by Shandi Boyes
I relinquish her hips from my grip to seize a condom from my trousers, which are huddled around my knees. There’s a strip of six inside; wanting to get back on the horse means I have a couple of extras.
I’ve just torn through one with my teeth when a knock at my bedroom door startles Zariah so much, she knees me in the head when she clamps her legs shut.
Chapter Seventeen
Zariah
Two knocks, and the hard mask that slipped off Asher’s face only minutes ago returns stronger than ever. I’m bare in front of him, my core dripping and exposed, yet he’s shut down and working on autopilot function.
Although his impenetrable, hard shell has returned, he maintains some of his control. “Wait.” His command is for his visitor, not me.
Happy our interrupter will follow his demand or suffer the consequences, he tugs down my shirt to cover my heated core before standing. I watch him in revered silence when he tucks his cock into his pants and does up the zipper. His penis is erect and ready to go, yet he’s putting it away. God forbid the person disturbing us. I climaxed, yet I’m still on the verge of wanting to kill them, so I don’t see this ending well if Asher is experiencing the same thoughts as me.
The air that shifted between us these past two weeks holds its strength when Asher assists me off my bed. Even if my legs weren’t wobbling in the aftermath of an orgasm, the slickness coating my thighs can’t hide the truth.
Asher Yury just had me quivering beneath him.
Two months ago, I would have never thought it possible. Hell, I wouldn’t have believed you if you predicted this a decade ago. Although I’m displeased by how hastily I gave in to temptation, I’m not surprised. For years, anything Asher wants, he gets—myself included. And for just as long, I’ve dreamed of this very moment.
I stop struggling to break through the haze in my head when Asher stands in front of me. “Go to the bathroom and wash up, but don’t dare touch the areas I just did. I still want you smelling of me when you come back out here.” The demand in his voice sends a wave of excitement over me, as does the burn of his eyes when he rakes them down my body. “I want every inch of you covered with my scent no later than tonight.”
Before excitement can take hold of my senses, impatience gets the better of Asher’s guest. They knock again, louder this time. Their inability to wait has me just as eager to enter the washroom. I still wake up in cold sweats when I dream of Ruslan’s death, so I have no wish to add more barbaric images to my memory bank.
I’ve just washed my face when Asher fills the bathroom doorway. He has put on a shirt, but his buttons remain undone. He’s holding a box. It is one you’d expect from a high-end store, except the ribbon curled around it matches the one from my earlier gift, revealing it’s most likely not store bought.
“Is that for me?”
With a smirk that makes my insides tighten, Asher nods. “It was supposed to arrive next week, but I asked Roderick to do a rush order.”
His grin tells me his idea of a rush order and a regular person’s are very different. If it takes longer than it does for him to click his fingers, it’s too slow as far as Asher is concerned. This knowledge is the only thing stopping me from dying of embarrassment at how fast he makes me come undone. It’s extremely fortunate women aren’t capped to one orgasm a day, or Asher might have more to say about my quick trigger.
The giddiness rushing to my head amplifies when Asher guides me out of the bathroom before placing the box down on his bed. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes give me permission to open the box. I do, albeit slowly. This is my second gift from him in under two hours, meaning it is also my second gift in over a decade. My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas, and with my birthday bordering on the anniversary of my mother’s death, it was often forgotten.
I still as memories hold me hostage. “Next week is my birthday.” I stop peeling back layers of tissue paper to lock my watering eyes with Asher’s. “You remember my birthday?”
“It’s not that hard... it is exactly two months before mine.” Although he’s playing off his knowledge as if it’s no big deal, I know it is more than that. If he didn’t care, he would have let my birthday come and go without acknowledgment. He didn’t. That means something—it means a lot!
Exhaling, I return to unpacking my gift. There is as much tissue paper in this box as there was in my earlier one, but nothing can detract from the beautiful red coloring of the velvet dress slipped inside.
