Page 11

Chapter Ten

ASHER

T he grip was so tight I couldn’t breathe. One arm wrapped around my waist, the other across my mouth, pulling me back hard against a body I couldn’t see. My lungs fought for air, but my mind didn’t scream the way it had before.

I should’ve panicked. I should’ve fought. But I didn’t.

Because I knew who it was.

That scent . The heat behind me. The way his fingers clenched around me with practiced control. I knew it wasn’t a stranger. I knew it was him.

“Why are you sneaking into my house, you little stalker?”

Blake.

But… not Blake. Not the careful, clinical therapist I sat across from every week. His voice wasn’t calm or measured now. It was rough. Low. Dangerous.

It made my knees weak.

Oh god, why did he sound like that?

My heart pounded in my ears, not from fear, but from something hotter. I hated it. I hated how badly I wanted to melt into him. I hated how his voice, stripped of professionalism, made my stomach clench and my skin prickle.

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat.

“I—I’m sorry, Dr. Peterson, I—”

His hand slipped from my mouth, only to slap hard against my ass. The sound echoed. I gasped, the sting blooming through my body, humiliation flaring white-hot beneath my skin.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” I snapped, breathless. “You’re my therapist.”

“You broke into my house,” he said, tone hard as steel. “I’m allowed to do whatever I want.”

That voice wasn’t clinical. That wasn’t restraint. It was want.

I didn’t know whether to run or fall to my knees.

His hands moved quickly now, gripping my waist, sliding over my thighs. Possessive. Hungry.

I couldn’t see his face, and that somehow made it worse. More intoxicating. More dangerous.

“You gonna tell the cops?” he said, dragging his lips close to my ear. “Tell them why you’re in my house at eleven p.m.? What, did you think I’d just let you snoop around?”

His voice was pure mockery, laced with something even darker. “You’ve got a real bad habit of walking into places you don’t belong.”

He let go of me for just a second, and my breath caught again.

“Close your eyes.”

His words weren’t a request.

I should’ve said no. I should’ve fought. But I felt the command root in my chest like it belonged there. I closed my eyes.

His cologne washed over me like a wave; clean, sharp, and warm. I felt him move behind me. Then cloth brushed my forehead. A blindfold. He tied it firmly behind my head, knot tight. Darkness consumed me.

“Open.”

I opened my eyes to nothing. Blind. Breathless. Floating.

My other senses sharpened. I could hear the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears. I could feel the fabric of my shirt sliding against my skin as he began to undress me.

His fingers moved over my chest, my ribs, my hips. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and ragged. “You’re hot. And all mine.”

He stripped me slowly. My hands twitched at my sides. I hated how much I wanted this.

How long had he been thinking about this?

How long had I?

He lifted me without warning, strong arms under my back and legs, and carried me somewhere soft. His bed. I knew it. I could feel the plush mattress beneath me, the cool sheets.

He pushed my legs open, wider than I wanted them to go.

Shame prickled at my skin.

I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could feel every move. The way he gripped my ankles. The way he repositioned me. Every adjustment made me feel smaller. More exposed.

I was hard. Pathetically, twitchingly hard.

He tied my wrists above my head with something soft but firm. His breath hitched slightly, and then I felt his hand on my chest. Then my hip. Then lower.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice a little reverent, a little cruel. “So fuckable.”

I flinched.

That word.

A memory I didn’t want rose, fast and sharp and painful. But the way Blake said it, like he meant it, like it was something holy, it twisted the feeling into something else. Something I couldn’t name.

I wanted to hate him.

Instead, I moaned softly as his fingers skimmed over my cock.

“Don’t close your legs, Asher,” he said, voice darker now. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you kept teasing for in my office? What you wanted when you broke in here like a naughty little boy?”

His hand gripped my thigh again, and I whimpered.

“God, look at you,” he muttered. “Squirming and tied up. You’re so desperate for it. You want me to ruin you, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

His hand left for a moment, and I whimpered at the loss. Then I felt his lips on my chest. Light, grazing. A slow path to my neck. He bit down, and I gasped, arching toward the pressure.

Then, his mouth found mine.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was a claiming.

His lips crashed against mine, and I opened for him instantly. He kissed me like he was starving, and I matched it with something close to fury. I bit his lip and he growled into my mouth.

My first real kiss with Blake,

God, I loved it.

This was my fucking therapist….why did that make it hotter?

Blake pulled back a fraction, breath ghosting over my lips.

“You taste like sin,” he whispered. “And you’re mine.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My heart was battering against my chest, and I felt like my whole body had been set on fire.

Then he leaned in again. Rougher now. Deeper.

