by Jade Eby
Asher’s cock hardened in his pants, never had he seen her so wild and pissed off.
Maxwell cringed. “I don’t like to be threatened, Mrs. Carson.”
“Then you should have thought about that before sending Theresa after me.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “She acted on her own accord, as she always does.”
Three police cars drove up to the front of the art museum.
“You may not want the police to go near your foster home tonight.” Diana smirked. “Have a good night, Maxwell.”
She limped off and Asher followed like a well-trained puppy.
Ten
Diana
The ugliness of Ovid Island shined strong in Diana’s eyes that evening.
As the limo traveled, Diana knew, without a doubt that there were monsters walking among the rich and elite on the Island.
These men,
they were less than cockroaches,
and they deserved to pay for their sins.
Asher hadn’t said anything since they drove off.
She also remained silent, too much had happened for her to make sense of it all. Theresa filled her mind most of the drive. Someone hurt Theresa during her time at Maxwell’s family foster home. The crazy woman couldn’t stop touching that bow, and she had serious rope skills. The sicko bound Diana up too fast. Maxwell’s office had soundproof walls. Theresa’s loyalty to Maxwell seemed based on a sickness.
What type of assistant beats a person on the head and then ties them to their boss’s chair, for him to come and deal with it? Those two have done bad things. Someone has to stop them, but I have no proof, besides her attacking. And I would need proof to get at a man as wealthy as Maxwell.
Unless…
Fucked up things traveled in her head. So many made-up scenarios of what those two could have done to so many powerless kids in their homes. How many times had they used that rope on a child? How many hours did someone scream in that soundproof office?
And what can I do, when I have no proof of this? That nurse who told Asher about the syphilis cases is probably long gone. If she didn’t talk then, why would she talk now? And all I have is my gut feeling. These cops on this island don’t even want to investigate when they have actual evidence. They would just sit there and laugh at my “gut feeling.”
Asher’s dark voice broke the silence. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Diana pulled her view from the window and faced him. “I want you to kill him. You were right.”
"What?"
She grabbed onto his arm with such intensity, she thought her fingers might burn right through his suit jacket, through the thick muscle beyond his skin, maybe to his very bone. "I want you to kill Maxwell. I want you to make him suffer like those poor children have."
Asher blinked before answering. "Okay."
“Just okay? No explanation for why or... I don’t know... a plan?”
“I already judged Maxwell.” He grabbed her chin and lifted it so that her gaze met his. “You were the one that needed to be convinced.”
She parted her lips, but he spoke before she could say anything else.
“His assistant hurt you?” Still holding her chin, his gaze examined her face like a concerned doctor.
“Yes, but I hurt her too. I bit out some of her cheek. Anytime she smiles, she’ll think of me.”
“Good. Don Quixote would be proud.”
“You’re never going to let that Don Quixote thing go, are you?”
“Not until I understand what the hell it means.”
“There is no understanding it.”
“Clearly.” He moved in closer and caressed her mouth with his. “I thought you left me. I thought you ran. I thought I would have to...”
A shiver ran through her. “What?”
He sucked on her bottom lip. “I’ll kill the assistant for you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t do that. She’s just as damaged as the kids are. Something isn’t right in her head. If Maxwell is gone, then she may be able to thrive in a healthy way. Who knows how much abuse she’s dealt with in her life?”
“Let me know if you change your mind. I would kill anybody for you.”
“Asher, don’t say things like that.” She attempted to pull her face away from his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“You can’t deal with the guilt of a murder on your hands?”
“I don’t want you killing for me.”
“Just Maxwell?”
She turned her attention to his hands, unable to look at him in the face. “Just Maxwell.”
He frowned. “Do you want a message from Cupid? Hearts? Diamonds in the skin? Maybe some—”
“Why are you saying this?”
“I’m not insane. You’re acting like I have no control. Sure, you want me to take this man’s life, because now you’ve finally agreed with me that the police won’t do anything, yet something needs to be done. Cupid needs to draw back his bow. Is that true?”
Her voice was a soft whisper. “Yes.”
“But you don’t want to get your hands dirty either?”
“What is that supposed to mean? Do you want me to clean off your bow and arrow, after you’re done? Should I make you a special killed-a-pedophile cake?”
“No. I just want you to be able to look me in the eyes and stop flinching in fear or shaking every time I come close to you.”
“You scare me. I can’t help it.”
“I don’t care about what other people think, but when it comes to you,” he nipped at her bottom lip, “I fucking care to the point where a pain grows in my chest and I can’t stop it from exploding and taking me down with it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“To stop being scared.”
“I can try.”
“That’s all I need, Diana. That’s all I need.” He devoured her mouth, and everything else disappeared.
The limo cruised along Ovid Island, rocking them as they tasted each other’s lips and touched the things that they’d both been craving to feel again. Fingers tore back fabric and revealed hungry flesh that ached for a wicked tongue and tiny bite. Her dress sat on the floor in several huge pieces of ruby pearls and ripped silk.
