“Get on your knees,” he growls. “You’ve made a mess of your face. It’s only right I do it too.”
My body shakes as I stand and shove my skirt back down. When I go to reach for my panties, he shakes his head.
“Leave them at your ankles.” He strokes his dick, his cruel stare drinking in every mascara-stained tear. “On your knees. Open your mouth like a greedy bird.”
I lower myself to my knees, hating how degrading this feels. I’m doing it for free, too. That’s what’s even more fucked up. I could leave. Right now, I could storm out of here and out of his life and that would be the end.
Why won’t I leave?
“Open your lips and stick out your tongue,” he orders. “Taste all the come you’ve wasted that could be running out of your ass if it weren’t for your inability to be a real woman. You’re just a little girl who desperately craves a daddy.”
“Fuck you,” I snap.
His lips curl into a vicious grin. “There she is. Good girl.”
My heart lurches, making me hate myself for being so moldable and weak.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He strokes my hair. “Oh, sweetheart, I most certainly do not hate you. You’re the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I open my mouth and stick out my tongue, stupidly eager for his come, because it’s what he’s asked for, and I want to please him.
Messed up.
So messed up.
His thumb strokes my wet cheek in a loving way that sets my soul on fire. I flutter my eyes closed as salty come hits my tongue. It splatters my cheek and forehead, some landing in my hair. I’m a mess. A mess he made, and I don’t care.
“Stay right there,” he orders.
I remain still until I sense him crouching in front of me. With gentle, caring movements, he cleans my face off with tissue. When all the come and tears are gone, he presses a kiss to my lips.
“You’re going to break me, Ash. It’s going to destroy the man I’ve fought so hard to become.” He pulls away to study me. “And, beautiful, I can’t find it in me to give a damn.”
19
Winston
Ash Elliott is going to kill me.
There’s no doubt about it. Seeing her wrecked and messy earlier at the office, on her knees dutifully obeying me will be the ultimate way to die. I’ll drop dead of a heart attack one day because the sight is so fucking perfect I can’t even handle it.
Which, naturally, makes me an utter monster.
A villain.
Despicable.
I should hate myself for wanting to ruin such a pretty, funny, bright young thing. Instead, I simply count down to the moment when I can do it again.
I will do it again.
Each time I break a little piece of her, it draws her closer to me. I’ve always been someone coldhearted and untouchable, but by giving herself so freely to me, I have a duty that’s etched into the marrow of my bones to protect and care for her.
I get to wreck her so I can fix her.
It’s the vicious cycle we’ve found ourselves in, and I’m not one of those creatures who embraces change. No, I loathe it. So this perverse, infinite circle will continue on, growing momentum each time we round another curve of depravity.
“Did you enjoy your food?” I ask, nodding at her barely-touched plate.
Her face is makeup free, and the hairs around her face have begun to lose their straightness and have frizzed slightly. After I came all over her pretty face, she spent a good half-hour in the bathroom washing her face and doing whatever the fuck else. If I had to guess, psyching herself up to quit on me. But the moment she exited the bathroom, I pounced on her with a heated kiss, some much-needed words of praise, and an invitation to lunch.
“It’s good. I’m not that hungry.” She fidgets in her seat, staring out the window of the tiny bistro we’ve found ourselves in.
“You want to talk about what happened?”
Her hazel eyes fly to mine. “Not really.”
“I’ll pay a thousand dollars for this conversation.”
“Not everything has a price tag,” she hisses, her spine going rigid.
“Perhaps,” I agree, “but many things do. You and I work well on this system. Don’t quit on me now.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I get that you like to humiliate me but . . .”
“But what?”
“It makes me feel used.” She bites on her bottom lip. “Afterwards, I feel . . . unlike myself.”
I study her for a long minute. “That’s your insecurities speaking. I can assure you, when I shell out thousands of dollars for what you give to me, I don’t for a second feel used.”
“But it’s weird, Winston. It’s weird we’re doing this together.”
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, baby, but it’s not that weird. People all have their different kinks. Unfortunately, until now, I haven’t been able to find someone who matches up to me perfectly.”