"And I want you to stop pretending you don't want the same thing."
The accusation spoken against my lips sent a jolt of panic through me.
Because he was right. Because the truth I'd been hiding was laid bare in his predator's smile and eyes.
"I don't…." I started.
My hands came up pressing against his chest to push him away. But my hands were weak against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat under my palms.
"I don't…" I tried again, but the words were caught in my throat.
Don't what? Don't want him? Don't want this?
The lie wouldn't come. Not when his face was inches away from mine and his eyes were burning me passionate intensity.
He didn't let me finish. His one hand cupped my jaw more firmly, tilting my face up. The other slid from the sofa arm to the back of my neck, his fingers in my hair.
And then he captured my mouth with his.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't the careful brush of lips we did at our wedding. This was something else. This was a claiming.
His mouth moved over mine with demanding intensity, not asking for permission but taking what he'd decided was already his. His lips were firm, possessive, tasting of wine and want.
For a second, I froze. I was shocked by the sudden intimacy, by the way his mouth moved against mine, by the heat that exploded through my body at the contact.
Then something in me broke. Maybe it was the exhaustion from holding myself together. Maybe it was just the accumulated weight of two years of loneliness and neglect finally giving way to being wanted.
My hands, which had been pushing weakly against his chest, fisted in his shirt instead. I wasn't pushing away anymore. In fact, I was pulling closer.
A sound escaped my throat and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss. His hand in my hair tightened, angling my head to give him better access, and I let him. I let him take control because fighting it required energy I didn't have or didn't want to have.
His tongue traced my lower lip, demanding entry, and I opened for him without any thought. The kiss turned hotter, deeper, more consuming.
Time seemed to stop entirely. There was only the heat of his mouth, the strength of his body pressed against mine.
And then, abruptly, he broke the kiss. He pulled back sharply, putting inches of space between us that felt like miles after the moments of intimacy just now.
Both of us were breathing heavily. I stared at him, dazed and disoriented, my lips swollen, my body still vibrating with want.
His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them, pupils wide with a passion I'd never thought him capable of. He looked as shaken as I felt.
For a long moment, we just stared at each other, both of us clearly trying to process what had just happened. Then, without a word, he straightened fully, releasing me.
My legs were unsteady without his support, and I swayed slightly before catching myself on the sofa arm. He ran a hand through his hair.
"Asher…"
He looked at me with unreadable expression but his eyes were still burning with the same wild intensity.Then he turned and walked out of the room.
There was no explanation, no talk, Just the sound of his footsteps getting farther away, until I heard a door close somewhere in the penthouse.
I stood there alone on the sofa, my one hand was on my swollen lips, my entire body was trembling with heat and confusion.
What just happened? He'd kissed me, and then he'd walked away like I'd burned him.
I sank back onto the sofa, my legs finally giving out, and tried to make sense of what actually happened tonight.
The rules. The kiss. The way he'd looked at me before he'd left.
I touched my lips, still feeling the ghost of his mouth on mine. Somewhere in the penthouse, a door opened and closed. Water ran but in the the guest bathroom, not his bedroom.
With trembling steps, I walked to our bedroom. As I changed for bed, as I slipped between the sheets on my side of that massive bed, I could still feel him, and I wondered what tomorrow would bring.
If he'd pretend it hadn't happened. If he'd apologize. If he'd do it again.
I didn't sleep.
I tried. I lay in the massive bed and stared at the ceiling. The sheets against my skin felt too rough. The air from the air conditioning too cold. My lips were still swollen and tender from the force of his mouth on mine. I could still taste him.
I still waited for his return but the penthouse remained quiet. Minutes stretched into hours.
11 PM became midnight. Midnight became 1 AM.
The guest bathroom had gone silent long ago. There was no sound of any movement. He'd kissed me like I was necessary and precious, and then walked away.
The rejection that followed the passion was a new kind of pain. It was sharper than two years of neglect had ever been.
He wasn't coming. I stared at the empty space beside me and tried to understand.
Why kiss me like that, with such passion only to leave me here alone? Was it a game? A test? A momentary lapse in his own control that he now regretted?
With Asher Wang you never know!
The questions bothered me, it was more painful than any insult.
And as the first light of dawn cut through the blinds, I realised something. The kiss hadn't been a moment of passion. It was a weapon, and he had just proven he knew exactly how to use it.