Chapter Six
Brielle
Friday is a battlefield.
I make it through most of the day without speaking a single word to Asher. The morning is a haze of emails, conference calls, and the nerve-wracking certainty that he's trying to drive me mad.
He doesn't put the plug in. He doesn't mention it at all, in fact. But I catch him watching me from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable, his fingers drumming on his mahogany desk.
I ignore him.
I ignore the way his gaze makes my skin pebble. I ignore the way my pulse jumps when he smirks. I ignore everything except work, and for a while, it feels like I'm winning.
"You can't ignore me forever," he finally says, his voice a wicked murmur.
I arch one brow, snort, and go back to typing.
His soft laugh echoes in the corners of his office like it's whispering from the pits of hell.
At four o'clock, the office empties for happy hour. I stay at my desk, typing out a memo with more force than necessary. It's almost peaceful. Almost. I even let myself pretend, just for a minute, that I'm completely alone.
Asher ruins that illusion in record time. He leans back in his chair, his hands behind his head. The pose is calculated, meant to look casual but actually designed to display every inch of power he possesses. "We're working late."
I stop typing to turn to him. "Uh, you have fun with that," I say. "I have plans."
"You have a report due on Monday, and you haven't touched it."
I grit my teeth. "I'll do it over the weekend."
His eyes narrow, his expression predatory. "You'll do it now."
Something in me snaps. Maybe it's the way he hasn't touched me today. Maybe it's the way my head aches from clenching my jaw all damn day, or the way my body is so keyed up I could scream. Maybe it's that I'm tired—so fucking tired—of letting him win.
I slam my laptop closed and stand up so fast my chair rolls across the floor.
"Go fuck yourself, you psychotic bastard," I say, so loud and clear it echoes off the walls.
Asher doesn't react, not at first. He just stares at me, letting the words hang between us.
Then, very quietly, "Say that again."
I square my shoulders, more than ready for this fight. "You heard me the first time. Go. Fuck. Yourself. Psychotic. Bastard."
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
He's on his feet before I can move, crossing the space in three strides. I lunge for the door, desperate to escape, but he's faster than I could ever hope to be.
He catches me by the wrist and yanks me back, slamming the door shut with his free hand. The click of the lock is a threat and a promise.
I twist, trying to wrench free. "Get off me, Asher."
He pulls me flush against his body, pinning my arms at my sides. His mouth is at my ear, his breath warm. "What's wrong? Too afraid to insult me and then deal with the consequences?"
I dig my heels in, refusing to be cowed. "You don't scare me."
He laughs, an unholy, dark sound that sends lava into my veins, as his grip tightens. "Liar."
I manage to elbow him in the ribs, but all that does is make him grin like the psycho he is. He spins me, slamming my back to the door. His face is inches from mine, his eyes feral.
"You're a fucking lunatic," I spit.
That only makes him smile wider. "You knew that before you agreed to sell your soul to me, princess."
He kisses me. No. He devours me, biting my lip so hard I taste blood.
I try to bite back, but he's ready for it, wrapping one hand around my throat to pin me.
His tongue forces my mouth open, and I can't help but moan in response, helpless and furious and so damn turned on I want to crawl out of my skin.
He breaks the kiss, panting. "You hate me so much, don't you?"
"Yes," I snarl, though it comes out shaky.
He lets go of my throat, only to grab my wrists and pin them above my head. With his free hand, he yanks his tie loose and loops it around my wrists, cinching them tight.
I struggle, but it's useless. He's got me precisely where he wants me…helpless and at his mercy.
I glare at him anyway, defiant. If he wants me to submit, he's going to have to try harder. I'll never break for him. "Go to hell."
He smirks, as if that's exactly what he expected me to say. In a single motion, he drops to his knees and rips my skirt down my legs. The fabric tangles at my ankles, trapping me.
"Let me go!" I scream at him, but he just grabs the crotch of my panties and tears them off.
"You fucking savage!" I yell when my core clenches in response.
He stands, balling my panties up, and then shoves them in my mouth. The taste is humiliating, but what's worse is how thoroughly drenched they are. He knows it, too.
He watches my face, drinking in my shame. "I think I like you gagged and silent," he murmurs.
I glare at him, but it doesn't faze him. I'm not sure anything I say or do truly bothers him.
