by Nola Sarina
“And if I never see you again because of what I do to you?”
“You will see me again. Be realistic.”
I bored my gaze into her, my muscles quivering as she dared me. Goosebumps pricked up along her skin and her eyes widened with the warning I gave her.
“I told you,” I warned, “I have severe reservations about taking your virginity.” I left it at that, the subtle implications thickening the air between us.
I knew she wanted to reassure me, but the conviction with which I uttered my warning was undeniable. This was not mere hurt we were dancing with. This was murder. Aria’s murder. She swallowed after a while and took my fingers between her own.
“The keys to the Sissy are downstairs on the foyer table. You’re free to go anytime if you want nothing more to do with the madness and baggage I haul around with me everywhere.”
“Look, Asher,” she said as I reactively stroked the back of her knuckles with my thumb. Her voice shook with something I couldn’t quite discern... fear? Confusion? “I think you’re panicking. But I can’t resist this burning need inside of me, this urge to take you whether you’re ready or not. It’s too powerful, and I’m not strong enough to fight it. But I’m also not kidding myself here. I might be a virgin, but I’m not stupid. I know that for a woman, the first time hurts. It bleeds.”
I sighed. She didn’t hear my warning in the way I meant it. She thought I was afraid of the actual moment of penetration. It was the moment of withdrawal that terrified me, but how could I say it out loud? How could I tell her I couldn’t be inside her without killing her? That I needed to be inside of and kill her? Yet it was the last thing in the world I wanted to do...
She continued to try to reassure me. “That’s okay . . . I’m not going to run screaming away from you over a little bit of blood. I don’t understand what made you so afraid of this. I’m aware of the contrast between your substantially sized penis and my substantially snug vagina.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t call it that.”
“Says the guy who used the word ‘menstruate’ without batting an eye.”
I couldn’t help but crack a grin.
“See?” Aria soothed me, returning my smile. “Not so dismal, doom and gloom. This is just sex we’re talking about . . . I’m not going to leave you, regardless of how it goes. It’s just sex. Harmless, orgasmic sex.”
“You just don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Then enlighten me, Asher Chain. What the hell happened to you? You say your first time was traumatic—were you raped? Did you choke a girl out? I want to know.”
I’ve fucked forty-three women to death, Aria.
“No. None of that.”
“Then what?”
I chomped on my lip and vibrated, restraining anger.
She dropped her head back and let out a snarl of frustration, smacking the floor with her palms. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to be ready to both talk to me and have sex with me. But I’m not promising to wait patiently. That erection of yours is in rock-hard jeopardy. I will convince you to take me no matter what I have to do.”
She stood and walked to the door. She turned back to me and I saw a tremor run down her figure. “Asher,” she said.
“Yes.” My voice was quiet, as though awaiting a scolding from a disappointed parent.
“I can see your eyes,” she whispered. “And I’m not afraid of you; I’m not afraid of the fire consuming you right now, because goddammit, I feel it too.” She turned, leaving me staring at my reflection in the mirror.
As she left, the fire in my eyes dimmed and the whites behind my irises returned. Fire Aria could see, but fire she ignored. She knew there was something very, very wrong with me. Yet she stayed. I watched my face contort with rage as I scorned the incubus. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to please Aria, to keep her happy. Yet the monster of my soul wanted nothing more than to slaughter her and make my traitorous body enjoy every blessed second of her permanent removal from my life, enjoy it more than I’d ever enjoyed sex before.
Am I Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?
My breath quickened with anger. I raised my fist and slammed it against the mirror, a spider-web bursting out from beneath my knuckles. I slammed it again and showered myself with glass.
The shards stuck into the exposed skin of my shoulders and I felt a thin river of blood run down my arm as I closed my eyes.
Fuck, Aria.
Chapter 19 - Aria
I stretched awake, happy to find Asher still beneath me, my legs threaded between his as I slept on his chest. In his massive bed, in his ridiculous cabin, with all the tension between us.
