Asher

by Shandi Boyes

Standing, I yank down my slacks until they sit huddled around my shoes. Zariah throws her head back and moans through her gag when I rub my aching cock over her drenched slit. Hating that I’m being denied her screams, I yank her panties out of her mouth and toss them to the side of my desk.

  While she sucks in much-needed breaths, I move her to a half-seated position by yanking on the belt circling her wrists. Once her breathing returns to a safe level, I seal my mouth over hers to stifle her screams before impaling her in one swift movement.

  Tight.

  So. Fucking. Tight.

  Her cunt strangles my cock. It chokes me as fiercely as I did her neck, sucking the life out of me with a pleasure I didn’t know you could experience with a virgin.

  She isn’t innocent.

  She’s a fucking monster.

  She isn’t just fucking me—she’s fucking with me.

  If I had to give up everything I have to ensure this experience would happen, I’d do it without a second thought.

  That isn’t me. I’m Asher Yury, the most feared man in Russia. I don’t bow for anyone...but I will for her.

  Zariah’s tears wet my cheeks when I slowly withdraw. I’m hurting her, but she fights through the pain by dueling her tongue with mine before biting down on my lip. Once I’ve pulled all the way back to the tip, I rock my hips forward again. The tangy taste of blood fills my taste buds when my thrust causes Zariah to bite down on my lip too hard not to inflict some sort of injury. I don’t mind. It adds to the excitement teeming between us by making me bleed right along with her.

  My third and fourth pumps are greeted with the painful, ugly sobs you expect when one loses her virginity. It reminds me exactly what I’m claiming—how much ground I’ve covered in one day. I went from watching her from afar to owning every inch of her in under twenty-four hours.

  I am a fucking master.

  “Asher...” Zariah breathes deeply through her nose, her voice low. “It hurts.”

  “Shh, Little Mouse. Trust me to take care of you. I know it hurts, but it won’t soon. I promise.”

  I rock into her on repeat, paying careful attention to every grind. Her cunt still suffocates my cock, but its dedication to the nub inside her and the one throbbing between her glistening slit, weakens its hold. She’s drenched from her last orgasm, so I’ve got plenty of lubrication to ease the burn. I’ve just got to get her body to stop resisting me.

  “Open up to me, Zariah. By relaxing, you’ll show me how much you want this.”

  My chest swells with smugness when she follows through with my demand. She weakens the tight clench of her thighs before sweeping them open, allowing me to get the last inch of my cock inside her. The visual of my cock pumping into her tight, wet cunt...fuck. Blood-smeared residue shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Especially since it’s Zariah’s—the woman I wanted to claim before I was even a man.

  I rock into her faster, ensuring my pelvis grinds her clit with every plunge. I want her to quiver around me, for her climax to slick my balls with her juices, but I know that’s unlikely to happen. It’s even rarer for a virgin to come their first time than it is to find a virgin in this city over the age of consent.

  “Asher...” This call is more desperate than her earlier one. It’s not a panicked sob. It’s a needy one. “Please.”

  I angle my head to the side and arch a brow when she seizes one of my hands holding her hips to raise it to her neck. She lines my thumb up with the little bruise my earlier clutch left before lining my index finger up with the throb in her throat.

  Fuck me—my sweet innocent virgin isn’t as saintly as her title claims.

  She’s a masochist... and my sadist heart is in fucking heaven.

  After tightening the grip she placed on her throat, I slither my other hand up her back to entangle it in her hair. I use her hair as leverage to slam her down onto my cock while my tongue steals the last of her oxygen my chokehold isn’t stealing. I pound into her on repeat, my fucking vicious and unrestrained. She’s going to feel me for days, and her neck will wear my marks just as long.

  I really like that.

  Once her lips turn the perfect shade of blue, I loosen my grip on her throat. As her lungs draw in a hurried breath, her cunt tightens around my cock, strangling me more than she’s killing my senses.

