Chapter Seven #2
I step into the shower, cranking the heat until my skin prickles and steams. I scrub myself raw, like that'll wash away the memory of his hands on my body or his cock inside me. Like that'll erase the fact that he fucked me without a condom, or that I loved it.
I keep going long after the water runs clear, as if maybe this time I can finally erase the last seven years of wanting him, hating him, and wanting him even more because I hate him.
When I'm done, my skin is pink and raw. My hair hangs in dripping ropes down my back, water pooling around my feet.
I turn off the water and dry off, ignoring the soreness between my legs. I slip into a robe and the first pair of panties I grab from the drawer, cinching the robe as tight as it'll go. I'm about to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head for a week, but something feels…off.
I pad down the hallway, only to freeze in the doorway of the living room.
Asher is sitting on my couch.
He's got one arm thrown over the back, his legs stretched out, and his shoes off. He's scrolling through his phone like he owns the place.
For a second, I can't even process it. An hour ago, he was gripping the steering wheel of his Mercedes like he wanted to snap it in half. Now he's here, at home in my living room, as if nothing happened.
"What the fuck?" I mutter, barely more than a whisper.
He looks up, like he's just now realizing I exist. His eyes flick over me, taking in my wet hair, robe, and bare feet. His lazy smirk infuriates me.
"Your security sucks," he says, tucking his phone away.
I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.
He takes advantage of my paralysis, standing and stretching, all six foot four of him creating a line of pure, predatory grace. He's removed his jacket and tie, leaving him unkempt in a way that makes him seem almost human. Almost. Except…I know better. He stopped being human a long damn time ago.
"How did you get in?" I finally manage.
He shrugs. "You should really change your lock code. It's been the same since you moved in."
The urge to stab something returns, stronger than ever. I stalk past him, ignoring the way his gaze tracks me to the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of wine. I drink half of it in a single go.
"You need to leave," I say, my voice shaking. "You don't get to—"
He cuts me off, crossing the kitchen in two long strides. He crowds me against the counter, his hands braced on either side of my body. "You wouldn't stay with me, so I'm staying with you."
"That wasn't the deal," I say, summoning every ounce of venom I have left.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "Then I'm changing the terms, princess."
He's close enough that his body heat sinks into my skin. For a second, I think he might kiss me. Instead, he pulls back, watching me.
"I don't want you here," I snap, staring him down.
"Liar," he says, soft and smug. He grabs my wine and takes a long sip, watching me over the rim of the glass.
I hate him. I hate him so much.
He's still holding my wine, but now he's moved so that he's between me and the exit.
I push past him anyway and storm down the hallway to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I'm halfway through locking it when he shoulders it open, not even pretending to respect my space and privacy.
He leans against the frame, arms crossed, blocking the light.
"What do you want, Asher?" I say, defeated.
He takes a breath. For a moment, I almost think he'll say something real. But then he smiles, slow and wicked. "What do I want? Mm. So many things, princess," he says.
"You broke me in, remember?" I spit, anger rekindling. "You had your fun. Get out."
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. "What's wrong, Brielle?" His tone is mocking, but there's something under it, a kind of hunger that makes me shiver. "Afraid I'll unfreeze your heart and find my way into your soul if you're forced to spend the night sharing a bed with me?"
I shake my head, backing away until I hit the wall.
But that's precisely what I'm afraid will happen.
If I sleep in his arms, I'll want more than I'm allowed to have.
I'll forget who and what he is, and I'll convince myself that he actually cares.
He'll break me, and I'll be the one who handed him the keys to his victory.
"You're delusional if you think you matter that much," I say, but my voice cracks. "I just don't want you trying to fuck me without a condom again. I don't want your demon babies."
"Demon babies?" He laughs, and it feels like he's peeling my skin back with the sound. "You'd fucking kill to have my kids, Brielle. We both know it."
"Delusional," I mutter again.