Neither were patient. Diana yanked away Asher’s jacket and tuxedo shirt as if they were nothing but thin pieces of paper. He was forced to help her with taking his clothes off, just so he wouldn’t get injured in the process.
Moonlight glistened over the taut lines of his muscles on his arms and chest. Her pussy clenched at the sight, moistened so bad that when he dipped his finger between her opened legs, she damn near roared.
“You’re so creamy.” He lathered her arousal with his fingers and tasted the wetness, groaning as he sucked on his index finger. “I’m going to lick you until you scream my name.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he dove between her thighs and pulled her leg up. She scooted forward and laid down, her back smoothing against the limo’s leather seat.
“Put your legs in the air and then touch your toes.”
She smirked. “What is my motivation?”
“I just want to do this to you.” He stuck his long tongue out and lapped at an imaginary something in front of his face.
She took her time, lifting her legs and then spreading them wide so that she could touch her toes with her fingers. It left her so exposed, completely bare for his eyes to see it all, everything that rested between those thighs.
He ran his fingers through his curls, pulled out his phone, and pressed some number.
She let go of her toes.
“No.” He grunted. “Don’t move.”
“Well, you’re about to make a phone call.”
“No. I’m about to make sure that I’m not interrupted.” He held the phone to his ear and talked to the person on the other line. “Yes, I know we’re close to the house. Just drive past it and keep driving until I tell you to stop.”
He hung up and slung the phone onto the floor. “Now for my flower.”
“I’m your flower?” She held onto her toes and got comfortable in that position—her on her back, her legs spread wide and in the air.
“This is my flower.” He traced her moist fold with his fingers. “These are the petals.” He spread them and toyed with her clit.
“Oh,” she moaned.
“This is the diamond that the petals protect.” He circled her clit some more and she rocked into his hands, biting her lips.
“This is the beautiful stem.” He guided his fingers down to her center and entered, in and out, in and out, wetness sloshed against his rhythm and disrupted the sound of her rapid heartbeat and his steady breathing.
Moaning, she let go of her toes and tried to get up, get more of whatever he was doing to her. But, he kept her down, dove toward her center, and buried his lips into her flower, sucking on the petals like they held an elixir for immortality.
Oh God. How did I ever breathe without this man?
His mouth found the diamond next. He drew the hungry bundle of sensitive nerves into his mouth, and with his tongue, he delivered ripples of pleasure.
So many noises fled her lips. “Asher. Oh baby. Yes, right there. Lick it.”
Deep groans sounded from his throat as he feasted on her pussy as if her enjoyment turned him on even more.
His tongue was a tornado, her pussy the small deserted town that got swept up in its destruction—wind whipping,
pleasure slipping,
and chaos wet and moist.
Jesus! We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
Her laughter mingled with her moans. She was delirious. Real shit had occurred earlier, things that would make the average person’s blood boil and explode. Now she lay in the back of a limo with a sexual god carved in muscle.
Asher paused and rose above Diana, his lips dripping with her. “You think my tongue is funny?”
“God, no.”
“Then why did I hear a giggle?”
“I was thinking of the Wizard of Oz and your talents with... everything, all... oh just never mind.”
“You’re thinking of the Wizard of Oz as I pleasure you with my tongue?”
“Just ignore that.”
“At least it isn’t Don Quixote.”
“Asher.” She grabbed his face and pulled him down to her, his warm body smoothing against hers. “Fuck me.”
“Okay, Dorothy.”
Laughing, she hit his back. “No, you’re Toto.”
Growling, he grabbed ahold of his hard cock and pressed into her secret lips. “Who am I?”
Her body hummed in anticipation. “Just fuck me.”
“Who am I?” He pressed his cock to her opening. It was so hot, the tip warming her up and making her wriggle within insanity. “Who am I, Diana?”
A soft whisper pushed out of her. “Asher.”
“No, that’s not my name.”
“Asher, please.” She could barely deal with him stalling anymore. She needed something—his lips, teasing fingers, talented tongue, or that hard, yummy cock that seemed to spread her all the way open and reveal more to him than any other man she’d ever been with.
He stared down her shaking body and grinned. “Interesting.”
“Please.”
“I won’t push it tonight, but you will say my name.”
“Yes. Yes. Now give it to me,” she begged.
And he did,
all night.
The limo drove for hours, rocking and drumming an erotic beat that no one on the streets could ignore, as it sped by. Thankfully, not many people wanted to walk the dark streets anymore.
Yet, the limo traveled along Ovid Island, moving in a large circle around the land, passing things again and again,
until night changed to day,
sun bled into the darkness,
and Diana’s voice was stripped from her lips.
She’d screamed
and begged,
moaned and cried,
all night.
Asher never released her from the passion of their bodies slipping and sliding against each other.
He never let her go,
never let her catch her breath
or take a nap
or have a few feet of space between them
or even to look down for a few seconds and make sure that her pussy was still there.