  Her ecstasy-riddled face reveals what I’ve always known: I am Asher Yury—Zariah Volkov’s bitch.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Zariah

  I stop counting the pulse in my pussy when Asher returns from the bathroom. I feel battered and bruised all over. Every inch of me hurts. Mercifully, most of the ache is a good ache. Excluding the pain, losing my virginity was nothing like I had predicted. There was no gentle lovemaking under the flicker of candlelight or words of devotion shared. We fucked—wildly. And I loved every minute of it. I feel good. Almost invincible.

  My squirms ramp up when Asher places a damp cloth between my legs. It’s not the contrasting temperature between my body and the cloth causing my skittish response. It is the heated look Asher gives me while cleaning away the mess he made. It has excitement trumping my pain.

  “Still, Zariah, or I’ll send a doctor in to check you over for real.”

  I freeze in an instant. He wouldn’t really do that, would he? Just because I let him poke and prod me doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone else do it.

  He takes a few minutes checking that he hasn’t damaged me beyond repair before dumping the washcloth into a bin at the side of his desk. After helping me down, he slips my dress over my head. A smirk tugs at my lips. Although it is happening ten times faster, this dressing is more intimate than our earlier one. He’s been inside of me, took something no one else can take. I’ll never look at him in the same light now. I will forever heat up.

  He fixes my zipper into place before pulling my unruly hair out of my collar. I’ll have to go sans panties the rest of the night, because not only did he shred them into pieces, they were in my mouth—they’re beyond saving.

  My eyes float up from the dangerous slit in my dress to Asher’s eyes when he murmurs, “I’ll remove his fingers if he touches you, but I will have a doctor brought in. I’ve had you bare. I can’t go back now. He’ll give you a shot. It will lower the chances of you getting pregnant.” An impish glint darkens his icy gaze. “And will stop any further incidents from occurring.”

  The way he snickers ‘incidents’ makes his reference easily distinguishable. He’s not talking about unwanted children. He’s referring to my tampon ruse.

  Although my spine hackles from him making decisions about my body, his next words extinguish my anger. “Then I can also have you any time I want you.”

  When I give him a look, one that announces I hope his wish is granted sooner rather than later, he smirks a deliciously wicked grin. “Don’t worry. I’m not even halfway through with you yet. I just need somewhere more inviting, somewhere where I can take my time with you.”

  A memory breaks through the lust-cloud in my head when he slides his index finger down my nose. It’s as hazy as his attentions make my head but potent enough to prick my eyes with tears. He used to do that when we were younger. I’m not referring to my memories before my mother passed. I’m talking about the months following her death.

  Before I can ask Asher if the memory is accurate or a pipe dream, a knock sounds at his office door. His visitor’s perfect timing has me wondering if Knox switched off the cameras as requested. If they were five minutes earlier, it would have spelled disaster.

  Asher isn’t as worried as me. He stalks to the door, his walk as cocky as ever. When Matvei peers at me over Asher’s shoulder, I swivel to face the opposite wall. There are no mirrors in Asher’s office, but I can’t deny the aroma in the air no matter how hard I try. It smells exactly how you’d expect after vigorous, raunchy sex.

  “Tell them to wait for me. I’ll be right there.”

  I hear the door softly close before the squeak of Asher’s shoes announce he is
approaching me. My stomach twists with worry when he bands his arms around my midsection and tugs me back. “I need to go. I have business to take care of. Lenin will take you home.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond; he just kisses my temple, snags his gun from the floor where it fell during our exchange, then leaves. A cold shiver descends upon me. It’s so brittle, I fasten up my coat Lenin brought in before Asher arrived. I’m not cold, but the confusion surging through me makes it seem that way. Something was off with Asher’s farewell. It was too edgy for a man of his power and strength. It was almost as if he was scared.

  I’m snapped from my worry when Lenin calls my name. I was so fixated by my thoughts, I didn’t notice him approaching me. “Are you ready to leave?”