"You want me here," he says, closing the distance. "You've always wanted me here. Just like you want my kids."
Before I can answer, his hands are in my hair, dragging me forward. He kisses me like he wants to erase everything that's ever happened to us. Like he wants to start over and destroy me properly this time.
I bite his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he just groans, kissing me deeper. I think he likes the taste of my violence, the reminder that he can't have anything he doesn't take from me by force.
He spins me, slamming me against the wall, my cheek pressed to the drywall. His hand slides up my back, tangling in my hair, the other pinning my wrists above my head.
"You're mine," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "Say it."
"Hell no. I'm not yours."
I twist, but he's stronger. He pins me, his body flush to mine, and rips open my robe. Before I can even protest, he's shoving my panties down, one hand plunging between my legs.
I gasp, not because it hurts but because I'm so fucking wet for him it's humiliating. The roughness, the total lack of mercy, is exactly what I crave and exactly what I wish I didn't.
He's relentless, rubbing fast, hard circles against my clit until I'm squirming. His other hand drops from my wrists, sliding down to my throat…squeezing just enough to make my vision blur at the edges.
He brings his lips to my ear. "You're a slut for pain," he says, like it's a compliment. "You're a slut for me."
I want to scream at him, to tell him that he's wrong, but I can't. My body has already betrayed me. I rock back against his hand, desperate for more.
He smacks my ass, the sound echoing in the bedroom. "Good girl," he growls, pushing a finger inside me. Then two, then three. The stretch is brutal but perfect.
I moan without even meaning to do it.
He pulls his fingers out and shoves them into my mouth like he wants to muffle the sound of my pleasure. "Suck," he commands.
I glare at him, but I do it. I suck my own taste off his fingers, loving it. The bastard just smiles like he's won something vital.
He pulls his fingers from my mouth after a moment and kisses me hard, pinning my wrists above my head again, this time one-handed. The hand that was just in my mouth slides down, teasing my pussy for a second, and then slides between the cheeks of my ass.
I freeze. "Don't you fucking dare—"
He doesn't hesitate. He bends, spitting on my asshole before two fingers press against me, hard and merciless.
I clench, trying to fight him, but he waits out the resistance, grinding in slow, cruel circles until my body gives way.
It burns, a white-hot ring of fire, but I can't stop the guttural moan that rips from my throat as he sinks both fingers in to the last knuckle.
"Fuck you," I snarl.
He laughs in response, the sound low and lethal.
"I told you I'd teach you obedience," he breathes in my ear, working his fingers in and out of me. The stretch is brutal, but the pain is already melting into a sick, helpless pleasure. I hate him for knowing this about me. For knowing every single way to break me open.
He pulls my hips back, arching my spine, and with his other hand, circles my clit with rough, relentless pressure. I can't do anything but take it, my whole body igniting.
"You think you hate this," he pants, "but you're soaked just from the idea of me using you however I want. You like knowing that I could stuff you full of myself, in any hole I please, and you'd beg for more like the perfect little cumslut you are. Isn't that right?"
I try to spit a denial at him, but it collapses into a whimper when he scissors his fingers inside me, twisting viciously.
I come before I even realize it's happening. Pleasure rips through every nerve ending as I claw at the wall, desperate to anchor myself to something real.
He doesn't let up until I'm whimpering and shaking, and then he slips his hands free and steps back just long enough to undo his belt and drop his pants. His cock is hard, the head slick with precum.
He forces me down onto the bed, stomach-first, my ass in the air. My cheek is against the comforter, my hands clenched around it like it might root me to reality. He climbs on behind me, grabbing my hips and pulling me back until I can feel the blunt head of his cock at my entrance.
"I'm not using a condom, princess. Not ever. Deal with it." He slides in, slow at first, then brutally fast. The pain lights up every nerve, but the pleasure rides right behind it, turning everything hot and exquisite.
He fucks me like he means it. Like he can't stop. Every thrust is a punishment, every slap of his hips a reminder that I'll never be free of him.
