Asher’s fingers stayed wrapped around my throat. Not squeezing. Not quite. But holding. Feeling. Controlling.
I should have shoved him away. Should have clawed at his grip, spat venom in his face, done anything except stand there and let the heat of him crawl under my skin.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
His thumb brushed along the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the way my pulse raced beneath his touch. His eyes flickered, something shifting behind the anger—a darkness I knew all too well.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ava,” he murmured, voice like embers, smoldering and ready to burn.
I forced a smirk, even as my breath hitched. “So are you.”
His grip tightened—just for a second, just enough to make my stomach flip.
Then he let go.
The sudden absence
