I sit down on the edge of the bed, unsure where to begin. Do I undress?
Or do I wait for him to undress me?
There was no mother to give me the birds and the bees talk. She died years ago, but her spirit left a long time before that. On a good day she would tell me parables about frogs and tigers. There would be gossip about people I didn’t know. Sometimes the stories would blend together until I wasn’t sure which was fiction or fact. Maybe she didn’t know either.
On a bad day, she wouldn’t speak at all. I learned to manage the household before my feet could touch the floor at our dining room table. I planned parties and hired staff. Papa was too busy with Li Industries, so I was the only one left. That’s how I ended up in this room, I suppose. If the business was failing, if papa had run out of ideas… I was the only one left.
Asher crouches down in front of me, and I hold my breath, waiting, waiting.
He hooks one arm behind my calves and pushes me lengthways on the bed, his movements brusque, unceremonious, and definitely unsexy. A sweep of his arm, and then I’m covered with the sheet. “Goodnight,” he says, already turning toward the door.
“Wait.”
He stops, his back toward me. “Yes?”
I have the sense that he’s afraid, which doesn’t make any sense. I’m the one who should be terrified. I should be shaking beneath these covers and grateful that he’s giving me a reprieve. Instead I’m disappointed. You’re dangerous, he said to me. What could he possibly be afraid of? “You’re just going to leave.”
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.
