“Do you have any photos?” she queries softly.
He pauses mid-chew, gauging her sincerity before pulling his phone out and unlocking it. Finally, after searching, he finds what he's looking for and hands it over to her. Linda’s face lights up the minute her eyes land on Chloe. It's hard not to, that little girl has the face of an angel.
Graham visibly relaxes as Linda's smile gets bigger and bigger with every photo she skips through before a blush steals over her face, and she hurriedly hands the phone back to Graham. With a frown, he stares down at the screen before chuckling.
“Soraya isn't big on me taking her picture, so I have to sneak them. I forgot that was there,” he admits, making me curious, but I keep my mouth shut.
Knowing Graham, it's likely to be a candid shot of his fiancée in bed, sleeping.
“She's beautiful. They both are,” Linda tells him.
“They are, aren't they?” He smiles proudly.
They study each other for a few moments before Graham slides his phone back into his pocket and holds out his hand to shake once more.
“Truce?” he offers.
She rolls her eyes, but a small smile plays over her lips. “Truce,” she agrees, shaking his hand, pulling back when our food arrives.
The rest of lunch runs smoothly, conversation flowing easier than before, and we manage to make it all the way through without any blood spilled whatsoever. Focusing so much on the two of them, however, made me forget the real reason for coming here.
It isn't until the three of us walk outside when we’ve finished and cameras capture our exit that I remember calling in the press and giving them a heads up that I would be here today. Graham adopts his usual scowl. Saying his goodbyes, he heads back to his car.
Linda buries herself into my shoulder, trying to shield herself from the cameras but I lift her head and press my lips softly against hers. Nothing salacious, just enough for the photographers to see I care about the woman in my arms and for Skittle to know that I have zero intention of hiding her.
Twenty-Five
Linda
Closing the door to the apartment behind me, I take a deep breath, glad to be away from the craziness outside. It is so easy to forget Asher’s status and wealth when we exist in our own little bubble, but now I guess the secret's out, although how they knew to find us there is beyond me.
After Asher dropped me off, he headed straight back to the office, meaning I now have plenty of time to finish up what I was working on before lunch. I head to the bedroom first, stripping out of my dress in favor of my short red shorts and a black tank top that's splattered with paint, and pull my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head. It will gradually work itself free, and it will end up speckled with paint before I've even realized, but for now, it's good.
Making my way over to the room Asher let me set up as a studio, I swing the door open wide and take a deep breath. The smell of paint is a calming balm, easing any tension the paparazzi brought on before, effectively wiping the stress of the day away as my veins flood with the need to create.
I’ve found making art can be much like writing in that it's easy to get stuck inside your head and find your creativity blocked for one reason or another. Since meeting Asher though, I've been nothing but inspired with ideas and images flooding my brain. So much so that it’s almost like the art creates itself, flowing effortlessly from my fingertips, and I’m just along for the ride.
Moving over to the painting I’ve been working on, I shake my head as I study it.
When I paint, I go into an almost trancelike state, my mind ignoring everything around me, even the painting itself as I move from one aspect of it to another. But looking at it now with fresh eyes, I notice the silhouette of the non-descript man has intense indigo eyes. The vivid color breaks up the darkness of the image, adding light to the haunting shadow that cloaks him, hypnotically capturing my attention and refusing to let it go.
It seems my subconsciousness is just as infatuated with the man as the rest of me.
Deciding it doesn’t need anything else added to it, I turn the easel so the canvas is hidden from view and opt to sketch for a while instead. I grab a large sketch pad and a pack of pencils and make my way over to the windows, sitting on the pile of cushions tossed haphazardly in the corner.
After the sketch I did on the train home the first night I spent here, I’ve been recreating the superhero comic strip and adding to it daily. Each scene depicts an aspect of our marriage, where Asher is the hero and his sidekick is a kick-ass, rainbow-haired assassin. It's fun and different from my usual darker stuff. I'm hoping that I can get it finished so that when our three months together are up, I can give it to him as proof.