Motherfucker, Asher was a big pill to swallow, and how badly I wanted to swallow him.
So his eyes glowed like fire when he got horny. No big deal, right? I sighed as morning swept in through the window with a cool breeze, ruffling the lace lingerie around my hips. The fire was bizarre. But so was the fire inside me, the desire I’d considered as flames so many times. It burned in my soul, in my veins, and if Asher truly was this unique—consumed by some darkness surrounding sex that I didn’t understand, yet so passionate about me he blazed it through his sexy glare—how could I walk away from him? How could I give up the most intense passion I’d ever felt, even as he warned me about some kind of twisted danger that came along with him?
I stroked his bare chest and shifted to take in his slumbering expression. I startled when I met his eyes, circles beneath them darkened by lack of sleep, though his starburst pupils were small and pinned in the bright, morning sunlight. At least the red was gone from his eyes. I wouldn’t show him any fear in light of it. He was different. He was fucked up. And goddammit, I adored him for every moment of this torment as I waited for him to be ready for me. He was too perfect for me in every way to let this go out of something so stupid as fear.
He needed me to help him, not abandon him. My burning libido wasn’t cooperating with his needs, and I frowned with frustration at myself.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him when he didn’t smile at me, didn’t kiss me, didn’t even stroke my skin like I knew he enjoyed.
His gaze didn’t thaw, and he swallowed before he spoke, the conviction of his feigned okay-mess growing less convincing with every waking moment. “Nothing.”
“Didn’t you sleep?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“No.”
“Are you angry with me?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Are you capable of answering with more than one word at a time?”
He glowered at me, unamused. “Probably not.”
“Ha!” I grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “That was two words.”
He scowled, and I rested my chin on my arms across his chest. I liked this position with him: using him as a pillow, looking up at him though he was lying beneath me. “You need to get laid, Asher.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “You think?”
“Ooh, good sarcastic Asher’s awake. I was afraid I’d get bitchy Asher all weekend.” I rolled off the bed and strolled to the bathroom. Stripping down, I leaned on the counter for a moment, grimacing when I inspected the half an inch of stark black roots peeking out from behind my blue bangs. Due for a dye job. I flipped on the elegant tap and splashed my face with water until the fog of sleep vanished.
Rummaging through my bag, I couldn’t find any deodorant. I must have forgotten to pack it when I threw my things haphazardly into the pile of clothing and zipped it inside the new suitcase Asher bought me. I pulled open the drawer beside the sink and found Asher’s Old Spice, and my hand touched something soft as I picked it up. Behind the Old Spice was a soft, leather bundle. I glanced over my shoulder—he was still in the bedroom, so I unrolled it and my heart thudded against my ribcage as I set it down on the counter.
A small scalpel and a little canister of black powder nestled inside the leather. Asher’s tattooing kit. My stomach rolled, and
I wasn’t sure what it was about this little discovery that kicked my nerves into high gear. Why here, in his cabin? I felt like I’d intruded on something very private, and I regretted opening something in his home without permission. I put the bundle back together and hid it behind the Old Spice, discreetly closing the drawer. Shit, I forgot to put some pit stick on. I slapped on a layer and the door swung open just as I snuck the drawer closed once more.
“Sorry,” I whispered, turning around. “Forgot deodorant. You don’t mind that I borrowed yours?”
Asher shook his head as he stepped in. “Not at all.” His voice was dark, his posture looming, and he moved with a menacing slowness. For the first time since I’d met him, fear spun through my soul as I braced back on the counter, holding my breath.
No. I refused to fear him. That was what he wanted: for me to be afraid, to back off. Why, I didn’t know.
I did know that this thing we had, whatever it was between us, was so powerful we couldn’t resist it much longer. And I knew, though he doubted it, that once we made the leap, we’d embark on something so incredible neither one of us could have predicted it. So I pressed the fear away and looked over his body. His impressive muscles bulging with restraint, his fists locked at his sides, and the fabric of his boxers straining to contain his erection. The small cuts on his torso from the glass exploding beneath his frustrated attack on the mirror yesterday were scabbed over and healing. I met his eyes—blazing again—and licked my lips.
