Page 81 of The Midnight Order
“I want more,” she whispers. “So much more. And I don’t know what that means to admit it.”
“It makes you ours.”
Her cerulean eyes bolt to mine. “I hate how those words make me feel.”
I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger. “How do they make you feel?”
“Safe. Cared for. Two things I always wanted to make myself feel without the help of any man.”
“And now you have four men.”
Her lips curve up. “I do, don’t I?”
“I think he’s right, you know?”
“How so?”
“You should just see where this takes you.”
“On one condition,” she counters.
I tuck her hair behind her ear, letting my touch curl around the edge as I drop it away. “What’s that?”
“That you do the same.”
My heart skips. A deal with her would undermine every belief I’ve held onto for so many years. It would shatter every shred of the old me as I work toward learning the new me—the me where I no longer belong only to Asher Thorngray.
“Deal.” I hold my hand between us, and she shakes it immediately.
And just like that, a deal is struck.
I lean down and capture her lips again, her kiss feeling easy and freeing as we move in tandem. My hands find her ass, cupping as she moans into my mouth.
I break away with great effort. “I need to go find him.”
“I’ll come with you. Just let me get some pants.” She pushes away from me, heading for the bedroom, but I capture her arm and pull her back.
Her back hits my chest as I lean down and whisper, “No. I need to do this. He doesn’t understand how he’s feeling. And besides, you have cum on your ass. I think you could use a nice long bath.”
Her breathy little moan builds confidence in my chest, and I feel powerful when she grips the side of my leg for stability against her growing arousal. The scent is becoming stronger.
“I’ll see you back at the manor?” she asks.
I nudge her head to the side, running my nose along the column of her throat. “You will.”
“Bring him back to us,” she says, a seedy implication in her tone.
“I will, but be ready for the storm. When Asher Thorngray is upset, the world shudders around him.”
I findhim in the dungeon, beating his fists into the punching bag, which looks like it’s about to give up and explode.
His shirt is off, and his muscles are fraught with tension as sweat beads over them.
“Ash,” I start, and he whips on me, rushing at me with deranged eyes.
“You!” His bare knuckles are bloody and busted, but already, his enhanced healing is covering them over as he attempts to keep them bloody.
He slams my back against the wall; his heaving breaths are the only sound in the space between us.