Proof that I want to stay and all the reasons why.
Sitting here now, gazing down at the busy street below, I wonder why I ever thought I'd have a choice in the matter. My heart was always going to win out in the end. This chemistry between Asher and me is combustible, and I don't want to give it up.
Maybe our marriage is doomed to fail. Lord knows we are doing everything backward. But when I close my eyes and picture my future, Asher is always standing next to me with his hand wrapped tightly around mine.
I zone out for a while, losing myself in the pages of my book as the colors take form and the characters come to life, until a cough draws my attention toward the doorway. Looking up, I see Asher watching me with a soft smile on his face, leaning against the doorframe. I quickly snap the book closed so he can't see anything and notice it's dark outside.
Jesus, I really do lose all sense of time when I get started.
“Productive afternoon?” he says, casually stepping into the room.
It feels strange having him here. Everything in this apartment screams Asher, but I've carved this small space out as my own.
“Yeah, it was good. How about you?” I ask, but my stomach chooses that moment to start gurgling, making me blush.
“Woman, what am I going to do with you?” Asher sighs with exasperation.
“Well, I can think of a few things,” I tease, making him chuckle.
Walking over to me, he reaches his hand out for me to grab, which I do, slipping my smaller one into his, letting him pull me to my feet.
“Fuck!” he groans when he takes in my skimpy outfit, “You are going to be the death of me, Skittle," he admits. “It's like watching you in that Harley Quinn costume all over again.”
Working the last two shifts for Tony, with Asher glowering at every male customer who looked my way from his spot at the bar, had been like dealing with a toddler with a mine, mine, mine, complex. At one point, I thought he was going to pick me up and toss me over his shoulder.
Laughing, I reach up and wrap my arms around his shoulders, standing on tiptoes so I can press a kiss to his stubble-covered cheek.
“I like to be comfortable while I'm working, and clothes tend to get in the way,” I tell him with a cheeky grin as his hands slide down and cup my ass.
“Hmm…you could always paint naked,” he suggests, pressing against me, letting me know just how much he likes that idea.
“I used to, but the paint gets everywhere. I swear it's worse than sand at the beach.”
He groans again and adjusts himself.
“Come on, Skittle, let me feed you so I can fuck you. I missed you today.”
I laugh and let him pull me out the door toward the kitchen.
“You just saw me at lunch,” I point out.
“It doesn't count because I had to share you with Graham,” he tells me with a pout.
“And whose fault was that? Thanks for springing that shit on me, by the way.”
He looks over his shoulder at me, grinning unrepentantly. “I knew you could handle him. I meant what I said about him being my best friend. I really do want you guys to get along with each other. I'm not asking you to make him your new BFF, but just try not to murder him, okay?”
I sigh, making myself sound really put out
. “Fine, I'll try. But, Asher, I'm not making any promises.”
He laughs, nudging me to sit at the kitchen island as he riffles through the drawers before pulling out a dozen menus for various take-outs.
I eye the menus. “Oh, thank goodness. I can't be bothered to cook now. Not when we could just as easily be snuggled up with a glass of wine and a movie.”
“Sounds good to me. What are you in the mood for?”
I think about it before settling on Chinese. You just can't go wrong with Chinese food.
“Okay, Chinese it is,” he agrees when I hold up the menu in question.
“Anything in particular you want, or shall I just order a bunch of stuff?”
“Order a mix and I'll pick and choose. I'm going to jump in the shower while you do that. I'll be right back.”
I climb off the stool and make my way to the bedroom, stripping out of my shorts and tank top and climbing into the steaming hot shower. I don’t take long because Asher will come looking for me and then we'll never get out of here, and Asher’s right, I need to eat.
I finish up and dry off, opting for another pair of short shorts—these are black and say “spank me” across the ass in bright red lettering. I team that with a red tank top, forgoing the bra, and pull on long, black over-the-knee socks with a red stripe across the top.
