Page 54 of King of Ashes
“Good. Now let me send my woman straight to euphoria. I’ll be there to catch you.”
I don’t stop until she’s a moaning, whimpering mess who calls on God while she’s tongue-fucked by the devil himself. Alternating between sucking on her swollen folds, biting into her engorged clit, and lapping at her slit, I devour her with teeth and tongue.
The sounds she produces are a symphony of moans, a crescendo that leaves her breathless. I don’t stop even after she comes with my name falling from her lips, dragging her orgasm out until she’s about to faint, only to grip her chin and kiss her senseless so she can taste my desperation and her release.
In the wake of her orgasm, nothing remains but sweet surrender.
She locks her arms around my neck and buries her face there. “I should hate you, Vian.”
I stiffen; the words hit too close when she adds, “But I can’t. God knows why…”
I brush my knuckles along her back and kiss her temple. “You’re mine, Zara.”
“You won’t rest until I am, so the sensible thing would be to give in, but I have nothing to offer. I’m beyond broken. I will probably die searching for answers. I won’t be a good wife or a mother because something holds me back. Not knowing owns me. You came too late,” she says, like an apology.
It leaves me wondering if confessing is the only way.
No. I refuse to believe that.
13
ZARA
He always looks in control, but as I stare at his sleeping form, I notice the cracks. A line digs between his brows, his jaw tight enough for his molars to grind together, as if he’s tormented. The sight steals the breath from my lungs, knotting me up.
I caress his jaw, driven by an incessant urge to comfort him. He releases the pressure, and then I move to his forehead, brushing the line away.
“Mi sol,” he whispers, my name caught between agony and relief, squeezing an invisible fist around my heart.
Last night is now etched into my memory. It’s like he rewrites my brain to focus solely on him. My body to submit to him. My heart to crave him.
This sudden change in my life disconcerts me, and I roll out of bed, tiptoeing into the bathroom. I stare at my reflection for long minutes, not recognizing the woman in front of me. I’ve stitched myself into this person with pieces and bits that were unfamiliar, just to create an identity from scratch, but I can’t hide the result from myself. Internally, I resembleFrankenstein’s monster more than a human, a failed attempt at playing God.
Turning on the faucet, I gather cold water in my hands and splash it over my face, then brush my teeth, spitting the toothpaste as if it’s the acid gathering on my tongue. The man I supposedly loved hard enough to preserve his ghost has morphed into Vian, as if they’re not different men but one.
He will take and take some more. Last night showed me that my fight dies the moment he touches me—my will is a feather he blows away with no effort.
After I apply a bit of makeup, I walk into the closet and dress in a pencil skirt and crisp shirt. Rolling my sleeves below my elbows, I gather my heels, hoping my business look will help me keep things uncomplicated between us. Wishful thinking.
His face is back to displaying raw agony. He wants my all, yet he clings to his past just as much, causing a sigh to heave from my chest.
Downstairs, I greet my staff on the way to the kitchen. My chef smiles as she prepares breakfast, a cup of coffee already waiting for me on the counter.
She keeps glancing at me, and it makes me feel exposed. “What?” I say, my voice clipped.
“Your husband slept here. That’s a first. If you don’t mind me saying?—”
“I do mind.”
Undeterred, she goes on. “It suits you. You look more relaxed.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Last night flashes through my mind, and I stayed there like a spellbound woman, wanting to erase the space between us. He didn’t snap like the first time. No, he wants me to beg. That will never happen. He caved once. He will do it again.
That thought emboldens me like nothing else. He won’t be able to ignore his own nature much longer—every fiber of his body is made to take. Meanwhile, I rejoice in his growing desperation and the confidence it gives me.
I can’t believe the asshole managed to shut off my brain so completely that I floated in a bubble of sweet nothingness.
I clench my thighs and shift from foot to foot, trying to control my wantonness. Feeling watched, I sip my coffee, aiming for nonchalance, but my thoughts circle back to him as if he is my sole destination.
