Wicked Knight Read online

  Now, I’ll never admit it to Hannah, but I have no intention of sharing her. Truthfully, I don’t see that ever changing. I’ve gladly taken part in group sex before, wanting to experience every bit of hedonism that was available to me. It’s the best kind of dirty fucking. While I’m all about pushing boundaries and living this life to the fullest and freest, I don’t want any other man touching Hannah. I consider her mine alone.

  But that’s not something I will ever share with her, so I merely say, “I’ll respect that, but maybe I’ll get you to change your mind one day.”

  “Don’t bother trying,” she warns. “I won’t.”

  I don’t argue with her because it’s moot. While I’m fucking her, no one else is, and that’s that.

  “Take your dress off for me,” I say, lowering my voice an octave. It’s not intentional, but because I’m starting to succumb to the insatiable need for her that’s been brewing all week. I still need to feel in control. To prove this is my show and not hers, I order, “Then go stand in front of the glass. I want everyone out there to see what I have in here.”

  Her cheeks burn, pink spreading across the bulging top mounds of her breasts. Sucking in a breath, her eyes glaze over a little.

  Just as there are things I’ll never admit to Hannah, she’d never admit to me that’s she’s liking what’s going on right now. I’ve realized she’s got a bit of exhibitionism within her.

  Yes, I’ll start her in front of the glass. Probably have her play with herself; maybe even make herself orgasm before I lock her up.

  Then I’m going to have my way with her for an exceptionally long time tonight… and I fucking dare Michelle to creep back into my thoughts.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hannah

  I sip coffee from my travel thermos as I drive to Nelson’s house to pick up Hope for the weekend.

  I’m utterly exhausted from last night at The Wicked Horse with Asher. We left at a reasonable time, but my body was well-used and the adrenaline rush of what we’d done had sapped my strength.

  Asher took his time with me while I was locked in the stocks, and the experience was electrifying.

  It was equal parts degrading and uplifting.

  I’ve never come so many times or as hard before in my life.

  From the moment he ordered me to me stand in front of the glass wall and masturbate for a crowd of strangers, I knew my sex life had been irrevocably changed because I got a rush out of what he made me do.

  There was an absolute liberation in obeying his order, knowing that but for his command I wouldn’t have done it at all. True… I could have said ‘no’. He’s made that clear often enough.

  But it’s also true I enjoy my time with Asher. He’s awakened a wicked streak I never knew existed within me. I’ve run on auto pilot for so long, struggling to make it through a day working back-breaking jobs, all for just a few peaceful hours with my daughter on the weekend, that I had forgotten what it was like to experience pleasure. I’d forgotten what it was like to do something satisfying purely for myself, and that is not something I expected to get out of the deal I made with the devil named Asher Knight.

  He rode me hard from behind while I was in the stocks, but not before he had me give him a blow job in front of the voyeuristic crowd watching us. With my head held tight in place by the stocks, he fucked my mouth without restraint, pulling away before he came on my tongue. He then moved behind me, driving in hard and deep.

  My only regret from that experience was I couldn’t see his face that first time he entered me without a condom on. He let out a harsh grunt of satisfaction when he sank inside of me—a sound that made my toes curl because it sounded like nothing had ever felt better to him.

  I know it felt amazing to me, which was why I was surprised when he pulled out just before he orgasmed and came all over my back instead. It threw me off for a moment, since he is the one who wanted to do away with the condoms. I expected the greater intimacy would have been to come inside me, but when he was done, he said something that caused my skin to prickle.

  He said, “I’ve marked you. Now everyone in here knows your mine.”

  His voice was low, and he wasn’t speaking to me. He was murmuring to himself, and I’m not even sure he knew he said it out loud.

  After, when he’d cleaned me off and released me, he was as distant as he usually is. Asher knows how to put a wall up fast, and I expect he’s got emotional intimacy issues, which is absolutely none of my business.

  But then he did something odd.

  He insisted on driving me home rather than packing me off into an Uber. Even though I’d bought a little used Honda Accord earlier that day, I chose not to drive just in case I had a few drinks at the club to help loosen me up. Socializing with a glass of wine wasn’t on Asher’s agenda, though, as he took me straight to The Silo and the stocks.

  Asher didn’t talk much on the way to my house, and he made no comment about the crummy neighborhood I lived in, nor did he walk me to the door like a gentleman would after a date.

  But he did sit out in front of my house, not leaving until after I’d shut and locked the door behind me.

  I didn’t know what to make of it, and I don’t want to make anything of it. That was then, and this is now.

  It’s Saturday morning, which means I get Hope until midday on Sunday.

  Despite my lack of sleep, I’m completely energized about seeing my daughter. Last weekend, Nelson let her attend a camping trip which took away one of my designated days with her. While I never would have denied her the opportunity to go if she’d asked me, I was still blaming Nelson for my loss. I think that’s because I know he relished in the pain it caused me, but today is a fresh start.

  Nelson has no idea I’m going to fight him for Hope. Now—thanks to Asher and his unique offer of employment—I’m going to have the financial means necessary to get my daughter back.