Looking in the mirror, I smile as an idea comes to mind. I can't help myself. Teasing Asher is so much fun, and given the seriousness of his day job, I like to help loosen him up. We’ve been hot and heavy from the get-go, but we haven’t ventured into role-playing yet. Now seems as good a time as any.
Chewing on my lip, I braid each side of my hair and secure each one with a tie.
I look hot in a dirty kind of way, like a porn actress about to audition for Co-eds Gone Wild or something. Especially with my hard nipples clearly visible underneath my tank top.
“Red or white?” Asher calls from the sitting room.
Here goes nothing.
Instead of yelling my answer back, I stroll out to the living room. I’m almost to the island when he must sense me in the room. He turns as I reply.
“Red, please.”
He fumbles with the bottle when he gets a good look at me, almost spilling the wine all over the floor. I can’t help but laugh as I stand there, twirling the end of one of my braids innocently.
“Is something the matter?” I inquire sweetly
He doesn't respond. His eyes fill with lust and something else I can’t identify. Whatever it is heats my skin, covering my body in goosebumps at the thought of what's to come. Placing the bottle on the counter, he stalks toward me with the look of determination in his eyes that I'm becoming so familiar with. I back up when he doesn't slow down and end up with my back against the glass windows just as his hard, unyielding body presses into mine.
“You’ve been bad. That is an expensive bottle of wine, Skittle, and it was very nearly wasted because you came out here looking like sex and sin, making all the blood in my brain rush to my dick. I think you've earned yourself a spanking for that,” he warns.
Staying in my role, sensing he is beyond turned on at the change of play tonight, I dip my eyes submissively before answering. “I'm sorry, I'll be a good girl, I swear,” I promise him with a pout, still twirling my hair.
“I'm sure you will, Skittle, but you know the rules, bad girls have to get punished. Hmmm, what to do,” he muses, dragging his eyes over my body before stepping back. “Turn.”
I do as he orders and place my hands on the cool glass. It's pitch black outside, and I know with how high up we are that nobody can see me, but that doesn't take anything away from the illusion of being on display. Just the thought of someone being able to look in and see me has me quickly growing slick with need.
“These shorts are positively indecent, Skittle,” he tuts, running a finger over the edge of each cheek where they are visible under what little material there is.
“‘Spank me,’ huh?” He trails his finger over the lettering, his voice rumbling with approval. “It’s like you read my mind. Arms up,” he commands.
I don't think of denying him, at least not yet, loving giving over control to him in the bedroom when, in real life, I can be as stubborn as hell.
I raise my arms straight up and feel Asher's hands grip the edge of the tank top and slowly slide it up over my ribs, exposing my bare breasts, before pulling it over my head and tossing it somewhere behind us.
“No bra? Naughty girl. That's going to earn you five spanks,” he warns me, pushing me against the cold glass, making my sensitive nipples harden and my overheated skin tingle all over.
“And these are far too short,” he adds, making me gasp in surprise when he yanks down my shorts, leaving me completely bare. “Holy fuck,” he croaks out, breaking character for a moment when he realizes it wasn’t just the bra I decided to forgo. “Such a bad girl," he mutters, kissing one ass cheek then the other before standing and taking a step back.
“Come here, Skittle,”
I turn and face him and do as he asks, moving so my breasts graze his chest when I inhale.
“Remove my tie.” His voice is quiet as he stares down at me, waiting for me to protest, but I don’t.
I reach up and slowly loosen the deep purple tie, sliding it free from his collar before handing it to him. He takes it with a smirk before walking around to stand behind me.
“Hands behind your back, Skittle,” he prompts.
I flush, knowing exactly where this is going. I'm so turned on I can feel my arousal starting to run down my inner thighs. I cross my wrists behind my back and feel him use his tie to bind them together. Not tight enough to hurt but enough to prevent me from getting free.
