Page 38 of Devious Delusions

I manage to maintain control of my hand enough for the tines to touch my lips. But he presses his two middle fingers against my clit, and my hand trembles. The fork clatters as buttery spaghetti sticks to my t-shirt.

“Don’t make a mess.” Asher tuts while moving his fingers in slow circles. “It’s even on your thighs, Delilah.”

I don’t know when the fuck he managed to gain the whole authoritative voice, but I’m not complaining about it. He sounds so much more mature than I remember him, and it must have come with age. His chest inflates against my back, and I lean into him as he says, “Eat.”

It’s so deep and soothing despite the fact he’s commanding me like a dog. I can’t stop myself and roll my hips as I brush thedropped food off my clothes. The movement is noticed straight away, and I freeze.

“Delilah,” he says in warning as he wraps his hand around my throat. His lips brush my ear as he drops his voice. “Continue being a desperate little slut and I’ll leave you empty.”

Both options are bad. I whimper pathetically as I try to turn my head to look at him. It turns into a gasp when he tightens his hold on my neck and roughly keeps me in place. The fork clatters against the plate and there’s a split second before carnage erupts.

Gripping the edge of the glass dining table, Asher lifts it and pushes it with so much force it wobbles on two legs before it loses stability. Glass, cutlery, and our food hits the floor. The sound is broken by his dark voice.

“Now, get up and feed me.”

I stand on wobbly legs, mourning the loss of fullness. “Feed him” has too many implications and I choose the stupidest one as I try to walk to the stove and make him another plate. He grabs my hips and quickly turns me so that I half fall over him. His hands drop to my thighs to keep me steady and his fingers dig into my skin as he raises to his full height to swap our positions.

My ass has barely touched the seat when he lowers to his knees. The shattered porcelain crunches under his knees. I try to get him to stand so he isn’t hurt, but he pulls my thighs apart and I grab his shoulder as the chair legs scrape against the floor.

My back arches as he pushes his face between my thighs. My crown nearly touches the backrest and my other hand threads through his hair as I tighten my thighs around his head.

“Fuck, Asher!” I scream.

He stops and pushes his fingers flat against my inner thighs. His eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen them as he pushes my thighs apart and snaps, “Shut the fuck up.”

They soften a fraction when I flinch at the venom in his tone and he adds, “You are my slut to use. Not listen to.”

My mouth opens to say something, but he jumps up. His dick bobs from the movement and little pieces of glass fall from his sweats. There’s no further touching because he turns and tucks his dick away. My heart sinks and my skin heats as he walks away to the other side of the kitchen. I watch him, waiting for him to turn around, but he keeps walking until he reaches a drawer.

The runner screeches and he slams it closed before turning around with something balled in his fist. I can’t work out what it is because my heart races and adrenaline forces me to watch his eyes as he advances. There’s something darker, almost sinister, in the way he stalks towards me, his face set in hard lines, then he roughly grabs my jaw. He gently presses against the sides until I open my mouth and stuffs what’s in his hand between my teeth. The clean linen napkin dries my mouth out, but I can’t spit it out as he presses his palm over my mouth.

“When we leave this room, I’m going to treat you like the whore you want to be. But you are still my wife, understood?”

I smile despite how awkward it is with the makeshift gag and nod once. It’s rewarded instantly as he strokes over my hair cooing, “Good girl.”

He dips down and kisses my forehead so softly my lashes flutter closed, needing to extend the moment. His lips don’t leave as he lifts me out of the seat and carries me out of the kitchen away from the glass.

Setting me on my feet, he strokes over my hair again and holds the end in his fist as he hardens his voice. “On your hands and knees.” I lower. “And crawl.”

He holds my hair like a leash and my neck is strained as I place my palms flat on the floor in front of me. My skin is pulled taut when he takes half a step back and cool air brushes myheated skin as he flips the hem of the t-shirt up so it’s on my lower back, exposing me.

Tapping against my ankle, he roughly orders, “Wider. You’re all mine and you’re never going to hide it from me again.”

I can’t keep my moan back and widen my legs. A harder tap hits my calf with his reprimand.

“This isn’t for your pleasure, slut,” he spits out. It has the opposite impact than what he intended. A low dark laugh disturbs the air, and he adds, “You’re soaked.”

A sharp tug pulls my head back, sending pleasurable tingles through my scalp.

“Now move and show me how much of a desperate little slut you are for your husband’s cock.”

I’m drooling, I’m sure of it.

My palms glide over the floor as I crawl forward. The pressure against my scalp increases and he pulls, making it more difficult. Each inch is fought for while he slowly walks behind me. I add an extra sway into my hips, hoping it will make him snap. But Asher is controlled and only reduces the strain against my neck when we reach the bottom of the stairs. He steps up onto the bottom step and gestures for me to continue with a nod of his head.

My knees scrape against the runner as I carefully crawl up. He doesn’t walk ahead. But his hold on my hair is gentler, allowing me to prepare for each incline. It turns rougher when we reach the middle of the staircase and I have to look down my nose to see the step in front of me. My spine is forced to curve, and a deep curse is the only warning I get before weight bears down on me.

“Fuck this.”

---