Page 97 of Fractured Fear

Nothing. That’s what. Setting boundaries doesn’t deserve punishment. It deserves fucking praise.

Instead of averting my eyes like I have all day, I hold his gaze and allow the burn to make my core ache, but I won’t let it show. If I have to suffer through his temper tantrum, so does he. I won’t give in. I am stronger than the urge of my ovaries to have this man’s babies.

When his eyes dip to the apex of my thighs I freeze. Shit. I was rubbing my thighs together.

Way to stay strong. You showed him.

Fucking hell. Damn Asher and his ungodly good looks. As my bodyguard, I should require him to wear a bag over his head and an extra long potato sack. I know it won’t do anything to quell my need. I already know the magic his lips hold and daydream about the way he could toss me around like a ragdoll.

Again, damn Asher for turning me into this sex-crazed woman I don’t recognize.

My chest heaves with each breath I take. I may be burning inside, but dammit if I won’t make him burn just as hot with me.

Knowing it will enrage him, I grab my things and head to the exit. He wants to be the first out the door, but I’m too angry to give him what he wants.

Suck it, big guy.

I throw the door open and dash out onto the pavement with Asher hot on my heels. He snags my elbow just as I make it outside. Ignoring his presence, like he did to me all damn day, I lock up and head up to my apartment. I can feel his eyes drilling holes into the back of my head.

I purposefully stomp my way up the stairs which serves twofold. First, it drowns out the sound of his heavy breathing. I thought the sound would satisfy me because then I would know he is right where I am—sexually frustrated and just plain angry—but instead it bumps my need to a new height. Specifically six feet and five inches high. Second, stomping will hopefully drain some energy thereby draining the desire clouding my senses.

I’m ready to head straight to my room and lock myself in there until the object of my pent up frustrations is gone.

Halting halfway there, I spin and come up with a new plan. I don’t know where this sadistic Spencer is coming from, but here she is in her boots that were made for walkin’.

Beelining for the kitchen and dropping my purse on the counter, I renew my calm, indifferent exterior. I lean onto one hip hoping it draws his attention to my ass. I may not knowexactly what I’m doing, but I know it’s working when I hear the wrinkle of paper from behind me.

Scanning the contents in the fridge, my eyes land on the plastic container of red fruit and can of whipped cream. I do a quick rinse in the sink, place the strawberries in a bowl, and take my findings to the counter in front of Asher where he sits on a stool at the breakfast bar, leaving a good few feet between us.

Ripping off my oversized shirt leaves me in my plunge sports bra and leggings. I bought the bra because it gave my boobs an extra lift. I never thought I would wear it like this in front of another person, let alone a man like Asher, but now I’m high fiving myself for the purchase.

I know my plan is working when I see the paper from earlier take on more of Asher’s aggression.

I give him a little smirk, pick up the juiciest looking strawberry and take a bite allowing a single dribble of juice to trail down my neck and cleavage. Asher’s focus follows its path as it disappears in my bra. His attention makes me wish it was his hands, his mouth caressing me.

A flush breaks out across my skin and I suck in an audible breath as his eyes return to mine. If I thought they were burning before, it’s got nothing on the inferno blazing in them now. His rough hands grip the counter as if it’s his anchor keeping him from coming to me.

Pushing him further I take another bite and drag the remnants across my lower lip.

Abruptly, Asher jumps to his feet, kicking the chair behind him.

Oh shit.

Maybe I shouldn’t have poked the beast?

CHAPTER 39

ASHER

This woman. She thinks she can tell me to stay away and then pull this shit with those fucking strawberries like there won’t be consequences? Fuck that. I’m putting an end to the bullshit right here right now.

I have been half-hard in my slacks all goddamn day. It’s a miracle no one noticed, and now she thinks she can play games. When she bit into the strawberry, all I could picture was biting into that plump ass of hers and slapping it so hard my palm print would be visible for days. Her tits in that sad excuse for a top, practically pushing her perfect mounds in my face. Does she expect me to not look?

This game of chicken she started has my cock twitching, begging to be let out to play. I have never been this hard without being inside a woman. My dick could pound nails and I haven’t even touched her. Not even a whisper between us.

While games can be fun, I’m calling her bluff.

I jump to my feet and kick the stool back sending it crashing into the wall. Her eyes go wide and if possible, her breathing picks up even faster causing her cleavage to jiggle ever so slightly.

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