Anger flares hot in those crystal blue eyes, and I fucking love it. Angry I can work with. It’s good. I’m angry too. We can be angry together.
I let a smirk slide onto my face solely for the purpose of watching her anger burn hotter and feeling the way she sways toward me. God, I want to kiss the anger off her face and let us get lost in another round of delicious, fiery hate sex.
But there are things we have to do first, and I’m not entirely sure that Rose won’t slap me if I touch her right now. So I just wink. “Come on, Wife. We have work to do.”
9
Rose
The fucking nerve of this man.
I never thought I’d be in the position of being blackmailed. Let alone married to my blackmailer and somehow unable to get my body in line with the idea that I hate him. Because about twenty seconds ago I was about to kiss him again and drag him to bed just to forget all of this. Because I know that he’d be able to make me forget it, even if he’s the cause.
I can’t believe I didn’t see what was happening, and I already feel stupid enough without my hand being forced again. I’m just…tired.
But I follow Asher as he walks me around the property and makes me take pictures of the way things currently are, and then stages photos to make it look like Blue Mountain is being almost ludicrously reckless with their guests’ safety. It’s exactly what my father wants, and nausea swims in my stomach.
I already gave him the list of places that I’d been and taken pictures, though I don’t have a clue what he wants to do with the information. At this point, I don’t even care. I’m screwed either way.
The set-up takes hours, and I’m spun between realities like whiplash. I’m still brutally attracted to this man even though I wish that I weren’t. Throughout all of this, he seems like he wants to be on my side. He’s kind and gentle in leading me through the set-up photos, and he seems like he regrets the fact that I was so taken in.
He can call it being duped, but I know the truth. I’m fucking naïve. I didn’t choose to see it because I was desperate. But this isn’t exactly a hard conclusion to come to if you actually look at what my father asked me to do.
So fucking stupid.
And yet, every time that Asher steps close to me to direct the angle of a photo or to pass me by, my body thrills. It’s like it can draw pleasure from the air merely by being in his proximity.
The sun is setting when I snap the last picture.
“That should do it,” Asher says.
“Good. Now can I go?”
He smirks. “If you want to.”
I level my gaze at him. “Why the fuck would I want to stay here?”
We’re standing near the archery range, absolutely no one in sight. Asher steps close, backing me against a tree until I’m pressed up against him. I hold back the moan that’s in my throat. There’s no way that I’m giving into this. No fucking way. But God he feels good.
“I think you want to stay here for the same reason that I want you to stay,” he says, lowering his lips against my throat. “We can make each other feel good, Wife.”
The way that he says ‘wife’ shouldn’t make me wet and wanting. The idea that he’s my husband shouldn’t make me arch my hips into his, feeling the way that he’s already hard. “I still hate you,” I say.
“Oh, you hate me?” His voice is pure amusement. “I didn’t realize that you did.”
“Of course I do. You’re blackmailing me.”
“You’re fucking right I am,” he whispers, drawing his hand up under my dress. Clever fingers slipping between my legs with no panties to stop him. For all I knew those were still laying shredded on the guest house floor. “And your body seems to like that.”
“My body has a lot of bad ideas.”
He smiles into my neck. “Bad ideas are relative, Rose.”
Asher slips a finger inside me, and then another. His thumb rests against my clit, rubbing back and forth far too gently and more than enough to make me moan. Almost enough to make me drip down his fingers.
“Spread your legs.” His voice is dark when he pulls back to look at me. No room for argument or protest—not that I want to. One touch and I’m already too far gone, and I move my feet farther apart.
He strokes inside me, finding that rough spot that makes me gasp. “Hmmm. Right there, huh?”
The tips of his fingers circling over that spot draws out pleasure from every place imaginable. It gathers and pools, coiling into a bright center spark that grows as he circles and circles and circles and thrusts. The cry that comes out of my mouth is lost in his, barely captured by the way his lips slant across mine. Just in time.