Walking back around me, he trails his fingers over the curve of my hip and up over my ribs before cupping my breasts with both hands. I moan and arch my back, pushing them more fully into his hands, but he just tweaks my nipples before stepping away and sitting on the sofa to the left of us.
He leans back and watches me silently, his eyes moving seductively over my body as if deciding where to start next. By the time his eyes meet mine, I'm a hot, panting mess.
The sound of the doorbell ringing has me freezing for a moment before turning to look at the door and moving to take a step back.
“Don't move, Skittle. Not one single step. If you move, I won't let you come tonight,” he warns me.
I frown. That does not sound like fun.
He gets up from the sofa and walks unhurriedly over to the door, making my heart almost beat out of my chest.
He wouldn't, would he? Fuck, he would.
Pulling the door open, he greets the delivery person while standing in such a way that I'm blocked from view. Even so, if I move one step in either direction, they will be able to see me in my birthday suit. Talk about leaving a tip.
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to make a move to cover myself. Somehow, I manage it and when Asher closes the door and turns to face me a moment later, I release a huge sigh of relief.
“Good girl, Skittle. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?
“Yes, sir,” I reply hastily, making him jolt at my words, and I don't miss the way his cock twitches in his pants.
Oh, he likes being called sir.
“Kneel on the floor beside the sofa.” He points to the place he wants me, so I do as he asks, hoping he hurries with this reward because I'm dying over here.
I watch as he plates up food and scowl. If he thinks he’s going to eat that in front of me, he is sadly mistaken.
He walks over to the sofa and reassumes his spot, picking up a piece of crispy chicken with a pair of chopsticks and sliding it into his mouth.
“Hmm...so good,” he moans.
I almost call him on it but then wonder if this is some kind of test, so I sit patiently for a moment, silently plotting his death.
“Open up, Skittle,” he orders, lifting a piece of chicken to my lips.
Tha
nk fuck.
I open up and moan when the spicy taste explodes on my tongue.
“Good girl,” he praises as we sit in silence, him sharing the food off his plate, feeding me morsel after morsel while checking out my naked body.
I fight the urge to squirm, but I swear if he keeps looking at me like that, I'm going to orgasm before we ever get to the good stuff.
Finally, when we’ve finished, Asher stands and walks over to the counter, placing the empty plate on top of it before turning to face me once more. Standing on the spot, acting like he has all the time in the world, he watches me as he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt and rolls them up to his elbows. I don't take my eyes from him as he stalks toward me and then reoccupies his spot on the sofa. Leaning back, he slides the zipper of his pants down and looks at me, pulling out his rock-hard cock that is wet with pre-cum.
“Stand up and come here, Skittle. I want you on your knees, between my legs, with your lips wrapped around me. You don’t need your hands for this. Let's see how much you can take.”
Oh boy.
He splays his legs wide as I awkwardly climb to my feet and move toward him. Carefully, I lower myself to my knees between his thighs, the glint of approval in his eyes giving me the confidence to continue. Without taking my eyes from his, I swirl my tongue around the tip of his cock before leaning over, sliding him into my mouth with a groan. Fucking hell, I can feel my wetness coating my thighs. I don't know why this is turning me on so much, but it is. If my hands weren’t tied behind me right now, I would have slipped a hand between my legs and gotten myself off.
“Wider,” he commands with a growl.
I open my mouth as wide as I can and take him in farther.
“Yes, Skittle, just like that,” he hisses.
I hollow out my cheeks and slide him in and out of my mouth, over and over, focusing on the velvety steel feel of him.
“Stop,” he snaps, making me freeze, waiting to see what he wants me to do next.
“Stand up and bend over my legs.”
Sliding him from my mouth, I climb to my feet on wobbly legs, trying to figure out how to bend over him without face planting. I won’t be able to balance myself with my hands still tied behind me. He must sense my predicament because he grips my shoulder, bearing my weight and lowering me until my stomach is pressed flush to his thighs.
Hoax Husband: A Hero Club Novel Page 13