  Nodding, I follow him outside. The atmosphere of the party seems different now—more low-key. It’s most likely because Asher has left, but some parts of me wonder if it is that at all. Maybe it is me? I am different now.

  Everything is different.

  White air puffs from my mouth when Lenin and I break through the double doors of the nightclub Asher owns. A sedan is waiting for us on the curb. It’s surrounded by four armed guards.

  When I slip through the door Lenin is holding open for me, my eyes stray to a pair gawking at me in the rearview mirror. I recognize the dark gaze reflecting back at me. They belong to the man who drove me to the Yury compound last month. He has a scrawny frame with wiry hair and a slim face. I can’t recall his name, but I think it starts with a K.

  While Lenin jogs around the vehicle to slip in the other side, my driver takes in my dilated eyes, blushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips. “Ah, I see Asher finally got his money’s worth? I didn’t think he was going to after ordering me to gather girls from Khimki last month. I told him he was mad. He paid good money to have fresh meat at the ready, so why did he want ones that have been banged so many times they’re out of shape?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I’m shocked. Truly and utterly shocked.

  The driver’s dark eyes seek mine. “I know five hundred thousand might be chump change to a man like Asher Yury, but you can be assured if I paid that much for someone’s virginity, I wouldn’t be messing around. Her debt would be paid in full before close of business the day I purchased it.” His tone is laced with humor, as if selling someone’s virginity is funny.

  I don’t find it amusing.

  Not one little bit.

  Lenin’s slide into the car juts when I hiss, “Did Asher buy my... virginity?”

  After taking in my slit eyes and the tight clench of my jaw, Lenin shifts his eyes to the driver. His body temperature notches up a few degrees when he too recognizes the eyes staring back at us. They’re no longer brimming with the hilarity they had when he exposed my stupidity. They are full of panic.

  “Drive, Kostya.” Lenin’s command proves driving won’t be the only thing Kostya will be doing tonight.

  When our car breaks away from the curb, Lenin’s eyes return to mine. “You can discuss this with Asher later.”

  “Discuss what? If he didn’t buy me, there would be nothing to discuss!” He doesn’t deserve my anger, but he’s the only one I can lash out at, so he’s getting the brunt of it. “I chose to be a chambermaid.”

  “Your sale was before that.”

  The hammering of my heart is heard in my voice. “My sale? I was sold! By whom? When?”

  I realize who Asher learned his granite-hard mask from. Lenin’s expression stonewalls my endeavor to unearth the truth as quickly as the varnish from my exchange with Asher fades from my face. I guess I should be grateful Asher waited for me to give myself to him instead of just taking what he paid for, but it still hurts. It hurts a lot.

  Fifty minutes later, our car glides down the long driveway of the Yury compound. Kostya’s love of the gas pedal helped him trim ten minutes off his time. My heart is beating as erratically now as it did when we traveled this exact route six weeks ago. I want to cry, but I won’t. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. I’ve known for a very long time that life isn’t fair. Tonight proves it without a doubt.

  I stop peering at the twinkling lights of Moscow when Lenin murmurs, “Every corner of this property has motion-activated cameras, armed guards, and dogs trained to maul first, follow commands later. You won’t get far if you decide to run.”

  “Run where, exactly?” My tone reeks of attitude. “Back to my father who sold me? Or into the arms of the man who bought me?”

  When Kostya pulls up to the curb, I throw open the door and slip out of the car. The wind is brutal, but I see it as a godsend. It’s so cold, it freezes my tears before they can glide down my face.

  I don’t find the same refuge in my dungeon-like room. Tears slide down my face freely as I shred my dress from my body. By the time it sits tattered on the floor, my heart is just as shattered.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Asher

  I throw down the papers Matvei handed me an hour ago, my blood boiling. Just like my mother’s first disclosure was revealed as true, Bear’s confession tonight was also determined to be accurate. I thought he was just saying anything to stop me from killing him. I had no idea he was telling the truth.

  Zariah was sold—fucking sold. If I were to believe the papers in front of me, I was the highest bidder in an auction that occurred the week before I returned to Russia.