“Asher,” I said.
His neck quivered and I heard the audible clack of his jaw clamping shut.
“Your eyes . . . it’s intense. But it’s okay. We’re still good.”
He glanced at himself in the mirror, and then peered back at me, his expression unreadable, as though he was more confused than I was.
I rested my hands on his chest and tried to send calming energy from my heart to his. “I’m going to make coffee.”
His breath was so harsh his nostrils flared as he simply stood there, wordless, blocking my way.
If he’d let us take the next step already, this stress would diminish. His strong presence, the heat radiating between us, melted me inside. I wanted him inside me. I wanted the two of us, feeling each other, giving each other what we needed the most, connected in every possible way.
The thought of sex blasted the fear from my mind and slammed arousal through my body, hitting me so hard I lost my breath. I throbbed down low, as if near orgasm already, and he hadn’t even touched me.
“Asher.”
“What?” he snapped, his eyes shifting back and forth as he glared at me, the fire burning brighter as anger mixed with his frustration.
Something in his posture screamed at me to be cautious. “Move out of my way!”
Cautious, but not a pushover. Asher startled at the force in my voice and stepped back to allow me through. His flaming eyes dimmed a little as I breezed past. Tugging on a long, lacy black skirt slit up both sides to the thigh, I tried to ignore the way my arousal rang in my ears, like the roar of the vast Great Lake crashing on the rocks outside, overpowering my thoughts.
What is all this? What’s happening to him . . . to me? To both of us?
I ignored Asher as he lingered in the bedroom doorway, watching me like a cat ready to pounce. I started coffee in the kitchen and drummed my fingers on the counter while I waited.
I felt his shadow before I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and he caught both of my wrists in one hand and pulled me away from the counter. He kissed me, pushing me back, driving his tongue into my mouth.
His need slid from our mouths down into my core, and I moaned, burning, needing, pressing against him as he pinned my back to the pantry. His free hand shook as he squeezed my breast, and I moaned loudly between his kisses. His mouth was urgent, his pelvis grinding against me—so hot, oh my God—and I couldn’t think. Everything below my navel throbbed, and I could barely hold my weight up as Asher’s heated body pressed me harder. I wanted more. Passion warmed my insides as it swirled up from down low, consuming me inside and out, like an orgasm of sparks igniting along my skin in waves.
Fuck, I needed him. Asher. I hitched my foot behind his back and tugged him closer, and he groaned, licking my lower lip, the intensity of his grip around my wrist waking up senses I didn’t know I had. Powerful senses. I pulled him closer with my leg, his erection grinding on me so hard I cried out.
And then he bit my lip too hard and I shrieked.
Pain flooded through me as Asher jumped away, backing up with his hands in the air like a busted criminal, fire vanishing from his eyes. “Aria! Aria, I’m so sorry.”
I clamped my hand over my mouth and swallowed hard, trying to stop the tears brewing behind my eyes. Anger blistered forth within me strong enough to hide my fear. More than fear, though, disappointment rampaged my heart. We’d been so close. It almost happened, and now the moment was gone . . .
He groaned and wrapped his hands around his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent at the waist. Then he fumbled through the kitchen drawers until he found a cloth, wet it with cold water, and approached me with caution in his eyes, as though trying to help a wounded animal.
I was mad enough it wasn’t far from the truth. My instincts battled between kicking him in the balls and running to the foyer, or throwing myself at him once more and trying to repair the broken moment. I glanced at the table.
Asher didn’t miss it. “Take the keys. Go.”
I shook my head. I wouldn’t abandon him when his need was this thick, regardless of his darkness. I pulled my hand away from my lip and inspected the bright, crimson liquid pooled in my palm. “I’m fucking bleeding!”
He held out the cloth. “Please? Let me see.”
