Chapter Twelve #2
Asher steps toward me, pulling me forward in the chair until my face is level with his cock.
The edge of the desk digs into my ribcage.
My skirt rides up in the process, exposing more thigh than is strictly professional.
I shoot him a warning look, but he's not even looking at me.
He's staring at Miles, daring him to stop watching.
"Take my cock out," Asher hisses, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I hesitate, but not for long. If I don't obey, it'll only get worse. If I do, I can at least pretend I'm in control of something, even if it's just my own humiliation.
My hands are steady as I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and pull his cock free.
He's already half hard, which makes my heart stutter—whether from horror or something else, I can't say.
I keep my eyes on the floor, as if that'll hide the way my heart pounds with excitement, but I feel the weight of two gazes on me.
Asher's burns through my skull, his jealousy searing my insides.
Miles' stare is cold, hungry, and disbelieving, like he's still trying to figure out if he should try to stop this from happening or if he wants it to happen.
I stroke Asher's cock twice, just to get it fully hard, and then take him into my mouth.
For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of my lips moving over his cock and the thud of my own pulse thrumming wildly in my ears. It's like Miles isn't even breathing. I'm not sure Asher is, either.
He fists my hair and forces me down. I gag, tears already pricking the corners of my eyes, but he doesn't let up.
If anything, he tightens his grip, guiding my mouth in brutal, unyielding strokes.
Each thrust pushes me closer to the desk, until my knees go numb and the edge threatens to slice me in two.
And God help me, I love it.
I love that Miles is watching. I love that I have no control here. I love the burn of humiliation and the way Asher is looking at me like he'd rather raze the city to the ground than let another man touch me.
For so long, I thought it was hate driving him, that he ruined my life and refused to let anyone else have me, just to make me miserable, just to make me pay.
I know better now, though. He does it because he doesn't think he deserves love, so he reaches for my hate instead.
He uses it like a weapon, keeping me chained to him with it because the thought of not having me is the worst thing he can imagine.
This is love for him, in the only language he understands, in the only way he thinks he can have it.
"You see this?" Asher asks Miles, his voice deadly calm. "You see how good she is at obeying?" He jerks my head up, my lips smeared with precum and saliva. "This is what I pay for, Andrews. Not just pussy, but the part of her that fucking loves being owned."
God help me, but he's right about that, too. I like being his toy, someone who doesn't have to think or remember or be anything more than what I am. I don't have to pretend with him. When he's all over me, I'm allowed to just…forget.
"Jesus, Blackstock," Miles breathes. His cheeks are red, his eyes wide. "You're a sick motherfucker."
"Not as sick as you, if you think you're going to get anywhere near her." He turns my head so I have to look at Miles, my cheeks streaked with spit and mascara. "You're dying to know if she tastes as good as she looks," he taunts.
He shoves his cock back into my mouth. I choke, but keep sucking, the humiliation burning so bright it almost outshines the way my body throbs with need. Almost.
"Stay right there," Asher commands when Miles starts to stand. "You don't get to leave until you know your place."
"I never believed the stories people tell about you and the way you destroy anyone who gets in your way, but they weren't wrong.
You're a goddamn psycho," Miles whispers, but he doesn't move.
His hand is clenched on his knee, his knuckles white.
But he doesn't look away. He watches me like he can't stop himself, like he wishes it were his cock in my mouth.
When his other hand presses against his cock, I realize that he's hard.
"Maybe I am," Asher says. "But you want to fuck her right now, don't you?"
Miles glares at him silently.
"Tell the truth, Andrews. You're dying to know what her perfect mouth feels like wrapped around your cock, aren't you?"
"Fuck," Miles grits out, shuddering. He doesn't confirm, but he doesn't have to. The truth is right there, screaming louder than any words ever could. As fucked up as this is, he likes it.
Asher fucks my mouth in silence for a few more seconds, then pulls me off with a pop. He leans down so his mouth is right by my ear, but pitches his voice so Miles hears every word. "Do you want him in your mouth, princess?" he asks, rubbing his cock across my lips. "Do you want to fuck him?"
I shake my head, tears dripping down my cheeks. I want to say no, I want to say anything, but his hand is still in my hair, and I can barely breathe. But I don't want Miles to touch me. I'll never fucking forgive Asher if he allows him to touch me.