With my heart rocking out a new tune, I fold back the paper, exposing more of the gorgeous winter wonderland dress that appears extremely costly. It’s been made with the finest materials with long sleeves that will keep me warm and a mermaid tail that will swish well past my toes even in the highest stilettos
It seems a little modest... until I lift it out of its box. There is a large split that goes all the way up one side. For its symmetry with the hidden zipper at the back, it’s not hard to determine how high on my thigh it will sit. It’s one of those risqué dresses you consider not wearing panties for as you’d hate for panty lines to ruin it’s design.
When a shimmer sparkles from beneath the white tissue paper in the box, I lay the dress on Asher’s bed. There’s more than just a dress inside. There’s lingerie: one pair of panties and a bra more beautiful than any I’ve owned before it. The diamond in the middle of the black satin design looks authentic, and the lace edging the bra is made from the softest material. I’m not too sure about the thong. I’ve never worn one before, but it will take care of my earlier worries of a panty line.
I jump out of my skin when a deep voice asks, “Do you like them?” I was so caught up in admiring the tailor-made outfit, I completely forgot Asher was standing next to me, eyeballing my reaction in silence.
The uneasiness heating my blood makes me want to snap, but the invisible white flag Asher has been waving the past two weeks means I don’t want to cause trouble. Furthermore, I’ve never received such an elaborate gift before. Once my mother passed, thoughtful gift-giving vanished right along with her.
When Asher arches his brow, prompting me to answer, I murmur, “Yes. Very much so.”
My lungs struggle to catch a full breath when he smiles a true and genuine smile. It’s as foreign these days as the giddy butterflies in my stomach. Usually, I’m sick with worry, but I’m reasonably sure these have nothing to do with that. They’re much too low to resemble anything close to panic.
“I’m glad. I didn’t give Velika much to work with, but I think she chose well.”
I don’t know why disappointment is the first thing to hit me from his confession. It’s obvious a man with Asher’s reputation wouldn’t go dress shopping for his chambermaid, but for some inane reason, I preferred believing he did.
I hold my shoulders high with pride when he runs the back of his finger down my cheek. “I failed to adequately describe your color to Velika. I told her the bloom on your cheeks was more crimson than it is. It’s closer to a cherry red than a blood-tinged shade. My mistake. I had only seen your face in ecstasy once before placing my order, so my error could be easily excused if I were looking for an excuse...” A smug grin finalizes his reply. He knows as well as I do that the time he pinned me to his door wasn’t the only time my body has betrayed me the past six weeks. It continually betrays me when it comes to him.
Wanting to lessen his cockiness, I stuff the tissue paper back inside the box, then return the lid to its rightful spot. I would unload the dress just as swiftly if it wouldn’t crush its beautiful material. It doesn’t deserve to be mistreated any more than I do.
Needy warmth treks from my nape to between my legs when Asher leans across my body to flick off the lid. He secures the tiny black G-string in his hand before taking a seat to the right of my dress. Even though I can see the demand in his eyes, he spells it out for me. “How about we see if my measurements stack up better than my color proficiencies?”
I nearly argue that I have no reason to dress u
p, but the mandate that came with his question is unmissable, so arguing would get me nowhere. Asher is not a man who compromises. No matter how risqué our exchanges become, I don’t see that changing. He doesn’t call himself a stubborn bastard for no reason.
Breathing out deeply, I step closer to him. From the shudder of my thighs, you’d swear he hadn’t just seen my naked core. I’m panting, giddy, and fighting with all my might not to grin like a loon. It’s an odd combination of emotions, but extremely exciting at the same time. I don’t know why I’m nervous. The dowdy shirts and sweaters Asher switched my clothes with last month are the length of most of the dresses I own, so they’re more than adequate to cover the area thrumming in both anticipation and fear.
I feel Asher’s pulse as rapidly as mine when I flatten my palms on his shoulders to slip my feet into the minuscule scrap of material he is holding open for me. As he glides the thong up my recently shaved legs, an expression crosses his face I haven’t seen before. Intrigue? Confusion? Appeal? I’m not sure which one. It may even be a combination of them all.
