Page 264 of Ashen Torment

Before us, the villa lacks the majesty of the main Ashford Manor, but its charm lies in the nearby lake, reflecting the sky in a mirror rippled by a light wind. He remains beside the carriage, his eyes fixed on me, hair stirred by the wind. I move up the walkway, intent on ignoring him. He moves behind me, I sense the velvet tread behind my heels even before I hear the sound. I stop at the entrance, he bypasses me with a natural grace.

A servant gives a slight bow.

“Lord Vasiliev Ashford.” Then his eyes lower to me, and the bow is repeated. “Sir.”

“We require nothing, Daniel. See that no one comes.”

The servant nods, swift and discreet, and withdraws. Dorian advances with precise steps, we enter a small drawing room with light-colored walls.

I barely have time to look past his profile before his hand seizes the nape of my neck. The twist is abrupt, and Dorian’s lips strike me with violence, extinguishing my every breath. I hit him in the shin with a sharp knee. His body doubles over, his brow furrowed in pain, teeth gritted.

“How was it you put it?” I snarl, my heart feeling as though it wants to burst through my sternum.

“I have looked at no one? I have sought no one?”

My hands shove him, my nails scratch at the fabric of his clothes.

Dorian clutches his side.

“That was before...”

Rage mounts within me, and I can no longer hold it back.

“Before?”

I let out a dry laugh.

“Did you mean... before foutre cette femme? And how many others? Hmm?”

I move closer still, my face inches from his.

“How many other women?”

I shove him hard against the wall.

“Men? Animals, perhaps?”

He seizes me by my clothes, reversing our positions and slamming me against the wall.

“You have no right to speak to me so.”

I spit near his lips. I see his eyes widen, turning darker. Slowly, he licks the edge of his lips where my spittle had fallen.

“You are disgusting.”

“Say it again without desiring me.”

My body moves before I can think, my fist snaps out and catches him clean under the jaw, jerking his head back with a sickening crack.

“This is all the desire you’ll get, Lord Vasiliev Ashford.”

His fingers claw at my throat, a sudden, brutal vice that cuts off my air as he jerks me forward, slamming my chest against his. I can feel the murderous heat radiating from his skin.

“I have let your insolence slide too many times,” he growls, his free hand crushing the heat between my legs, “but you are fucking pushing me to the edge.”

I shove him with every ounce of strength I possess, reversing the hold. We stagger together until I slam him against the wooden table, it groans under his weight with a dull thud. I pin my hands against his stomach, anchoring him there, and look straight into those cursed eyes.

“Then I’ll fuck every single whore in that goddamn brothel, Dorian.”