His eyes look defeated as he staggers back from me, overwhelmed even, and were I not so filled with loathing for this man, I would pity him. He speaks one more sentence to me on a choked and ragged breath. “Yeah? I knew the second I met you that you eventually would.” And with a defeated and pained shake of his head, he turns and walks away to his bathroom, slamming the door when he disappears within. Moments later, the loud shattering sound of something hitting the wall echoes back to me, along with a ferocious “fuck!”

I return to my room, sinking to my bed. I stare at the ceiling, unable to move, unable to think. I hit him. I could be fired for hitting him, and were I thinking clearly, I’d have realized that could be the most dangerous thing in the world for me. But in the moment, I didn’t care. I wanted him to feel my pain, every last painful stab of it. To be touched so gently the day before when I needed it so much, and then tossed aside in an instant a mere day later was more than I could take.

I stare endlessly at the ceiling, not moving a muscle, and I know the time is near. She’ll be arriving soon enough, and a new wave of jealousy takes me over as I try to stifle it, but it’s hopeless. Veronica is beautiful. She is the perfect hourglass shape and has chestnut hair and freckles. She’s built the way every woman here is built, except for me. Voluptuous and flirtatious. I see him touching her skin, entering her body, thrusting into her as she moans loudly. I hate the images that play so graphically in my mind, but I can’t escape them. I cry, and I curse myself for being so stupid. As the sun falls and the night lights of the city illuminate the skyline, I slip into nightmarish dreams. My dreams are as painful as being awake. They are incessant and persistent, filled with images that make my heart scream. But they don’t last.

I’m brought out of my sleep when my phone rings. I pick it up and hear Liz on the other end. She is talking quickly and quietly. “Nothing happened. She tried to touch him, and he kicked her out before anything happened. She just left my room a few minutes ago.”

While my heart breathes an incredible sigh of relief that I can’t deny, my brain snorts and sends a comment of its own. You might as well get used to this torment, baby. I hang up, wasted and exhausted. My heart has been in knots for hours, and my brain is right. I will feel this pain again, many times over before it is through. And that stills my heart. I ache for him. I want him desperately, but he will, without a doubt, destroy me. With these most depressing thoughts in my mind, I drift off once again.

* * *

I wake up to a body crawling up to cover mine from behind. I’m asleep on my stomach, and I feel the length of this body along mine, pinning me to the bed. I know this scent and this touch. It’s him. He pushes my T-shirt up quickly, hastily pulling it over my head and leaving my outstretched arms trapped within. Once my backside is naked against the front of his naked body, he lifts my hips and pulls my knees wide apart so my ass is up, but not very far off the bed. Once I’m in position, he fucks me hard and mercilessly. His mouth is by my ear, and I can hear every ragged and tortured breath he takes. His groans are pained, and he is just as frustrated as he is aroused. He pounds vigorously into my body as he pins my hands to the bed, my fingers laced with his own.

The skyline through the window in front of us is impressive, and were I able to think about anything but him, I’m sure I would find this an amazing way to be taken by a man. I ache from his invasion. But I’m addicted to this, to him, and I can’t push him away, as much as I likely should. He quickly reaches his climax with a curse on his lips. “Goddamn it, Ashton.”

He comes deep inside my body, not even attempting to leave my tight sheath. His thrusting slows, but his mouth stays at my ear, where I listen to his ragged breathing slowly return to normal. He says nothing at all, but his hands still clutch and pin mine to the bed, and he doesn’t leave my body for many minutes. Eventually he pulls his ever-impressive cock from me, stands, and leaves me naked on the bed with my arms twisted in my shirt and his semen slowly dripping from my entry.

* * *

The next morning, as I sit at the dining room table with the others, sipping my coffee, I feel the eyes of the group watching me. I can still feel Derek’s cum seeping from my body, and it is an amazing private feeling that reminds me of him. The women aren’t being unkind, but they are leery of me, all, that is, except Liz. She is smiling warmly at me as usual. Veronica isn’t present, and it’s apparent that news has travelled fast of Derek’s rejection of her. This is naturally adding fuel to the fire and is no doubt why so many eyes are trained on me.

As Derek appears, my body stills, and the women at the table look back and forth between us both. I watch him cross the room for the kitchen, and as he approaches the table, he stops to speak with Liz. “I need to speak with you about putting Ashton into the rotation starting the day after tomorrow. Stop by my room in about fifteen minutes.”

He glances up to the likely shocked and horrified look on my face, and he can’t seem to help but hold my gaze. His eyes are gently reassuring in a way that is not very Derek at all. His face softens visibly, and he speaks directly to me. “It’s okay. You’re not working, just shadowing.” His eyes linger on mine far longer than they should. “We’ll talk about it later.”

He continues to the kitchen as every gaze at the table pins me to my chair. Liz, who is sitting beside me, reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently. She knows nothing of what happened after Veronica was sent away from him, but she sees everything worth seeing clearly enough.

Chapter 12

Once Liz has met with Derek, she comes to my room to fill me in. I’m to go to the gaming room with her the night after next. She will be working, but Derek has asked that I stay by her for as long as possible, and then I’ll be excused to my room once her time is purchased. I’m nervous just listening to her talk, but she reassures me this is nothing to be concerned about. I’ll drink some drinks, have some conversation, and generally just be seen by the men. Trimbles is an exclusive members-only club, and most of the men are very regular attendees. My presence will not go unnoticed, and there will be interest, but I’m only there to be seen and take in the atmosphere.