Whatever it is, it doubles when his hands slip over the globes of my ass to fix the thong into place. It should feel odd having such a dominant, arrogant man dress me, but for some reason, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t expect any less from Asher. Even when we were young, if he could do it himself, he did, because he knew it reduced the possibility of something being fucked up.
Asher’s breaths fan the heat blazing between my legs when he murmurs, “A perfect fit.” His eyes lock with mine over my erratically panting chest before he stands to his feet. “Next.”
The calluses on his fingers scratch my skin when he fists my shirt to remove it in one swift motion. His eagerness to relieve me of my clothing almost drowns out the hiss of air he sucks in when my breasts fall heavily to my chest. My cami had an built-in bra, so I didn’t see the need for additional support.
Sparks ignite in Asher’s icy eyes when he trails them down my body. “You’re enjoying this nearly as much as when I had my head between your legs.”
He isn’t asking a question. He’s confirming the facts my body is giving him. My nipples are erect and sitting high on my chest, and the sheerness of my thong can’t hide what’s happening a few inches lower. I’m so drenched, not even the cruelness of our exchanges my first two days here can cool the fire raging deep inside me. I’m burning up everywhere—again.
I lick my dry lips, hoping a bit of moisture will aid in the smooth delivery of my lie. “It’s a little chilly in here.”
I don’t want him thinking I’m easy. I chose to be his chambermaid, not his plaything, so our interactions the past two weeks have stepped over what I signed up for. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t want them to end; I just don’t want him to think this is a part of my job description.
The only thing chilly in this room is Asher’s squinted gaze when it makes a liar out of me for the second time in under a second. His prolonged gawk hardens my nipples to a point it is painful, and my aroused scent is stronger now than when I quivered out his name in a breathless moan. I’m incredibly turned on by his dominance. Who wouldn’t be? I have a man with a panty-wetting face and even sexier body dressing me in gifts he purchased specifically for me. I feel like a precious jewel.
My eyes bounce between Asher’s when he warns, “Take this as a lesson. If you hadn’t lied, I would have let you shower before taking you out—”
“We’re going out?”
He continues talking as if I never did, “But now you’ll leave this room smelling like pirozhkis oil... and me.” His last two whispered words have my knees pulling together. He misses the traitorous response of my body since he’s too busy barking orders. “Hold your hair out of the way.”
He takes in the way my breasts rise high on my chest when I do as instructed before snagging the bra out of the box and pacing to stand behind me. He fixes the satiny bra with four hooks into place with too much dexterity for a man new to this, causing some of my giddiness to switch to annoyance.
My frustration is quickly abandoned when Asher runs his fingertip over the bumps in my spine. “If only it were summer, then I wouldn’t need to cover you up. Your body was built for marveling; it should be a crime to hide it away.”
If we were having this conversation six weeks ago, I would have been panicked out of my mind that he was glamming me up to sell my virginity to the highest bidder, but there’s something different in his voice now. It has a tone of ownership attached to it, like I mean more to him than just being his property. He could be toying with me, but it seems unlikely. Why dress me in the finest materials only to have another man benefit from his effort? That is not the Asher Yury I know. He doesn’t even distribute drugs without first testing the merchandise, so why would women be any different?
“Still, Zariah. I’m barely touching you, yet you’re shaking all over...again.” My breathing shortens when he leans in close to my ear to whisper, “And don’t pretend you’re shivering because you’re cold or I’ll tan your ass with my belt.” The goosebumps racing across my skin double in size when he curls his arm around my body to twang my budded nipple through my bra. “Your body betrays your mind as often as your heart does.”
Although I hate the way my body responds to him, I also secretly love it. Our friendship ended right around the time I started to realize why my body responded differently to him than it did other boys. Even when he was teasing me, it bloomed under his touch, whereas it wilted under anyone else’s.
