“You don’t deserve the life you’ve been given.” He’s angry—no, he’s enraged, but strangely, it doesn’t feel directed at me. It seems to be more about him.

“Ash…ugh…” No more words come out.

He’s stealing my breath and my air supply.

“Give back what you owe,” he snarls in my face.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him so furious.

So manic.

So out of control.

He’s shed his deadly calm exterior and is coming at me full force.

Tears stream down my cheeks, into my mouth, and onto his hands until all I taste is salt. I couldn’t stop them even if I wanted to, because not only am I crying for myself, I’m crying for everyone whose life I made hell in the past.

Asher is one of them.

He’s just one of them.

Second chance? I don’t deserve that. People who are monsters like me simply don’t deserve it.

“Fuck!” He jerks away from me as if he’s been burned. “Stop crying.”

A sob tears from my throat as I catch my breath, sucking as much air as possible into my starved lungs.

His fingers find my cheek and he wipes the tears away, a pained expression covering his face. “Why are you crying? Do you think you’re a victim?”

I shake my head frantically. “I’m crying because I recognize I’ve been the villain all along.”

His expression tightens and so does his jaw. “Why do you keep saying shit like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you care. Like you feel.”

“I do feel. So much, it’s suffocating.”

Something inside unlocks. A deep longing for him, his forgiveness, and his…everything.

I might not be able to fix all I’ve done in the past, but I don’t want Asher mad at me. He’s been mad for so long.

I hurt him for so long, and I want to fix that.

His T-shirt sticks to his stiff chest and shoulder muscles like a second skin. I want to relieve that stiffness.

To loosen him up.

I don’t allow myself to think twice as I fall to my knees in front of him. I taste his sandalwood scent on my tongue and feel it seep into every pore of my skin.

With a deep breath, I reach for the band of his shorts.

He grabs both my wrists in one of his hands. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I stare up at him with pleading eyes. “Let me.”

His grip tightens around my wrists as he watches me with narrowed eyes.

“You’re on your knees,” he says with some sort of awe.

While he’s still in his contemplative mode, watching me intently, I release my hand from his and pull down on his shorts.

My breath catches in my throat.

Oh, God.

He’s gone commando, and he’s already semi-hard.

A tingle crawls down my spine and to my core.

In all honesty, I don’t remember how to do this, but I’m hoping my memory will kick in like with my studies and jumping.

I let the shorts fall around his ankles and grip the base of his cock.

A grunt spills from the back of his throat, and I love how his dick jumps to attention at my mere touch.

I affect him as much as he affects me.

Scooting closer, I raise myself up as I give him one long stroke from top to bottom. He doesn’t even make an attempt to hide his groan this time.

“Fuck, Reina.” His hooded eyes focus down on me.

My heart is on my sleeve as I give him a tentative smile and lick the pre-cum dripping from the crown.

He’s throbbing and veiny. I want all of that. I want all of him.

I want him to take me and devour me, but first, I want him to loosen up. I want to change this fucked-up relationship.

If it doesn’t change, we’ll always be stuck in the middle of nowhere.

I lick him one more time and relish his low groan. The sound is so masculine and rough, it tightens my stomach.

With one last lick, I take him in my mouth, all the way inside.

“Fuuuck.” His fingers thread into my hair, and my eyes close, enjoying the feel of him in my mouth.

Even though I don’t remember doing this, apparently I have a knack for it. I don’t have to think before I lick the side of his cock. Then I suck on the crown, lapping my tongue over the tip until I taste his pre-cum.

His hips thrust forward and his dick hits the back of my throat. My gag reflex kicks in and I choke on him. Instead of pulling out, Asher keeps it right there. My eyes snap open and I place both hands on his thighs, trying to push him away.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t freaking breathe.

The look on Asher’s face is one of pure contempt. It’s like he’s planning to choke me to death.

“Did you think you could manipulate me with this?”

I shake my head frantically. The lack of air and the pressure cause tears to blur my vision.

But he’s not letting me go.

“That’s what you do best, don’t you, Reina? You think you can drag me into your web and finish me?”

I shake my head, feeling dizzy and on the verge of fainting.

He pulls back. I cough and sputter, clutching the floor for balance. Drool forms on the side of my face and my chin.

I wheeze for breath like a dying woman with one last wish, like someone who doesn’t have anything left.

He wraps my hair around his fist, yanking me up, and I stumble to my feet. I expect him to leave, but he carries me in his strong arms and lays me on the bed on my side.

“W-what?” I ask, confused. My mouth feels dry and empty without his cock.

He kicks his shorts off, tears his T-shirt over his head, and removes his shoes so he’s naked.

Fully, absolutely naked.

I stare at his defined abs and a little scar below his ribs. Such a small imperfection makes him even more perfect. The tendrils of his tattoos ripple over his right shoulder and bicep. In the middle of tendrils, there seems to be a sentence in a foreign font. Is that Arabic?

My fingers twitch, yearning to touch those tattoos and ask him what they mean, but before I can think about that, he’s on top of me.

His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls my shorts and panties down in one brutal go.

I gasp, the sensation lighting my skin on fire.

No, it’s not fire. It’s like the air is only filled with him and his presence.

After I woke up in the hospital that day, I struggled with the feeling of belonging and having something—or someone—completely belong to me.

Now, I admit to wanting Asher to be that someone. I want him to belong to me. Talk to me. Touch me.

Maybe that’s why his rejection hurts the most.

It hurts to have him hate me so much.

He kneels in front of my face, grasping his hard cock with both hands. “You’ll finish what you started.”

I gulp, eyeing him carefully. “I thought you said I was manipulating you—why would you want me to finish?”

“Because you’ll be doing it on my terms.” He pushes the crown against my lips; it’s dripping with pre-cum. “Open.”

I don’t.

If I do, this moment will be over.

Everything will be.

For a second, I just watch him: his perfect abs, the tattoos snaking along his shoulders, and the somber shadow covering his features. It’s lust and something else I can’t recognize.