He presses me harder against the door, his hand sliding between my legs. I want to clamp them shut, but he's already got one knee between them, forcing them open. I'm helpless, arms bound, mouth full, and legs spread.
Nothing has ever felt better, and I hate it so much.
He strokes me, two fingers running the length of my slit.
I'm so wet it's obscene. But even now, I want to resist. I glare at him, hating myself for what's happening to my body. Hating that I don't hate it. Hating that he knows it.
He circles my clit with his thumb, his eyes locked on my face. A bolt of ecstasy slides through me, and I buck involuntarily.
The movement makes him laugh.
"Still think you're in control, princess?" he breathes. "You aren't. I could do this all fucking day."
I scream behind the gag, trying to curse him, trying to say his name. All that comes out is an incoherent, indignant squawk.
He plunges two fingers inside me, rough and relentless. I thrash, but he pins my hips with his free hand, immobilizing me like it's nothing. He fucks me with his fingers, every stroke relentless, his thumb never leaving my clit.
I feel the orgasm barreling toward me, overwhelmingly massive after days of being left on the edge, but I fight it, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Somehow, he knows I'm fighting it. He leans in, his lips at my ear. "Fucking come for me, Brielle. Or I swear to God, I'll make it worse."
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes.
He adds a third finger, stretching me. The pain blurs into pleasure, blinding and total. I try like hell to hold back, to resist giving even an inch, but I can't. I fucking can't.
My body betrays me, my hips rolling, my pussy clenching desperately around his fingers. I come so hard I nearly black out, screaming around my panties.
He keeps going, dragging out the pleasure until I'm sobbing into the ruined lace in my mouth.
When he finally pulls his hand away, he licks my taste from his fingers, his eyes locked with mine.
I sink to the floor, gasping.
He crouches beside me, brushing the hair from my face. "It doesn't look to me like you hate me nearly as much as you like to pretend, princess," he says, his voice as soft as sin.
I manage to spit my panties out, but he's on me before I can even try to move. He grabs my ankle, hauling me across the tiled floor, like a lion toying with a wounded animal.
"Let me go, you prick. You proved your point."
"Oh, princess." He laughs, an unhinged sound that sends tremors into my soul. "You thought we were done?"
I try to kick at him, but he grabs my thigh and holds it in a bruising grip. As soon as I'm sprawled on the rug surrounding his desk, he yanks my legs apart, forcing me open.
"Don't you dare—" I start, but he stuffs my ruined panties back into my mouth before I can finish.
"You'll choke on your own panties before anyone else hears you screaming for my cock."
He drops to his knees, spreading my thighs until my muscles ache. His face is between my legs, his breath hot on my skin.
I want to slap him, but my hands are still bound with his tie, my wrists lashed together tight enough that there is no getting free. I try to squirm anyway, but it's pointless.
He starts slow, his tongue barely touching my clit, making me writhe with anticipation. He knows exactly what he's doing. Somehow, he already knows my body, probably better than I do.
I melt beneath him, unable to fight the pleasure racing through my veins.
He licks me in response, like he's savoring my taste. When he finds my clit again, he circles it with the tip of his tongue, never once taking his eyes off my face.
I glare at him, my teeth clenched around the gag, but the glare melts into something else. It melts into a whimper. And then into a plea.
He sucks my clit hard, and I jerk so violently my head cracks against the floor.
"This is what happens when you don't behave," he says, his voice muffled between my legs. "You get punished. Or maybe this is a reward. As wet as you are, it's hard to tell which is which for you."
He adds his fingers, two at first, then three, pumping them inside me in a way that makes my whole body quiver. He's merciless, licking and fucking me with his fingers until I'm nothing but heat and need.
I'm close, so close when he pulls away, leaving me panting and empty.
I thrash, desperate to come, but he just grins.
"You haven't earned another one yet."
He goes back to work, his tongue relentless, his fingers even rougher than before. Every time I get close, he stops, leaving me on the edge of an orgasm, teetering and frantic.
He keeps this up for what feels like hours, until I'm begging around the gag, until my whole body is shaking with the need to come. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. There is no hiding them, not when every inch of my body literally aches.
He finally relents, pinning me down with one hand and fucking me with the other. His tongue is on my clit, his fingers curling inside me.
I come so hard I nearly faint.