my confusion.
"You didn't hear what happened?" James asks, and I shake my head. He steps in closer, whispering the details. "He was just let go from Sterling. Apparently, he has a long history of abusing women, and he's being sued for it. I don't know all the details, but it sounds like they have a strong case."
My intake of breath is sharp.
There are others. Other women who Richard pulled the same stunt with. My fingers itch for my phone. I want to look up the case and devour every detail. I want to stand in awe of the women who were brave enough to do what I couldn't.
"I mean, the man always had a reputation about him, but…" He whistles. "This is not good for him."
"Wow," I manage to say.
"He blackballed them all. Told every contact he had not to touch them. Poor girls."
My chest aches. Is that why I have a stack of rejection letters? My throat burns at the realization that one moment of my life changed the trajectory of everything. Am I even a bad writer, or was he just bitter?
"We publish some romance at Rock Media." James changes the subject. "I can read what you have or pass it along to some of my colleagues if you’re interested."
Fear and hope collide inside me. I'm terrified of letting someone read my work, of letting it leave the cozy cocoon of just us. But then again, James is standing before me, offering what could be my big break.
"I think I'd like that."
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crisp white business card. "Send it over."
Before I can respond, a familiar presence materializes beside me. Asher's hand finds the small of my back, possessive and warm.
"Rock." His voice carries cool politeness with an underlying edge. "Enjoying the evening?"
"Caine, congratulations on the marriage." James doesn't step back immediately. "I was just telling Grace how much I'd love to read her current work."
"Were you?" Asher's tone could frost glass. His fingers spread against my back, a subtle claim of ownership.
"Yes, we were discussing her writing." James maintains his warm smile directed at me. "Seeing if maybe we can connect her with a new agent since her last one turned out to be a predator."
"Is that right?" Asher's voice remains neutral, but something shifts in his posture. The hand on my back stills. "I'm sure karma has a way of catching up with men like Caldwell."
The way he says it—so measured, so deliberate—sends a chill through me that has nothing to do with the air-conditioning. I glance up at him, searching those steel-gray eyes for confirmation of the suspicion forming in my mind.
"Indeed, it does," James agrees, oblivious to the undercurrent. "Well, I see Senator McKenzie over there. Should probably say hello before he leaves." He extends his hand to me. "Grace, lovely meeting you. I'll look forward to that manuscript."
"Thank you," I manage, shaking his hand.
James nods at Asher. "Caine."
"Rock."
We watch him disappear into the crowd, and the moment he's out of earshot, I turn to face Asher fully.
"Did you do something?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He reaches for a champagne flute from a passing server, the picture of innocence except for the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.
"Asher." My pulse hammers in my throat. "Did you— Richard's lawsuit. That's not just karma."
"Isn't it?" He takes a sip, those cold eyes never leaving mine. "Perhaps someone simply helped facilitate the proper channels. Made sure the right lawyers knew about the right women. Ensured certain NDAs were deemed unenforceable."
My breath catches. "You can't just—"
"Can't what? Make phone calls? Suggest certain law firms might want to take a high-profile case pro bono? I'm a very wealthy man, Grace. I know a lot of people." His hand returns to my back, thumb tracing small circles against my dress. "And I take care of what's mine."
Those last words make my knees weak.
"Now, what was this with you and James Rock, hmm?"
Surprise flickers through me. "What do you mean…"
"You were over here talking to him for ten minutes."
A smile pulls at my lips. "Are you… jealous?"
Asher scoffs. "You're my wife. The only man you should be talking to for that long is me."
I can’t help but laugh. "That's archaic."
"Maybe I'm archaic."
I step closer to him, running my hands over the lapels of his tux. "He was just being nice."
Asher's nostrils flare. "I don't want him to be nice to you."
That has the smile on my cheeks growing. "Is it so terrible that someone was nice to me?"
Asher goes very still. When he speaks, his voice drops to that dangerous tone that makes my stomach flip and my pulse race.
"Yes. It would be terrible. Because you're mine."
The low and feral growl sends electricity straight to my core. Before I can say anything else, his hand finds my arm, and he's guiding me through the crowd with firm purpose.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere private." His voice is tight with barely leashed control.
