Page 9 of Heavy Equipment
Finally he faces me, his expression impassive. “I told you not to think about one fuck or two. This is going to be a long-term arrangement, you and me. I’ll use you plenty before it’s over.”
I flinch. “You like scaring me on purpose.”
A short laugh. “I thought you liked me scary. I thought that got you off.”
This night has been strange. Surreal, even. And I think I’ve done a good job going with the very weird flow. I’ve been a good daughter about as much as I can take. All I have now is rebellion. “I don’t see you getting me off right now. Looks to me like you’re running away.”
Challenge arcs through the air like electricity. He’s made of metal in this moment. He feels every bit of my anger, but he isn’t burned by it. Instead he smiles, slow and full of promise.
“You’re right,” he says, silky venom in his voice. “You’re a little tense tonight. Understandable, really. I can help you relax, beautiful. Would you like that?”
It isn’t really a question. Not when he’s already pulling the sheet away.
Two fingers tap my ass. “Turn over.”
I’m obeying him without really knowing what comes next. Not until he pushes a large pillow between my legs. His hands are rough as he props my ass in the air.
“You ever masturbate like this?”
I’m kneeling on the bed with a pillow wedged against my sex. My cheeks burn at the implication—both that I might have come this way under cover of night, and that I’ll come this way now. “No,” I say, drawing out the word.
“You don’t sound sure,” he says in a low laugh.
I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve done this. Too embarrassed to move, until he gives me a sharp slap on my ass. Pain yanks a high-pitched noise from me, and I move in an awkward jerk against the pillow. It isn’t a pleasant friction. It feels like not enough, not enough, not enough.
Asher slaps me again, this time on the underside of my ass. It hurts more there, the burn sharp and deep. I moan and move forward, just to escape him. And move back again, because part of me likes the pain. Then I’m rocking against the pillow, moving mindless and unafraid.
I hear the whistle of his hand. I know the pain is coming.
And still it takes me by surprise, right between my legs. He slapped me, there. He slaps me hard enough that I cry out, muffling my scream into the pillow. I speed up, and he slaps me again. I don’t know whether he’s punishing or rewarding me. It feels like both as I barrel toward climax, the pillow tight and hot between my legs, my mind too lust-drunk to care about how humiliating I must look right now.
When it comes climax is a soft wave, ocean water reaching across my face, closing over my nose. Until I can’t take a breath anymore. Can’t see anything beyond the wavery underwater.
And then I drift down, down, down into sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The top perfume in the U.S. is Bath and Body Works’ Japanese Cherry Blossom. Thirty million units of the mixture are sold each year.
I wake up when it’s still dark outside.
I’ve always been an early riser, and according to the antique clock on the wall, today is no different. I stumble to the bathroom where I’m shocked fully awake by the sight of my favorite L’Occitane toiletries. He wasn’t joking about how long he’d been preparing for this. I don’t know whether to be flattered that he wanted me to be comfortable—or terrified that he knows so much about me when I don’t even know his middle name.
The familiar citrusy scent soothes me despite my worries, and I step out of the steaming shower with a towel around my body. The closet contains full racks of clothes I would have bought at Ann Taylor and Banana Republic. I prefer simple clothes, like the cream cable knit sweater and plaid slacks I pull from their hangers. Red Ralph Lauren pointed-toe pumps from the shoe rack will be the only pop of color.
I open a wooden drawer and freeze. Asher has been spot-on about the things I like so far, but this underwear isn’t anything I would have picked out for myself. There are no full coverage neutral briefs or black bikini panties that will hide neatly beneath my clothes.
There’s lace and patterns and ruffles.
One pair of panties has a little eyedrop cut out in the front beneath the waistband. It hardly reveals a full square centimeter of skin, but the thought of wearing it makes me feel naked.
The thongs are made of satin so soft they make me think I might actually enjoy wearing them.
It gets stranger when I try to find a bra to wear. There aren’t any.
