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However, I can’t deny the nagging thought that if Aspen had to choose a partner, it would be someone like Nate. Although stoic and detached, he’s as level-headed as she is, wouldn’t force her hand to do anything, and there’s no bickering involved.
Now, don’t get me wrong. The chances of me admitting that out loud are nil, but that doesn’t mean the thought isn’t lurking rent-free in my head.
My solution? Using the Nicolo angle, lying by saying that we have a lunch meeting with him to keep Aspen by my side.
The lunch happened in my house, right after spanking her ass red for refusing to eat, and then ordering her to consume food.
She’s currently standing near the window, wearing only my shirt.
And hickeys.
And bite marks.
And my handprint.
Her fair legs are covered in fading bruises. At some point, she stopped complaining about them, except for when she has to use a ton of makeup to cover the ones on her neck.
She did ask me not to bite there anymore, but fuck that.
There’s always this animalistic need to mark every inch of her skin so she’ll only belong to me.
So I’m the only man who ever gets to own her body and has a mission to conquer her soul.
I never had these feelings about a woman before. There was a hint of wanting more when I first met her, but it wasn’t to the extent of this burning obsession.
Not to the extent of being hungry twenty-four seven for a taste of her.
I’ve never been the type of man who gets attached easily, or at all. Never looked at a woman twice, or came up with one idea after the other to trap her to stay with me.
But the woman standing at the window, checking her phone and massaging her temple, is the exception to all the above.
She’s so fucking beautiful, like my tailored fallen angel and the devil’s favorite demon.
Unable to resist the urge, I pull on my boxer briefs and walk up to her, then wrap a possessive arm around her waist, cocooning her from behind.
She smells of sex and me.
I always smell myself on her now, and I’m thankful for the sensitive nose that allows me to experience this moment to the fullest.
My other hand massages her head and she sighs. “Mmm. Right there.”
“You still have severe headaches?”
“Only when I’m tired. Thanks to someone.” She gives me the stink eye and I merely smirk, continuing my task.
Aspen is seven days sober, and I’m going to bet her decision to stop drinking has to do with Gwen calling her an alcoholic. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Aspen, it’s that she despises being weak with a passion. A result of her rough childhood, mobster father, and the lengths she had to go to in order to snatch her position at the top.
And according to her logic, being less than perfect in Gwen’s eyes is a sign of weakness.
That’s the furthest thing from the truth, but if it makes her stop drinking, then she can believe it all she wants.
She’s been an adorably grumpy creature while withdrawing. The first few days were the worst, but she’s been gradually adjusting and even started to eat more. And my favorite part? She seeks me out every chance she gets, and when I attempted to ignore her just to get a reaction out of her, she bombarded my phone with her form of invitation—erotic pictures.
Sighing, she relaxes in my hold, and even her movements pause on the phone.
“Still trying to reach Gwen?” I motion at the screen that’s opened to her group chat with Caroline and Gwen.
“She’s ignoring me but talks to Caroline just fine.”