Our mouths collided like something inevitable, and I opened for him instantly, letting him swallow me whole. My body arched up into his, heat rolling off his skin as his weight pressed down. He kissed like a man unhinged, like this was the reward for every aching restraint he'd practiced before tonight.

“Please don’t,” I whispered between ragged breaths, voice cracking. “I’m—I’m a virgin.”

He froze, muscles locked against mine.

For one long second, the room was completely still, his body heavy over mine, his breath caught mid-exhale. Then his hands returned with purpose, stripping the last of my clothes away like tearing the final page from a book he already knew by heart.

“You want me to stop, princess?” he murmured, low and teasing, voice thick with something that bordered on reverence. His words sent a violent shiver through me. I could feel the heavy line of his cock through his pants, grinding slow and possessive against the inside of my thigh.

He sounded like he owned me.

Like he had every right to my body.

He made quick work of the rest, tugging my underwear down, running his hand up my leg like he was taking inventory of what was his now. I gasped as his palm slid over my inner thigh, firm and sure, and I hated how much I wanted him to keep going.

Then came the sound of his belt unfastening. A whisper of metal, the soft click of it being undone, and the rustle of his pants being pushed down. I felt him kneel between my legs, settle there like he belonged. Like this was always where he was meant to be.

"What's stopping me from taking you right now?" he murmurs, against my ear, his breath warm, his touch unforgiving. "Could have you however I want. Right Now."

Oh, god, Blake.

He reached up and gripped my ankles, spreading me wider.

Humiliation flashed through me like lightning. My breath caught in my throat. I was open. Exposed. Blind. Vulnerable in a way that made my skin burn and my cock ache all at once.

He groaned low in his chest. “Look at you… already shaking.” He took my blindfold, and my senses blurred for a second at the ambush of vision, but I saw his dark hazel eyes peer at me.

He leaned forward, dragging his mouth across my stomach, then up to my chest. His tongue flicked across my nipple, sending heat shooting through me, and I gasped, arching up against the restraints.

He moved lower again, trailing kisses down my hip, licking just beside where I needed him most.

My body betrayed me, trembling, twitching, begging in ways I couldn’t speak out loud. I felt the head of his cock nudge against me, slick and thick and hot.

He didn’t push in.

Not yet.

He stroked me first, long, slow, intentional. His fingers circled the head of my cock with maddening care, as if he wanted to memorize what made me gasp, what made my body jerk.

I whimpered, helpless.

Then, without warning, he shifted forward and pushed.

I cried out.

The stretch was sharp at first, pain blooming as he filled me slowly, deliberately. He didn’t stop. He didn’t rush. He watched me take him inch by inch, his hand gripping my thigh, holding me open.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Good boy. You’re doing so fucking good.”

I tried to breathe, but the sensation of him inside me, deep and overwhelming, knocked the air out of my lungs. My body trembled around him, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else.

Something hotter. Heavier.

He was all the way in now. Fully buried. He didn’t move.

He waited, grounding me with the pressure of his chest against mine and his hand still curled loosely around my cock. His thumb brushed the leaking tip once, and I moaned.

“You feel this?” he whispered. “That stretch? That fullness? That’s me. Claiming what’s mine.”

He started to move.

Slow. Intentional. Grinding deep with each thrust like he wanted to reach something no one else had ever touched. My back arched and my mouth fell open, but no words came out, just broken gasps.

My wrists ached above me from how tightly I was pulling the restraints, but I didn’t want to be free. I wanted to be held like this. Taken like this.

Over and over, he drove into me. His rhythm building, steady, relentless. My cock throbbed between us, untouched, but I was already close. I was shaking, sweat slicking my skin, thighs quivering from the strain of holding myself open.

His eyes were darker than I ever seen them.

You can see the raw, unfiltered cruelty in his eyes when the mask slips. That’s the man I need. The one who will take me, use me like I’m nothing but his fucktoy.

Or maybe more…

I moaned louder, throat raw from it.

Blake grabbed my chin, forcing my head to tilt up, even through the blindfold. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Better than I thought a needy little liar like you could.”

His pace picked up, brutal now. Wet slaps echoed in the dark. His cock hit that spot inside me over and over until I was babbling, begging, a mess of need and heat and surrender.

“Please,” I choked. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Come,” he ordered. “Now.”

And I did.

I came hard, ropes of it striping my stomach, my thighs, my chest, my whole body convulsing beneath him as he kept thrusting, dragging me through it. I screamed his name, throat hoarse and spent.

Moments later, Blake buried himself deep one last time, holding me down as he came inside me with a guttural growl, his whole body shuddering above mine.

We stayed like that, tangled, slick with sweat and come, his chest rising and falling against mine.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

But I’d never felt more fucked.

Or more whole.

Fuck. Me.