Page 26 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
Understanding floods through me.
This is all a show.
Why? I don’t know. All I know is I was so close to coming, and I still need the release. I thought that maybe—just maybe—Asher would be the one providing it to me, but I was wrong.
Chapter Nine
Life shrinks or expands in
proportion to one's courage.
Anaïs Nin
I take a step back from him, or I try to. He doesn’t let me. His eyes return to mine, and he frowns at what he sees. I try to back away again, and thankfully, he allows me to. He grabs my hand, though. I don’t mind. It’s easier than being pressed against him. I can’t think when I’m so close to him, when I can feel his erection cutting deliciously into my stomach.
When he starts to drag me toward the stairwell, I relent, but not before giving Aimee a helpless stare. She looks shocked, yet she still manages to give me a sassy eye roll at my attention.
I can almost hear her saying, “Puh-lease. I am not going to feel bad about you holding hands and dancing with Asher freakin’ Black.”
At the bottom of the stairs, I dig my heels in the ground, trying to stop our movement. Asher gives me an irritated sigh before turning to meet my stare, but I’m not focused on his face. I’m eyeing the little wet spot on his thigh, a wet spot that I made.
He follows my gaze and smirks before wiping it with the index finger on his free hand. I watch with an open mouth as—I kid you not—he dips his finger into his mouth and sucks.
“We’ll take care of that later,” he promises, before tugging me up the stairs. “When we get up there, play it cool. Just follow my lead.”
I just nod, too shocked and turned on to say anything. Unencumbered by a bra, my nipples are straining painful against my dress, the friction pleasant and frustrating all at once. In my defense, the man just licked my wetness off of his finger.
At the top of the stairwell, we’re greeted by the group of men in suits. The same group Asher was looking at while he danced with me. These are the men he was putting on a show for, so I force myself to pay attention. To look for any clues that might help me. I may be pliant with Asher’s demands, but it can’t hurt to be more informed.
There are five men here. Each man is accompanied by a beautiful woman. All but one looks like a carbon copy of the blonde girl from the Hallway Incident. Tall and skinny. Small, perky breasts. Heavy make-up. Expensive highlights. Designer dresses.
They’re all stunning, of course, which doesn’t astonish me. It doesn’t intimidate me either, because there’s no way I can’t feel beautiful after dancing like that with Asher. Plus, I may have been in the middle of nowhere for the last couple of years, but I still know what pretty looks like, and I know that, for most people, I fit the bill.
I stand there warily as a few of the women eye me up and down, not cruelly—for the most part—but judgmentally all the same. The man on the far end looks me up and down as well. The beginnings of an ugly sneer curl against his thin lips.
After a tense amount of time, Asher still hasn’t introduced me, so I give a little awkward wave with my free hand and say, “Hi! My name is Lucy. I’m—”
Asher cuts me off, “My fiancée.”
His what?!
A few of the girls gasp.
I’m amazed I haven’t myself.
Is this why one night stands get a bad rep? They up and leave you before you reach an orgasm, track you down a month later, threaten you, then pseudo-propose to you in front of a group of middle aged men and their wives?
“Your fiancée, eh?” a skeptical voice asks. It belongs to the man that has been sneering at us. “That’s convenient timing.”
Asher waves our joined hands a little, as if it’s proof of the legitimacy of our alleged engagement. My hand, which has been sweating since before the news of his fake proposal was announced, almost slips out of his palm. He tightens his grip, which only makes me sweat even more.
Everyone else is still silent.
The sneering man’s eyes narrow on my left hand. A smug look crosses his face. He looks all too satisfied. “Where’s the ring?”
I can feel Asher’s grip tighten around my hand in response. It’s almost painful now. I mentally sigh. It’s now or never, and I have a feeling that this is the favor he has been leading up to. What I’ve been auditioning for.
Pretending to be Asher’s fiancée is better than carrying out a hit or drowning a puppy or any of the million other damning things I thought he would ask me to do. None of my guesses have even been close to being his fake fiancée, but when I really consider it, this is the best case scenario.