Asher sucks in a ragged breath through his nostrils. “I swear to god, Zariah. If you don’t stop tempting me, you won’t leave this room in one piece.” There’s no malice in his tone, but there is plenty of threat—a threat to overwhelm me. Own me. To wholly destroy me. “We’re already unfinished business, so don’t tempt a man who has no fear of biting into forbidden fruit. You’ll never come out of our exchange intact...” —I squeeze my eyes shut, the heat of his gaze too much for me to bear— “... as I’ll never stop biting. I’ve always known one taste of you would never be enough. I was right.”
My eyes pop back open when he shifts on his feet to face me. When our gazes clash, he’s not the only one tempted. His eyes are as needy and desperate as mine. They show the boy I once admired. The one who pledged to always keep me safe.
Feeling daring, I take a step closer to him. I’m already losing our battle, so why not get some additional benefits out of it?
Before I can succumb to the desires burning me alive, Asher lifts my dress from the bed. He handles it more gently than I am sure he has any woman as he places it over my head. The high thread count feels like heaven when it floats over my skin. After wearing dowdy sweatpants and holey shirts for over a month, its quality is undeniable. I can’t see myself, but I feel like a million dollars.
When Asher’s heavy-hooded gaze locks with mine, I realize I am worth that and so much more.
Chapter Eighteen
Asher
My temperature blazes out of control when I step back from Zariah so I can get a full look at her. Heads are going to swivel when I enter my club tonight, and none of them will be for me.
I hadn’t planned to dress Zariah; I merely wanted to see if she appreciated the gift I bought for her, but her smell had me coming undone. It’s a pure scent, one too virtuous for me to corrupt, but too provocative to ignore.
No woman has ever tempted me enough to dress them before. Usually, I’m shredding off their clothes until they sit tattered on the floor, but I wanted to dress Zariah, to see if the five-thousand dollar dress Roderick handmade for her matches the fire that roars through her when she has the gall to go against me.
She thinks I haven’t heard her private thoughts the past two weeks. She’s wrong. I heard every one of them. For the most part, they were amusing. It’s not often you’ll find a man strong enough to go against me, so for a woman to work up the courage makes me wonder if she did flourish into the woman I always thought she’d be.
“Do
you have shoes?”
Zariah’s eyes widen before they shift to a stack of three lined up against a wall in her prison-like room. They’re all without heels and nowhere near as glamorous as the dress she’s wearing.
Her eyes startled back to mine when I shout, “Velika?!”
I’m not shocked when my cousin pops her head into my room too quickly for someone not dying to see how accurate the measurements I gave her were. My dimensions were spot on. Zariah’s dress fits her like a glove. It accentuates her curves and has more than my cock swelling.
“Yes?”
I can see Velika wants to say more. She’s brimming with as much excitement as Zariah, although I’m sure their excitement is for entirely different reasons. Velika was hoping my wish to dress Zariah in expensive threads was because I was forcing her into the industry she assured me time and time again Zariah would make a killing in. That isn’t what I’m doing. I merely wanted to get her a gift for her birthday—a peace offering I’m eager to outdo at every opportunity if it keeps the flame alight that Zariah’s eyes are holding now.
I keep my focus on the task at hand. It’s a fucking hard feat. “Zariah needs shoes. Size seven and a half with a minimum of a three-inch heel. I don’t want her tripping on the front of her dress.”
Velika presses a pen against her lips. “Silver or black?”
I say “Silver,” at the same time she suggests, “Black.”
Knowing I’m not a man to argue with, Velika exits the room only to return a few seconds later with a pair of strappy silver shoes with red soles. They have a chunky heel that shouldn’t cause too much trouble to a heel-wearing novice. If my mother’s claims are true, Zariah’s father hid her from the world years before makeup, heels, and dresses that cost more than most men earn a month entered her life. I’m not even sure if she had her first period before he stole her from not just the entire world, but me as well.