I shook my head and swallowed, suppressing a gag at the taste of blood. But the emotional hurt, the regret on Asher’s face was plain, and the closer he got the weaker my resolve grew. His touch melted my anger as he lifted my chin and bent to look closer, his hands no longer urgent, only soothing. His breath washed over my face and I inhaled, drawing his intoxicating scent deep inside, arousal waking up again with the taste.
He dabbed at my lip and I grimaced. He averted his gaze as he pinched the wound to slow the bleeding, and I sighed at his remorse.
“It’s okay,” I said, muffled by the cloth.
“You keep saying that, and you’re wrong. Nothing about this is okay.” His tone pitched higher as he ground his teeth together, and I knew he was furious with no one but himself.
I took his hand. “It will be, though. I forgive you.”
“That is going to swell.”
I shrugged and cracked a half-hearted grin. “Not the end of the world. I promise to say I walked into a door.”
“Not funny, Aria.”
“I know it’s not. But I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to damage your reputation with rumors that you bite women.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you could say about me.” He said it so low I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly, so I tilted my head in question.
Asher rubbed his temples and took me back into his arms. I didn’t resist, and as his heat enveloped my body I inhaled his scent at the base of his neck. His kisses tickled my hair and cheeks as he apologized over and over again. “Never again, do you understand that? This will never happen again.”
“If you make me bleed again, it should be while we’re in bed.”
“Aria, what the hell? That is not a normal thing to say.”
“I don’t care about normal. You’re nothing close to normal, and you’re all I want.”
He chuckled a bit at that, his mood softened.
I smiled at him, ignoring the tightness of my wounded lip. “Now, about that coffee.”
“Coffee’s always good,” he said, taking a step back.
As I sat across the kitchen table from him sipping a steaming, delicious coffee, Asher left his untouched, watching me. I tried not to shiv
er as the darkness crept back into the room through the silence.
I knew what he needed. He was afraid of the sex we both craved like life itself. I drained the last of my coffee and resolved to quell his fear tonight, no matter what I had to do to convince him.
I felt the fire inside me as strongly as I saw it in him. If we kept denying the pull of magnetism between us, we were bound to crash and burn.
I’d rather crash into him than anywhere else. I kicked my foot up onto the table, revealing a healthy amount of thigh beneath my skirt, and stared Asher down with nothing but desire in my gaze.
Chapter 20 - Asher
Aria napped on the sofa in the spare room while I sat nearby, brooding. I couldn’t even join her to cuddle while she rested and the day drew toward night. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I could barely fucking think.
I called my sister. “I’m losing it, Gyp,” I muttered into the phone.
She was quiet, accepting. “Are you still set on fidelity as more important than her survival?”
My voice was hoarse with disbelief as I spoke. “The incubus demands her now, Gypsy. It will not be satiated until I’ve had her. I taunted him too much. No one else will do.” This separation between my personality and the demon side of me was bizarre, but we were no longer one being. He wanted one thing. I wanted something very different.
Gypsy sighed. “What time shall we arrive?”
I glanced at Aria, peacefully dozing, from the corner of my eye. “Midnight,” I said, and darkened the phone.
Gypsy would think she was coming to collect Aria’s body. But nothing could be further from the truth. I’d let this go on far too long already. My heart rocked with sorrow as I recalled the look in my twin’s eyes when she cried on the floor of the foyer in my parents’ house as the cops delivered the news our parents were dead . . . I couldn’t bear the pain on her face then. Would she cry over me, too? Or was she already too damaged, too hardened from loss, to feel my death in high definition?
Aria would feel it. Fuck. Maybe I really was a coward. Maybe I didn’t care anymore, as long as I didn’t have to keep hurting people I loved. Killing one I loved was enough. If I killed Aria, or snapped afterward and hurt Gypsy somehow . . . it was all too much. Aria’s lip gushing blood into my mouth had sealed the deal for me. The monster was between us, urging our passion along and mocking me all the way. If I thought I hated myself before, it was nothing compared to now: I hated the monster, I hated the coward, I hated the shitty lover and the shitty brother.