He leads me down a hallway and into a coat closet, flipping the lock behind us. The small space is dim, intimate, filled with expensive furs and the scent of cedar and sea salt from his cologne.
"Asher, what are you—"
He backs me against the wall, one hand braced at the side of my head, the other trailing his fingers down my throat. They trace over the pearls of my choker before pulling it taut, the beads pressing against my throat and reminding me of the symbol that I belong to him.
"Tell me you're mine," he demands without being callous.
My eyes widen at where I think this is leading. "This is insane. Someone could—"
"Tell me." His voice drops an octave ,to that commanding tone that always makes me melt. "Tell me you belong to me, Grace."
Heat floods my veins as his body cages me in.
The rational part of my brain screams that this is jealousy, possessiveness, everything unhealthy about desire.
But my body doesn't care about rational thoughts right now.
My body only cares about the man pressed against me, about the way his voice makes me ache with need.
"I'm yours," I whisper, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me, and I sink into that part. I feel safe here. Safe when Asher is in control and I know he'll take care of me. It's safe being his. "Only yours."
Something fierce and primal flashes in his eyes. "Good girl."
His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding.
I gasp against his lips, and he takes advantage, his tongue sweeping inside to claim me thoroughly.
His hands find the hem of my dress, bunching the expensive fabric around my waist. I should protest, should remind him we're in a closet at his family's gala, but any remaining coherent thoughts abandon me the moment his fingers find the lace edge of my panties.
"If you want help finding an agent," he growls against my ear, "you ask me. Not some fuckboy who wants to get you alone so he can try to seduce you."
"Asher—" I don't even think that true, that James is a fuckboy or that he wanted to get me alone, but Asher doesn't let me argue. He presses a hand over my lips to silence the words.
"Do you understand me?" Gray eyes hold my gaze, waiting impatiently for an answer.
I nod, and Asher's fingers slip beneath the lace of my panties, finding me wet and ready for him. All it takes is that stern voice and a reminder that I belong to him, and I melt into the palm of his hand.
He removes his palm from my lips. "Say it."
"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, Sir."
That breaks his control completely. In one swift motion, he turns me to face the wall, his hands rough and urgent as he pushes my dress higher. I hear the rasp of his zipper, feel the heat of him pressing against me.
"I need you," he mutters, raw with desperation. "I need you right here, right now. I need to remind you who you belong to."
He enters me with one hard thrust that steals my breath. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out, my palms pressed flat against the wall as he sets a punishing rhythm.
This is nothing like the careful control he usually maintains. His fingers find my clit, circling with just enough pressure to drive me wild, but not enough to push me over the edge.
"I want to fill you up," he growls. "I want you to walk around the rest of the evening with my cum dripping from your cunt so you don't forget who you belong to."
I try to tame my moan. "Fuck, Asher."
"Come for me," he commands against my neck. "Show me you're mine and come all over my cock, Sugar."
The combination of his words and his touch shatters my control. I come hard around him, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure consume me.
"I'm going to fill you up." He grunts, and then he makes good on his promise, hissing out a breath as he releases himself inside me.
We stay frozen for a moment, both breathing hard. When he finally withdraws, his hands are gentle as he helps smooth my dress back into place before pressing a lingering kiss to my forehead.
I lean against his chest, steadying myself as my brain slowly shifts back to reality.
Tell me you belong to me.
The words ring in my head. And I did tell him. Because I do feel like I belong to him. But something slick churns in my gut, reminding me, once again, that this all has an expiration date.
I want you to walk around the rest of the evening with my cum dripping from your cunt so you don't forget who you belong to.
Will he still feel this way when it's all over?
Will he care about who's flirting with me once he's named CEO?
"We should get back," Asher whispers. "Before someone notices we're gone."
I can feel his cum dripping into my panties, just like he said it would, making a mess of me. And secretly, I enjoy the reminder. I enjoy knowing that I'm his.
"Give me a second," I tell him.
"I'll go out first," he says before tugging me against him and pressing his lips to mine, deepening the kiss and pulling me back into that space where all I can think of is him and the way his body feels against mine.
When he walks out, I finger the pearl choker and wonder what will happen when this ends and if Asher will be a dark shadow haunting me forever.