He grabs my hair and yanks my head back. "Look at me while I ruin you," he says.
I turn my head, meeting his eyes. They're wild, not cold at all. For a second, I see the man I used to know before the accident—the one who sometimes smiled at me like I mattered when he thought no one was looking.
"There she is," he murmurs, driving into me with a force that makes my vision swim. "That's my girl. That's the pretty, filthy slut I've been waiting for."
His hands are everywhere—palming my hips, sliding up my ribs, fisting in my hair to force my head back so I can see his face. There's nothing soft about the way he takes me, but the words he breathes into my ear are molten, dangerous tenderness.
"Look at you," he pants, fucking me in a way that borders on reverence.
"You're perfect. I knew you'd feel like heaven.
" His hand slips closes on my throat, the pressure just enough to make my vision swim.
"Fuck, Brielle, you make me insane. Nothing has ever—" He grits his teeth, thrusting deeper, my entire body jolting from the force.
"Nothing will ever make me lose control like you do. "
His rough voice whispering worship while he fucks me raw is a mindfuck.
"God, you're so beautiful. Every inch. I want to bury myself in you and never come up for air."
I want to tell him to shut up, because every time he calls me beautiful or admits the depth of his obsession, it unravels something I've spent years trying to sew back together. But I can't speak. I can't even breathe except in desperate half-sobs.
His free hand slides down the curve of my back and then between my cheeks, the pads of his fingers slick from the mess he's already made of my body. He circles my asshole, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.
I tense, my breath catching in my throat, but he just leans in and licks the sweat from my spine.
Then he pushes two fingers inside again, past the point of resistance until I'm split open and gasping. The stretch burns, a savage reminder that I'm his now, inside and out.
I bury my face in the sheets, mortified by the helpless, wild sounds tearing out of me.
Even then, Asher's voice is low and reverent, branding me with his kind of worship. "Fuck, you look perfect when you're stretched wide and so fucking full of me like this." He pounds into me, his fingers scissoring in my other hole, twisting and stretching until I'm delirious with the sensation.
I come hard and sudden, my body clenching around him. Wave after wave rushes through me, leaving me gasping his name.
He groans and slams into me, fucking me through it. His fingers never let up, fucking my ass until I'm coming again, sobbing his name into the pillow.
When he's close, he pulls me up with the hand still around my throat, so my back is to his chest. He fucks me like that, one hand choking me, the other still lodged in my ass.
He comes with a savage shout, filling me until he leaks out.
For long moments after he's done, he stays inside, breathing hard, his grip on my neck never fully softening. I don't want him to move. I want to keep him right here, trembling against me. Wrecked in my arms.
When he finally pulls out, he bites my shoulder hard enough to bruise.
"You don't get to wash me off of you unless I say so, princess." He licks the mark he's left. "You'll sleep covered in me like a good girl."
"Go fuck yourself, Asher," I retort, but there's no heat in it.
He laughs, rolling off me and flopping onto his back. I instantly miss his heat. "Why? That's what I have you for."
I roll over and punch him in the chest, but he just grabs my wrist and kisses the inside of it, his lips soft.
"You're an asshole," I say, hating the tremble in my voice.
He smiles, softer now. "You're beautiful."
I almost say thank you, but I bite it back, refusing to let him know that his words affect me at all. Instead, I roll away from him and stare at the ceiling.
"You'll never be anything but a monster to me," I say, loud enough that he can't miss it.
He laughs, pulling me against him, spooning me even as I resist.
"That's fine," he says. "I'm your monster."
And I hate that it's true.
I hate that I want him here, wrapped around me, the weight of his arm heavy and warm and safe.
I hate that I don't want to sleep alone.
I lie awake for a long time, listening to his breath even out, memorizing the feel of his body against mine.
I know he'll hurt me again.
But for now, I let myself belong to him, just a little.
Just for tonight.