Page 10 of Heavy Equipment
As I search through the drawers I find stockings and garters. Scarves. Even a hat, which is surprisingly cute, but there isn’t a damn bra in the entire walk-in closet.
“Problem?” comes a low voice from behind me.
I whirl, clutching the towel close to me, using the clothes I haven’t yet put on as a shield. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come wake you, but you’re already up. Excellent. I have to be at the worksite by seven a.m. or the guys get the idea they can be late, too.”
“There aren’t any bras,” I say, my cheeks flaming. I did embarrassing things last night. I climaxed again and again—against the wall of my childhood home, in the cab of his truck. While humping a pillow on the bed ten feet away from us. But discussing my underwear with him feels more intimate.
An eyebrow lifts. “You don’t need one.”
I stare at him, more shocked in this moment than when Nathan Fitzsimmons snapped the strap of my training bra in sixth grade. What’s this for? he said. You don’t have anything to put in it. I’ve always been flat, despite the multitude of push-ups I tried through middle school, the padded bras in high school. And I’ve mostly accepted that shortcoming, at least until Asher Cook looks at me with calm refusal.
“Excuse me?” I manage to say. “I’m the one who decides that.”
He gives me a half smile, completely unfazed. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m the one who decides what you wear and for how long. I’m the one who’s going to tear that off you. But those pretty little tits you’re hiding under that towel? I want access to them any time of the day.”
Pretty little tits? “I’m flat.”
He shakes his head. “You’re small. And I’m big. And you know what? I think you like that. I think it makes your tight pussy even tighter, thinking of how I could overpower you.”
A shiver runs through me, and he’s not entirely wrong. There’s pleasure. And there’s fear, which only serves to make it sharper. What would it be like if he didn’t let me out of the closet? What would happen if he demanded that I drop the towel? My fist tightens on the thick cloth, because I already know what would happen. I would fight him. I would lose.
His soft laugh fills the room. The hair on the back of my neck rises. “Come downstairs,” he says, already turning away. “We have a full day ahead of us. I can’t wait.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Cherry blossoms are thought to be native to the Himalayas. The flowers originated somewhere in Eurasia before migrating to Japan.
Fabric rubs against my breasts with every small movement, leaving them tender. I cheated ever so slightly, wearing a thin camisole beneath the cable knit sweater in lieu of a bra. The plan backfires, because the silk brushes against my nipples. By the time I walk downstairs my nipples are hard and jutting up against the heavy fabric. Awareness of my breasts spreads and spreads, until I’m standing in a strange room thinking of nothing but my pretty little tits.
That’s what he called them, and for the first time I actually believe that might be true. They might be pretty and little. They might be small, if he were to caress them with his large, callused hands.
Asher stands with his back to me, broad shoulders encased in a white T-shirt and a fresh pair of jeans. His boots complete a look I know is designed entirely from utility. That’s what this man is made of, work and strength and determination. But around him… that’s a different story. There are paintings on every wall, some taller than me, all of them museum quality. The one he’s looking at is a painting of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, the flowers swirling around, so lifelike you can almost smell the bitter sweet scent of them.
“We need to talk,” I say, stepping into the room. I’ve donned my armor in the form of clothes. I won’t be cowering in a towel for this conversation. And I’m not going to let him distract me with sex.
He turns, his eyes alight with amusement. “We can talk on the way to the worksite.”
I take a step forward. “Why do I need to come with you?”
“Because,” he says with exaggerated patience. “One fuck or two fucks, they aren’t going to pay for what your daddy owes me. It’s going to take a lot more than that.”
“So you want… what? An assistant.”
His laugh is molten steel. “Yes. Exactly. You’re going to assist me.”
“Bullshit. You want to show me off so the whole city knows my father owes you money. You want to humiliate my family, but I’m not going to let you do that.”
“You aren’t?”
“What kind of fool do you take me for? I’m not going to agree to any deal that’s indefinite or that harms our ability to do business in the future. If you want me to pay with my body? Fine. Then you tell me exactly how many nights it will take to work off the money.”
