So here I am back in my bedroom as I should be. If I let Asher drive me out of my bedroom, who’s to say he won’t succeed in driving me out of my apartment next?
But damn it, I can’t stand the noise. And the images.
As the noises grow louder, the images in my head become more vivid. I imagine Asher pounding this loud, faceless woman up against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. I can see the beads of sweat on his back and the scratch marks from her nails from earlier. I can see the muscles moving, creating ripples in his skin. His pale, perfect, round ass doesn’t jiggle one bit as he jerks his hips.
I lick my lips.
The woman screams again. Even louder this time. She must be close. Then I hear another thud on the wall.
Asher must have put her down on the floor and turned her around. He’s fucking her from behind now. Hard. The woman’s hands are above her head, her wrists pinned by one of Asher’s hands. His other hand is on her breast. He squeezes it firmly as he jerks his hips. Heat floods my chest.
Each time Asher moves his hips, heat travels through my veins until it reaches every corner of my body. My breasts swell against the sheets. My belly catches fire.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air. And something wet. I reach between my legs and feel a wet spot on my underwear. I rub against it and shiver.
Asher’s jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. Pure lust swims in the dark orbs peeking from beneath heavy eyelids. Then he opens his mouth.
“I’m… coming.”
My fingers move faster as Asher’s hips pick up speed. They stop and lips part. My body trembles as ripples of pleasure travel beneath my skin.
The woman cries out. Only, as my mind starts to clear, I realize it wasn’t the woman.
It was me. I made that sound. I… came. While listening to Asher have sex with another woman on the other side of the wall, imagining it was me.
Fuck.
I sit up and clasp my hand over my mouth as shame washes over me. Then I realize my fingers are wet. I stare at them and my stomach tightens. I suddenly feel sick.
What was I doing?
I run to the bathroom to wash my hands. I don’t look at my reflection in the mirror. I can’t bear to. I’m disgusted with myself for masturbating to the noise of my neighbors having sex. And not just any neighbors. Asher. I let him win. I let him take control of me without even touching me.
Does he have this much power over me? Or am I just that weak? At any rate, I feel like pounding my head against the bathroom wall.
Instead, I simply rest my forehead against the cold tiles. Once my temper has cooled somewhat and my breathing is no longer jagged, I step out. But then I hear more moaning from the other side of the wall and my temper simmers again.
No fucking way.
I’ve had enough, so I stomp over to the next apartment. I almost bring a knife, but I’m afraid I might end up committing murder, so I bring a pan instead. I bang that on Asher’s door.
After a few seconds, Asher appears. He runs his fingers through the waves of his sweat-drenched hair.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Against my will, my eyes dart towards Asher’s crotch, which thankfully is covered with part of a blanket. I mentally kick myself as I pull my gaze away—only to have it drawn to his bare chest instead, a ripped chest with a thin layer of hair running straight down the middle.
“Nice pan,” he says.
I transfer my gaze to it. “I thought I… heard something.”
“And you thought you’d give it a whack with a pan?”
I suddenly feel stupid, so I hide the cooking tool behind me.
Asher grins. “Don’t worry. It was just me and Carina having sex. Wild, kinky, mind-blowing sex.”
His choice of adjectives lights a fire in my cheeks. Damn him.
“Would you like to join in? I think we have room for one more.”
I look at him with narrowed, disgusted eyes. My fingers tighten around the handle of my pan.
“You know what? I should have smashed your balls when I had the chance.”
“You should have left the building when you had the chance. Or the company. Or the country.”
“I’m not moving out of anything,” I tell him firmly.
“Right.” He scratches his chin. “Because you can’t stay away from me, can you?”
My temper rises even more. “Bullshit.”
He leans against the door frame. “Why are you here, then?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“Because you got tired of just getting off on the sounds of me having sex and decided you want a piece of the action?”
My eyes grow wide as my cheeks turn red. How did he know I was…? I shake off the rest of the thought and glare at him.
“Because I heard you fucking like animals.”
“Why, thank you.” Asher mocks me with a grin. “That’s what real sex is like. Don’t you know? Oh wait. You don’t. You’ve never had sex.”
“I have.”
“Real sex? The kind that makes your toes curl, that makes every inch of your skin tingle…” His gaze travels down my body. “That makes you tremble beyond control until you lose your mind and can’t even remember your own name?”
I don’t answer because I have a lump in my throat.
“I’m guessing no,” Asher says. “That’s why you’re jealous, aren’t you?”
I swallow. “I am not jealous.”
His eyes goad me beneath furrowed eyebrows as his grin widens. “Are you sure?”
I take the pan out from behind me and lift it with both hands. My jaw clenches. My shoulders tremble in anger.
“Wanna hit me with that pan? Go ahead.” Asher extends his arms. “You can’t hurt me any more than when you buried your knee in my balls.”
His offer is tempting. Very tempting. But I put the pan down.
“I’m not a monster like you.”
With the pan in hand, I march back to my apartment. I throw it on the couch. Then I sit on the living room rug and bury my face in my hands.
I fucking hate you, Asher Hawthorne.
At least, right now, I really wish I could.
Chapter Seven
Asher
I stay in the doorway staring out into the hall even after Violet has disappeared into her apartment. I should be proud and happy because the fact that she came to my door to complain about my noisy night adventures means my plan has succeeded. I’ve made her life difficult, and though she insists she’s staying, I can tell she’s starting to think about moving out of the building. But I don’t feel even a sliver of joy or pride or accomplishment. I just feel like the monster she says I am.
Is that what she really thinks of me? Is that what I really am?
“Hey,” Carina calls me.
I glance over my shoulder to see her draped in the white duvet like a Greek goddess. She gives me a devilish grin.
“Are we going to continue or what?”
I stare at her. I’ve been with her for the past few hours but it feels like I’m looking at her for the first time. She has a nice, full figure, I’ll give her that. And luscious curls. Plus she was good in bed. And on the floor. And against the wall. Yet I don’t feel the slightest spark of attraction towards her now.