He conquered and destroyed the last bit of will she’d had left.
He never let her go.
First, they made love until she sang out her orgasm.
Then he turned Diana around, put her on all fours, and pounded into her, her ass deliciously bumping against his balls, her breasts bouncing in his hands as he grabbed them from behind and whispered over and over in her ears,
“I own you.”
And the minute he said it, Diana knew it was true.
He owned her.
Eleven
Cupid
In Asher’s bed, Diana slept on his chest.
With the white silk sheets rippling around her, she served as a beautiful piece of art—chocolate skin floating in vanilla, just begging to be tasted.
Asher ran his fingers through her long, black waves. It trailed around her face and some of the soft strands fell on his arm.
A few times, she shuddered in his arms and whispered about blood. In those moments, he’d hold her body close and kiss her forehead. Usually a sigh escaped her lips, and then she’d drift back into her calm dream world where hopefully lavender castles flew on sparkling clouds.
I hope you’re having sweet dreams.
He could feel the heat of her skin,
the beating of her heart,
the ragged breaths that moved in and out of those lush lips.
Her scent permeated the air and made him think of spring. There were times, in his childhood, when spring came, and Mother left him alone to run outside among the flowers. He would grab sticks to trace his name between the cracks of battered pavement, fall down in the tall grass lot across the street from his old apartment building, lay on his back, spread his arms and legs wide, close his eyes, and just listen to the buzz of the bees and whistling breeze through the trees.
That morning triggered the same sensation. Peace flowed around him. Clouds hovered in the room as if no ceiling or walls existed. Instead of a bed, Diana and him lay within a field of daisies, so white and bright, he could barely see.
Diana had given him permission to kill.
And in that moment, something snapped inside of him. Prior to her permission, a wall stood between them, dark brick cemented by foreboding. When she asked him to take Maxwell’s life, the wall crumbled, brick by brick, falling down to the ground. Dust lay at his feet, and in his heart, that uncoiling darkness dissipated into nothing, just faded smoke on a windy day.
She accepted him.
She encouraged him.
She was his.
He owned her, and he meant every damn word.
I’ve waited long enough. I should get up.
But the soft rhythmic breaths of Diana's slumber spilled over him like a blanket. For the first time in his life, the hunger for blood didn’t overcome him. It tapped a little at his rib cage, but nothing more. Still, he climbed out of bed to grab his bow and arrow from the closet.
Death could not wait.
He had all the confirmation he needed, thanks to Diana. Besides, he wanted to honor her wishes.
The white, silk sheets slipped away from his nude body as he rose. His erections loved the smooth fabric and probably thought that it might be a better idea to get back in bed, and maybe, wake up Diana.
No. Let’s take care of this, and then I’ll take care of her again. She’ll need her rest for what I want to do to her. Last night was just the beginning.
Lust crashed into him, and he was no longer sure if it was his usual craving for blood or this new sensation beating inside of him.
Focus on what you need to
do to Maxwell. Get Diana out of your mind right now.
And just like that, the dark hunger returned, no longer a faint echo. It poured into him, thickening with each second as he stepped into the closet.
In the far back of the space lay his bow and arrow, which sat upon a locker full of other fun things—wigs, fake tattoos, a compartment of make-up, and various folded costumes. Today he would be a regular Ovid Island Cable guy.
He opened the bottom drawer with his key and pulled out a worn jacket with the emblem sewed on the back—three blue circles around an island set in white. The company name was under the logo. He took out the matching white and blue hat.
What hair color should I be today? Hmmm. Shall I go au natural or exotic?
He yanked at the other drawer stacked with tons of concealers and body paint.
There’d been times when he’d tanned his skinned and donned short afros as he ducked in and out of apartments at night.
No. I better not. Too many rich men have died. If they think a black man is doing it, they’ll disrupt every poor community in Miami and Fort Lauderdale over these murders.
He closed the drawer, but not before taking out green eye contacts, a black beard, and a shaggy black wig. Killing during the daylight always made him a bit nervous. He hoped the extra precautions would save the rush job.
Tip toeing around, he dressed and transformed into Dale Sampson, a trusted man that took cable installation seriously. Green glimmered over Asher’s blue eyes. Shaggy black strands outlined his face and fell to his shoulder.
And just to be safe and get in character, Asher created the cable guy’s bio in his mind.
Dale relished in heavy metal rock, after all, and although middle aged, he could not grow out of the phase. With a marker, Asher wrote AC/DC on his fingers, each letter huge and near his fingertips. If anybody came close, they’d remember those odd tattoos more than his face. It was little things like that, which always tied up the police.
Asher stuffed the same old pack of cigarettes in his back pocket like he always did. People were so damn judgmental. They wouldn’t think twice about calling in a tip about a grungy forty-something with a pack of cigarettes in his hand. But if Asher Bishop walked out of the same place, more than likely there’d be no consequence.