  Even with her auction being an invitation-only hour-long event, her sale notched up to half a million dollars rather quickly. For a standard sale, it’s an impressive figure. But for Zariah, the woman I had quivering beneath me only two hours ago, it’s not close to what she’s worth.

  Thank fuck my mother stepped in when she did. If she hadn’t... I can’t comprehend it. I’m itching to kill someone as it is. Anyone. I want someone to die.

  How could Zariah’s father do this? How could he sell his only daughter? He was a cruel, heartless leader just like my father, but he loved his wife. She was his sun, his light, yet he traded their daughter as if she’s a piece of fucking meat. And for what? A measly $500,000. He would have gotten more from me when we wed. Zariah will have access to over a billion dollars in assets and cash. Neither her or her family would have wanted for anything if they exerted a little bit of patience.

  Now they will get nothing.

  Not a single fucking thing.

  I slip into my car, slamming the door harder than I meant to. “Take me home.”

  Usually, I’d drive, but I have so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, I don’t trust myself not to crash into a tree with the hope of simmering some of my rage.

  Halfway there, I get a text from Lenin.

  Lenin: Z is aware of her sale.

  The knot in my gut tightens. How could Zariah know about her sale when I’m only just finding out? My fists clench as reality dawns: I’ve got a fucking snitch.

  I punish my screen like I wish I could someone’s face to reply to Lenin’s text.

  Me: Who told her?

  I know Lenin would never be so stupid, so it had to be someone else.

  I discover who when he replies.

  Lenin: Kostya.

  Of course it was. That fucker is the town gossip.

  My eyes drop to the screen when another message pops up.

  Lenin: Want me to take care of it?

  My reply is as hard and fast as Kostya’s death is going to be.

  Me: No.

  I don’t need to spell it out to Lenin. This is as personal as it gets for me, which means me and only me will handle it.

  The driver’s eyes seek mine in the rearview mirror when I tap on the back of his seat. “Change of plans. Take me to this garage.” I hand him the business card of my private limousine service.

  We arrive at the garage thirty minutes later. The goons paid to drive my men around know there’s a reason for my visit. I don’t come down here unless I’m hunting a rat. Although Kostya may not have organized Zariah’s sale, he caused her pain. For that, he
’ll feel her pain.

  I find Kostya twenty seconds later. He is leaning on the front quarter panel of his car. He has a half-smoked cigarette hanging out of his mouth and is talking to one of the mechanics repairing a flat tire. My gun is on my hip, but with my humanity obliterated, I snatch the tire wrench out of the grease monkey’s hand, walk up to Kostya and swing it as if it is a baseball bat and his head is the ball.

  The crack the wrench makes when it collides with his left temple is as sweet as the moans Zariah releases when she comes. It jerks his head to an awkward angle and cracks open his skull. He falls to the ground with a thud, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. He’s down for the count before he even grasps what’s hit him. He will most likely bleed out within a few minutes, but I add additional blows to his body and face with the tire wrench for good measure. It caves in his face as efficiently as darkness burrowed into my heart when both my mother’s and Bear’s claims were found to be facts.

  When I return the tire wrench to the young, wide-eyed mechanic, I accept the grease-stained towel he’s holding out for me. As I make my way back to my idling car, I clear Kostya’s blood from my face and hands. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline I still have to disperse. I’ve never felt more unhinged.

  After tossing the bloody rag into a trash can, I yank open the driver’s door. He startles, making me wonder if I need more than a towel to clean murder off my face. “Clean this shit up.”

  “Y-yes, boss. I’ll get right on it.”

  He’s barely slipped out of his seat when I take his place. My speed is frantic, but I’ve got to do something to dispel my energy before I reach Zariah. I warned her I was on the brink of insanity before we fucked. Now I’ve fallen over the edge.

  As I take a corner too dangerous to be classed as safe, I call Lenin. I don’t bother issuing a greeting when he connects our call. “Where is she?”

  “In her room—”