"Answer me," he growls.
"No," I force out.
"Louder."
"No! I'll hate you forever if you let him touch me." The words bounce off the walls, reverberating through the office like a gunshot. Even the city outside seems to go still for a heartbeat.
And then Asher smiles, a vicious twist of his lips. "Good." He smacks my cheek with his cock, marking my face with a smear of precum. "Because you're mine. And he's never going to be a goddamn thing to you."
I exhale a ragged, choked breath, relief coursing through me.
He turns to Miles, his hand still tangled in my hair. "Get the fuck out of my office," he says, his voice so cold it could crack bone. "And don't ever look at her again, or she'll be the last thing you see."
Miles lingers a beat too long. His eyes flicker to me, then to Asher, then back again. I see the calculation in his gaze, the sick fascination at war with his own disgust.
Asher slams his hand down on the desk, rattling his pens in their holder. "Get the fuck out!"
"Please go," I whisper, afraid Asher might actually kill him if he doesn't. I've seen this side of him before.
I know precisely what he's capable of doing.
He's been doing it for years, destroying every man who even looked at me, taking the things they loved most, and breaking them.
It doesn't matter how powerful they think they are.
They'll never be powerful enough to stand against him.
Miles stands, straightening his jacket with trembling hands. "You're both fucking crazy," he mutters. "You deserve each other."
Asher's smile doesn't waver. "And now, you'll never forget it."
Miles shakes his head and stalks out, slamming the door behind him.
Asher doesn't move for a long time. He just stands there, breathing hard, his cock still out, his fist still knotted in my hair.
The office is silent, but there's a vacuum in the air, the kind left behind when someone drops a bomb in the middle of a building, even though the walls are still standing.
I'm not sure if I want to scream, cry, or kill him.
Instead, I glare up at him, my heart hammering like a war drum against my ribcage.
I'll be surprised if half the city doesn't know what happened before tomorrow.
No one will ever take me seriously then.
In their eyes, I'll always be the girl who sucked Asher's cock in front of Miles Andrews just because he demanded it.
They'll all know just how much I enjoy this fucked up, twisted game between us.
Dammit.
"He was right. You are a fucking psycho."
The words barely make it past my lips before Asher detonates.
One swipe of his arm, and every single thing on his desk is airborne. Papers, the pen cup, his fucking laptop—it all crashes to the floor. The violence of it stuns me, rooting me in place.
He's on me before I can even blink.
He wraps his hand around my throat, his grip like iron, and hauls me to my feet, shoving me up against the bank of windows. The city stretches out behind us, endless and cold, but the glass is warm where my body slams into it.
He doesn't say a word at first, just breathes me in, his forehead pressed to mine. The possessive rumble in his chest is so loud, I feel it vibrating through his skin.
When he finally speaks, it's a growl. "You. Are. Mine."
The way he says it pisses me off, so I do the only thing I know how to do. I push him further over the edge.
"Fuck you," I spit, clawing at his arm. "I'd rather belong to an actual fucking demon."
He yanks my legs open, pressing his body between them, his cock pressing against my thigh.
He tears at my blouse, buttons flying, rips my bra down to expose my tits, and then bites my collarbone hard enough to leave a mark.
His other hand tangles in my hair, yanking my head back so I can't look away from him.
"You belong to me," he says, his voice soft and deadly.
I slap his face hard enough to sting, but he just laughs, the sound so dark it's nearly a growl.
"Go on. Hit me again," he dares.
I do, so hard the sound echoes off the glass.
He grabs both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head, and then tears my skirt up to my hips. His fingers slip inside me, rough and unforgiving.
I gasp because I'm already wet, so fucking wet from the chaos, the humiliation, and his sick, twisted ownership.
"God, you're wet for this," he says, grinding the heel of his hand against my clit until I see stars. "You fucking loved sucking my cock in front of him, didn't you?"
I try to glare, but it's useless. I can't even breathe.
"No," I manage to gasp.
"Liar." He leans in, licking a line from my jaw to my mouth. He bites my lower lip, then kisses me so hard that my teeth clack together.
I bite him back, drawing blood, but he just moans, his cock jerking against my thigh.