  When I pull into Nelson’s driveway, I’m surprised to see Amelia waiting on the front porch with Hope, who has a pink, sequined book bag on her back and a white stuffed unicorn with a rainbow mane clutched in her arms. She and Amelia are sitting side by side on the top step, but I barely have the car in park before Hope is shooting off the porch. By the time I exit my car, my daughter is there and throwing her little body into my arms.

  “Hey, Monkey,” I say with an unbidden quaver to my voice. I hug her hard while she presses her face into my stomach. At five and a half years old, she likes to show me what a big, independent girl she’s become, so when she lets down those defenses and melts into me, it absolutely overwhelms my emotions. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.” It comes out muffled with her face still pressed into my middle. When she squeezes me harder, I notice Amelia has joined us in the driveway.

  I give her a polite smile because out of the string of women Nelson has dated since we divorced over a year ago, she’s actually the nicest of them. She seems to genuinely like Hope and makes an effort with her, although I’d prefer Nelson not have his girlfriends around as much. It’s confusing to Hope that he runs through them so quickly.

  Just as I know it’s still confusing to her that she must live with her dad and only gets to see me on the weekend. Every time we’re together, it kills me when she begs to move in with me full time. It’s absolutely soul crushing when I have to tell her it’s not possible.

  At her age, she doesn’t understand the politics of bitter divorces and she has no clue that money can indeed buy almost everything. It was certainly my lack of money that caused me to lose her. How can I explain to a child that justice can be bought?

  “Nelson had to run some errands this morning,” Amelia offers, I guess in case I’m insanely curious as to where my ex-husband is.

  I’m not. I’m actually relieved he’s not here as every time we see each other, it’s a confrontation. So instead, I brighten my smile. “No worries. Thanks for waiting with Hope.”

  “Sure,” she says genially. There’s even
a little bit of relief in her voice that I’m being nice to her. I bet Nelson has fed her full of a bunch of lies about what a miserable bitch I am, but whatever. She gives a playful tug on Hope’s ponytail. “Bye, Hope.”

  “Bye,” she replies, not even bothering to look at her. She instead tips her head back, clearly over the moon to see her mother, and it overwhelms me with gratitude.

  “Let’s go,” I murmur as I ruffle her hair and open the driver’s door. She hops in, scrambles over the console, and settles into her car seat in the back. She’s big enough to put the seat belt on herself.

  “Why do you have a new car, Mommy?” she asks as she starts to buckle herself in.

  I’m not about to tell her about my money woes, so I grin. “I liked this snazzy red color. Makes me feel sassy when I drive it.”

  Hope giggles, accepting my reasoning.

  When I see she’s securely fastened in, I sit in the driver’s seat and close the door. I glance at Hope in the rearview mirror as I put my own seat belt on and start the car. “What do you want to do today? The sky is the limit for you. We can go clothes shopping, or to a fancy lunch, or even bowling. Whatever you want today, we’re doing it.”

  Hope’s face scrunches with concern. “But how?”

  “How?” I ask as I twist in my seat so I can see her. “What do you mean?”

  “Daddy says you’re poor, and you don’t have the money to take care of me,” she replies with all the innocence of a child who doesn’t understand those are bruising words to me.

  Not that I’m poor or that my daughter knows it, but that her father would demean me to her that way. She doesn’t have to say it to me, but I bet her father has also made sure she realizes she can’t live with me because money is an issue. He’s already teaching her that he’s a better parent because he has money and I don’t.

  Gritting my teeth, I try to keep my voice neutral. I refuse to talk badly about her father, no matter the provocation, but I also gently correct her incorrect perception as best I can. “That’s not quite true, honey. I don’t have as much money as Daddy, but I have the ability to take care of you.”

  Hope tilts her head. “Then why don’t you? Why do I have to live with Daddy? I want to live with you.”

  My chest constricts, and it feels like I might die as the pain in my heart is so awful. Blinking back tears, I give Hope as confident a smile as I can muster. “I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s not just up to me. If it were my choice, you would live with me every day for the rest of your life, any future husband you might acquire be damned. He’d have to get used to having his mother-in-law in residence.”

  Hope’s expression turns confused, so I reach back and pat her on her leg. “I want you to live with me, and I’m going to work hard to make that happen, okay?”

  She nods and grins. “Okay.”

  “Until I can make that happen, I want you to know that I love you more than anything in this world and I will always be there for you, whether you’re at my house or Daddy’s house, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now… what do you want to do today?” I ask.

  She ponders a moment, letting her gaze drift up to the car ceiling before grinning at me with a twinkle in her eye that I don’t often see.

  “Can we just hang out at your house?” she asks. “Maybe bake some cookies, make a fort in the living room, and watch movies. We can wear our pajamas and have a junk day.”

  Junk day.

  My favorite tradition with Hope. It’s where we eat the worst of all junk foods and lounge around like bums, which includes watching movies, doing crafts, or even just talking about silly things like which Paw Patrol pup we’d want with us if we were stuck on a deserted island.

  I say Chase because he could catch food with his contraptions, but she says Skye because she could just fly us off the island in her helicopter. Yes, my child is smarter than I am.