Liz helps me pick out a deep emerald-green satin gown for the next night. It is stunning and skims my slight curves. I love it, and were I not thinking about the terror I’ll feel when I wear it, I would be able to thoroughly enjoy this girl time. The shoes will be a challenge of course. Heels … not my strong suit, but a requirement.

When Liz starts in on my hair, she becomes exasperated when she fails at taming the curls, and with one final comment, she gives up. “Ash, I love your hair, I really do, but it has a mind of its own, and you are on your own with that mess! Regardless, you will look beautiful.”

And the sincerity in her eyes is all the reassurance I need.

* * *

That evening, Derek calls me to his room. I’ve been waiting anxiously all day for this, and I’m not disappointed. As I enter, he pushes me up against the wall in the very same spot where I’d admonished him the night before. This time is decidedly different. He pulls my dress off over my head, and after freeing his cock from his pants, he lifts me easily. He pushes my back to the wall, and after parting the lips of my vagina with his fingers that hold me up, he thrusts deep into me. The intensity of his eyes is all the reassurance I need that the night before is still just as painfully on his mind as it is mine, and his movements have never been more desperate and vigorous. He starts moving his hips against me while he holds me up against the wall. His eyes are focused on mine as my breath comes in shallow gasps. Before long, his movements are quickening, but rather than finishing with me there against the wall, he lays me gently on the floor of the entry and continues to stroke in and out of me. He holds my hands above my head, again lacing his fingers through mine, as he continues to grind his pelvis into mine. He huskily orders that I come, and I do easily. As my orgasm fades, his own takes over his body, and he comes deep inside of me again. Coming inside of me was no accident, and he watches my face intently as he continues to thrust gently through the lubrication of his own semen.

I can feel him seeping from me the instant he leaves my body, and I miss the feeling of his body the moment it leaves me. But he doesn’t leave, or rather he doesn’t ask me to leave. Instead, in a completely unexpected move, he reaches a hand down to help me from the floor, and wordlessly, he leads me to his bathroom. His seed is slowly running down the inside of my thighs as I walk with him, and I feel completely and utterly claimed by him, owned.

I’ve never actually seen the bathroom, and like all the others on our floor, it is large and lavish. He starts a bath in the tub, and stands back against the vanity, watching me as I sit nervously on the side of the tub. He eyes me up and down, and his gaze stops on my glistening thighs. He inhales deeply as his cock twitches at the sight of my legs. His arms are folded across his chest, and he strokes his lower lip with his thumb. Given the set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes, a small war is being waged in his mind, and so I wait. I’ve no idea what I’m waiting for, but I wait. He helps me into the bath when it’s ready, and with a final moment of painful hesitation, the war is laid to rest, and he joins me.

I watch in stunned silence as he climbs in, and I sit forward, assuming, or perhaps hoping, that he’ll take his place behind me, but he moves to the opposite end of the bathtub, sitting to face me as I sit back once again, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. He watches me as I fidget nervously. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and he makes no move to glance away from me. He is so at ease watching me, pinning me to my place with his eyes, and part of me suspects he enjoys this power. He places his legs outside of mine, with his feet at my thighs. I want to reach out and touch him, but I won’t; I can’t. My legs rest against his, and that is as much touch as I can have. I start to relax under his watchful eyes, adjusting to the emotional intrusion.

After an eternity of silence, his jaw tenses yet again, and I know he’s going to speak. I watch his jaw tense and release, and I realize just how much I’ve grown to understand him. Or perhaps not him, but, at the very least, his body. His stress, his pain, his anger, his confusion even shows visibly on his face. The tension and set of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, even the slight narrowing of his eyes are all signs of the inner emotion he feels. What I at first glance thought was a cold, emotionless, bottomless pit of a soul is anything but. I don’t understand most everything about this man, but there is a man to know buried inside of his cold, harsh exterior.

But as content as this knowledge makes me, when he does decide to speak, he asks exactly the question I don’t want to answer. “How did your father die?”

My heart warms, and at the same time lurches at his interest in my past. There are so many conversations I’d love to have with this man, but this is not one of them. I hope against all hope he’s in a generous mood when I speak. “Please don’t ask me to talk about my father.”

But I should have known better. Derek gets his way. It is a simple fact of life for him. The narrowing eyes tell me instantly that joining me in the bath was perhaps generous, but letting his question go is asking too much. He continues to appraise me with his head cocked to the side, waiting.

When it is clear he’ll wait an eternity if he has to, I give in, and I open up. “He was killed.” My voice is quiet, and my face feels tight.

The memories start to hit my heart like a meteor shower raining down, and the muscles in my face start to twitch and contort. I don’t want to do this, but as he speaks, it is clear he does, and we will. “And your mother? Where is she?” The eyes are penetrating, but his voice is gentle and caring.

He knows I’m uncomfortable, but he isn’t going to back down. He wants to know my secrets, and I should be happy for the interest, but why this secret? The desperation and fear must be evident on my face as he reaches gently for my leg and caresses my ankle intimately. Derek doesn’t do caresses. He doesn’t do intimacy, and yet I’m learning very quickly he does it so perfectly. I melt at his touch as the dark warmth of his eyes meets what is likely panic in my own.