Page 39 of The Devils of Saint City

When he reaches over to rub my thigh softly it almost feels like he truly cares for me.

Almost.

“Yeah. Feels like pins and needles everywhere, but it’s nice to be able to move my wrists.” Concentrating, I bring my right hand over to the left and rub the sore skin. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing — I’m actually really fucking happy about what we did here... sated as fuck.” He swallows before continuing. “I guess I’m just worried about him.”

He nods toward Asher’s room like that’s supposed to be some wild revelation. “But why?”

“Well, a few reasons if I’m being honest,” he admits. “Why do you think it’s so important for him to breed you last?”

“Well, look at me. He needs to feel like he has total control of me. Just put the damn cuffs back on and he’ll be fine.”

“No. We took them off to give you a break for a reason, he doesn’t need that... he shouldn’t need that. That’s my point.”

Sighing, I reach over to fold my hand over his. “Asher will always fear me. Having me as incapacitated as possible, locked up in this house, completely at his mercy... it’s the only thing that convinces him that I won’t kill him. He’s not wrong, I look a hell of a lot like my mom. I tried to change my hair and dress differently and do my makeup before I came here, but I still look like her. I have her eyes. Until he learns to see me as my own person instead of an extension of her, he’ll forever feel like he has to have total control.”

With a frown he nods like he knew that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t like it. “Just thought he’d get there by now. I don’t know, sometimes he has moments where he looks at you differently, but then he opens his mouth and says something in that asshole way of his.”

So it’s not just me, then. I’ve noticed it too, but never really let myself believe it. Maybe I am making progress with him. Either way, I’m not sure I’ll ever seehimas human — not as long as I can see the scar on my hand, anyway. “He only let me off the hook with the cuffs because I was paralyzed. I’m telling you, if you want to soften the blow of you stealing the last load, put them back on me before he notices the tally mark. Or let me take a shower right now and I’ll scrub them off before he sees.”

As tempted as he looks, Manson shakes his head. “He has to know. I won’t hide it even if I know it would make this go smoother. If this is going to work then he has to get used to you being mine too. He tries to pretend he isn’t, but he’s territorial as fuck.”

It’s almost cute that he still thinks this will have a happy ending. I take a moment to study the lines of his face, the way his dark blonde hair falls into his eyes, the muscles rippling down his bare chest and the tattoos that cover them. He’s so handsome I can’t fathom how he ended up tangling with my brother and the Provost in the first place, but his blind optimism in the face of all of it is almost charming. “I guess we’ll see then, hm? You may want to at least go tell him I can move again.”

Nodding, he gets up and leaves me alone in his room, giving me the time to look around at my surroundings better. There’s a small desk to my left with his laptop, a black bookshelf against the wall next to it that he seems to be using to store random things instead of books, and ahead of me is a dresser with a tv on top of it. Aside from his bed, there isn’t much else around besides the cheap glowing stars he’s placed on his ceiling and a photo of him and Asher from when they were younger.

I’m still staring over at it when they both come back in the room, and based on the way he looks, I’d guess Asher was falling asleep in his bedroom. “So you can move now? Is it tingling?”

His voice is thick with exhaustion, making me a little too hopeful that he won’t fuck me again right now. My whole body hurts. “It was worse a couple of minutes ago, but yes. I—” his eyes lock on my stomach, making it flip — “I’m stiff more than anything.”

A frown crinkles his forehead as he counts them more than once, no longer listening to what I’m saying or even whatever Manson starts saying because he cuts him off in the middle of it. “Why is there an uneven number?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, stalling and hoping Manson will grow a pair and tell him. “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure I know how to count?”

“Because I fucked her one last time, what’s it matter if the count is uneven?”

Asher’s stare shoots daggers at Manson. “Because it matters.”

Manson huffs humorlessly. “How about you be real and say w—”

“It fucking matters. It’s uneven. You fucked her first, I fuck her last. Fucking even,” he snaps, turning his attention to me. “What part of your body can you move?”

Here we go. Bracing myself, I stand up on extremely weak legs, holding onto the bed frame to keep myself upright. “All of it, but it’s not easy. Everything hurts, Asher. I’m exhausted and starving and need a shower. Are you really going to do this?”

He looks on the verge of grabbing me as his jaw ticks and I watch his fists clench three times like he’s holding himself back. “Yeah... I am.”

This time when he lays me down it feels more like a punishment. He maneuvers me so I’m on my stomach and pushes my left leg up, ignoring Manson completely as he cusses at him and storms out of the room, and for a few long moments all I feel is him jacking himself off trying to get hard.

I’m not sure how long he makes me lay there, but it’s long enough that my muscles start cramping again. “Ash, we can take a break. We can do this later,” I urge, leaving ‘or never’silent.

Ash disappears out of the room a second later, his door slamming behind him just before Manson comes back to help me stand. “What happened?”

“He’s all fucked out,” I mutter, eyes widening as I feel the evidence of what they did drip down my thighs. “I’m sure that’ll somehow be my fault.”

Rolling his eyes, he scoops me up and carries me off to the bathroom. “Whatever. I ran the bath, but I think you should shower first so you’re not bathing in cum... wait, never mind. That’s kind of hot.”

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