Page 108 of Ash and Poison

I slid my hand up his chest. He was warm, a stark contrast to the icy steel in my hand. He shuddered, and I smiled. “Interesting,” I murmured, pressing the blade softly into his skin, and pushing him toward the bed.

He moaned as he fell on the mattress.

I leaned over him, my lips brushing his chin as his fingers dug into my ass.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Pussycat.”

He groaned again when I let the blade trail lower.

“Safe word?” I said.

He moaned. “I don’t need one.”

I winked. “You never know. How about… Foxglove for when it’s getting dangerous, and Belladonna for when you really want me to stop?”

“OK,” he breathed.

His eyes were half-closed, his jaw clenched. “The tension in your jaw, the way your hands flex against the bed sheet. You want to let go, don’t you? You want to touch me.” His lips parted, but no words came. I leaned closer, my breath warm against his neck. “Cat got your tongue, Pussycat?”

A strangled breath left his lips. “I’m allowing you to…”

“Allowing me?” I whispered, laughing. “How adorable. You think you let me do anything?”

He swallowed hard. “No.”

I pressed the blade just under his jaw, light enough not to break the skin but firm enough to make him tilt his head back instinctively. “Right answer. What do you want now, Asher?”

His pulse raced. The knife thrummed in my hands, alive, burning for a taste of his blood just as I burned. He licked his lips before answering, his voice quieter now. “You. It’s always you.”

“You know what happens to good boys who know the right answers?”

“They get rewarded?” he asked, his smile cheeky, his eyes glazed.

I grinned, shaking my head. “Oh, no. Not tonight. Good boys still have to squirm a little. It’s only fun then.”

I dragged the knife down his throat, over his collarbone, then across the wings on his chest, along the que serà, serà written under the left wing.

His breathing hitched with every touch, every kiss of steel, and it made me wet. To feel him aroused, alert, needy.

“Such pretty skin,” I whispered, caressing the other side of the tattoo with my fingers. “So smooth. So tempting. It’ll be a shame to leave a mark.”

He arched his brow. “Do it. Cut me. Mark me. I want to think about you whenever I look at it. I want to see it and know I…” he trailed off.

“You never finish your thoughts, Asher.”

“I belong to you.” His grin was crooked but slightly nervous.

“Tonight?”

He didn’t answer.

I bit my lips, studying him.

“Asher? I…”

“Write your name, Diya. Please. Claim me.”

That would be foolishness. Once this revenge was over, once… I’d no longer crave Asher Maddox, I’d move on with my life, and he’d move on with his.