Page 78 of In Love with the Devil

“First, let me see you come all over my fingers like a desperate little whore.” Another finger jams into me and I’m whimpering like a bitch, my eyes closed, panting. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to hurt you? Like he did?”

“Yes.”

“Why me?” he whispers in my ear while my body melts on his, no strength left.

“Because I feel safe with you. I have the feeling you can handle how fucked up I am, because I know you’re fucked up, too.”

“Tell me where you need me to fuck you.”

“Every hole, Asher. Everywhere. I want you to not listen to me when I scream and cry, ‘No.’ I need you to hurt me"

“You sure?”

Just the way he speaks those two words… wanting my consent, all while fingering me… I hear how wet I am with every thrust. "Uhuh. Fuck. Asher… Asher. Oh… Oh my God." I feel the climax coming.

"You can handle that, Tory?"

“Plea–se. I need to feel alive.”

“Alive, huh?” His pace hurries, slamming against my pussy. I double over until my face lands on his chest, smelling even more of him.God, I missed him so fucking much.

“Yes,” I squeal, pant, and fist his lab coat."Please. Please. Please!" My walls quiver violently.

I find him watching me, eating all my reactions. I don’t care. The way he looks at me… it's the way I've been wanting to be looked at all my life. I just want him to be mine, even if it’s just for today. After, my body shakes on his fingers, he sucks on them while staring at me, then whispers in my ear, “Good girl. Now. Let’s go get you drunk so I can fuck you to death.”

He picks up his keys and wallet, takes my hand, and walks fast out of the office, into the elevator, down to the parking lot to the same car he had before I disappeared.Not the same car as him…

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at the old, fancy hotel he takes me to. In complete contrast to the gothic architecture, the furniture in the lobby is ultra-modern and trendy. We walk toward the back of the lobby where the bar is. The real tree growing in the middle of the bar catches my eye as we slide into a booth.

“What would you like to drink?” the waiter asks me.

“Two appletinis and a cold bottle of water,” I order.

The waiter repeats my order as he scribbles and asks, “And you, sir?”

“Macallan-18, year 1997.” Asher hands him his credit card from between his middle and forefinger.

My gaze sweeps from his hair to his eyes to his pink, perfect lips to his Adam’s apple down to his fancy, professional looking baby blue dress shirt. I lick my lips then bite the bottom. “So. Your first name is Asher.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nods once, leaning toward me with both his arms on the table, never taking his eyes from me, but I can’t hold his gaze. It’s too intense and invasive.

“I like that name. Do youwantme to call you Asher?”

“You can call me whatever you want.”

I smile back at him with heat burning my cheeks; he knew right away what I was referring to.“I can’t believe you made me come so many times, even before I knew your first name.”

“So many? It’s only been twice, Astoria.”

“Oh… yeah.”

He pulls back from the table and squints at me. “Why do I have the feeling there’s more going on here than what meets the eye? Do you have something to ask me?”

“Nope.” I shake my head even though I have an infinity of questions for this man. The waiter saves me by placing the drinks on the table. I take a gulp and feel the sugar masking the alcohol while Asher studies me.

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