  “Okay,” I say with a nod, more than okay with this plan. My kid doesn’t want fancy lunches, to shop for pretty clothes, or to go bowling.

  She just wants to hang out with me, and I can’t think of a single thing in my life that could be better.

  CHAPTER 11

  Asher

  I pick up my mug, then finish the last of my coffee. It’s my second cup, but not my last. I have a slight caffeine addiction.

  Glancing at the clock on my desk, I wonder when Hannah will arrive. I chose to work from home this morning for the sole purpose of seeing her, if only for a few moments.

  Really, I only need a glimpse. Just a few words. Perhaps reassurance that she’s still committed to this job. I’m more than a little pissed she has weekends off and beyond frustrated I couldn’t spend the last few days playing with my new employee at The Wicked Horse.

  Oh, I tried to play at the club without Hannah, but that didn’t quite work out liked I’d hoped. I spent a few lonely hours there Saturday night, finding that not one woman or orgy in progress interested me. Everything looked… dull.

  Uninspiring.

  I left frustrated and went home, jacking off to thoughts of Hannah before I went to bed.

  I spent Sunday afternoon over at Christina’s hoping good food, football, and conversation would at least keep my mind occupied. Normally any time spent with my twin passes by in what seems like a matter of moments. Our bond makes it so we never have a lack of things to discuss, but Christina could see I was preoccupied. She asked me about it a few times, and I had to lie to her. When I said I was mired in a complex property swap, she seemed to accept it.

  Outwardly, that is. Inside, my twin knew I was lying but didn’t call me on the carpet in front of her husband, Jack. She’d never call me out about anything in front of someone else because we always have each other’s backs.

  Now, she’d totally do it in private and has on many, many occasions. Even though I often don’t want to hear a damn thing critical she has to say to me—especially if it involves all the ways I’ve changed since Michelle died—I always respect that her love for me is what causes her to care so much. Which is why I can tolerate my sister’s antics.

  For example, Christina invited a “friend” over to eat with us on Sunday. And by friend, I mean a beautiful, single female who was incredibly outgoing, intelligent, and engaging.

  I made it almost through the third quarter of the game before I faked an important business text that necessitated an emergency trip into the office. Christina’s friend bought it, but my sister did not.

  She followed me out to my car and “called me on the carpet”. “Come on, Asher. What could possibly be wrong with Simone? She’s perfect, and you should ask her out.”

  “Not interested,” I’d muttered as I unlocked my car, refusing to engage in this age-old debate.

  I tried to open the door, but Christina leaned her entire body against it, stubbornly crossing her arms over her chest. Her look was pointed and concerned. “It’s been five years.”

  “Not lost on me,” I gritted out. “You remind me often.”

  “Because I love you and want you to be happy again.”

  “I am happy,” I pointed out. “Incredibly happy being single. Why can’t you accept that?”

  Her smile was sad when she stepped away from my car, making a sweeping motion with her hand that told me I could leave. Her last words struck me hard. “Because I know you, and you are not happy. What you are is protecting yourself. It’s going to make you miss out on something amazing one day.”

  When she paused, I leaned in to kiss her on her cheek. “I love you for caring. But please… stop trying to push me in a direction I don’t want to go.”

  “Never,” she assured me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. God love my sister, but she’ll always think she knows what’s right for me. If she had a clue I channel any loneliness I might have into a sex club, she’d flip out. It’s something I won’t be sharing with my twin.

  The sound of my apartment door opening shoots a bolt of intense awareness through me at
the thought Hannah is walking into my domain. I grab my coffee cup and push up from my chair, heading toward the kitchen.

  There she is, already with the dishwasher opened so she can unload it.

  And why in the fuck Hannah Madigan looks better than anything I’ve ever seen merely wearing jeans and a cotton t-shirt is beyond me. In my social circle, women dress radically different from her. During the day, my peers wear Chanel and Gucci. At night, they wear expensive silk and leather.

  But Hannah is one of those women who’s just blissfully unaware of her beauty, so much so it makes her more attractive. It’s one of the reasons I obsessed about her this weekend, which is a stark and quite painful reminder that she has intruded just a little too deeply into my life.

  This pisses me off.

  I mean… I’m pissed off at myself, not her. She can’t help being who she is, but I sure as fuck can do something about the way she affects me.

  The first order of business is to take a little control back from her, although she has no idea she took it from me in the first place.

  “Why are you so late?” I ask as I stroll into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee pot.

  Hannah jumps, putting a hand over her breastbone. “You scared me. And how can I be late when you never set a starting time for me?”

  “Most people know a standard work day starts at eight,” I reply, which is the lamest of all comebacks. I’m aware she does not have normal work hours, since I have her working until the wee hours of the morning at The Wicked Horse. Still, I feel like being an ass, so I’ll be an ass. I need it to remind myself she does not control me.

  She gives me a slight bow of acquiescence. While her words are apologetic, her eyes are filled with challenge. “My sincere apologies, Mr. Knight. It won’t happen again.”

  I grunt in acknowledgment, realizing she’s not going to let me win this little war of words because she fully understands I’m being ridiculous. Also, I’m assuaged slightly just by seeing her.