by Rina Kent
But Jasper's the perfect gentleman. He keeps silently comforting me with light, sweet touches, and I keep blushing every time I accidentally brush my fingers against his growing bulge. I made him hard. I did that. I made his cock swell with need and desire, and the mere thought turns me on so much I'm nearly panting. I swallow my gasps, but it's hopeless – by the end of the movie, I don't even pretend to know what happened on the screen.
As the credits roll, Jasper lets go of my hand and I self-consciously pull it back. He doesn't say a word as the lights come on, and I put on my jacket, following him out of the cinema and wondering whether he'll address what happened in there.
He doesn't.
I hide my disappointment as we walk to a restaurant a block away from the movie theater. He talks about the movie, but I don't really participate in the conversation. I don't get him. Why try and comfort me only to pretend as if nothing happened at all?
"So, you like to punish yourself, don't you?"
I look at Jasper, the faint hint of a smile still playing on his lips. "Why are you asking me that?"
"You picked the movie. A horror movie, even though you spent most of the time watching it through your fingers. You were scared."
"So?" I'm instantly defensive.
"So, why do it if you don't actually enjoy it?" He taunts me with his smirk. "I think you're a glutton for self-punishment, Georgina."
My heart skips a beat every time he uses my full name, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I refuse to answer, glaring at the floor. When I still went to see my therapist, this was her opinion, too – that I liked to hurt myself.
I'd spent years self-harming, but now my poison of choice was horror flicks. I'd binge watch them at home, forcing myself to sit through the most graphic scenes with my heart pounding and my head filled with terrible ideas of what could happen to me. Of course, this was something my therapist dug out of me after years of sessions.
It only took Jasper one date.
The hostess in the restaurant guides us to a romantic table for two. The setting is perfect, with a single red rose in a vase on the table, and a candle burning next to it. It's romantic, sweet and fills me with hope... hope that Jasper puts out with every second we spend at the table.
He doesn't speak much. We order our food and after that, he spends an eternity just staring at me while I fumble with my cloth napkin. I fold it over my lap at least four times until I've finally had enough of his prying eyes devouring me.
We eat our appetizers and he still doesn't say a word. Just keeps staring at me with those cool eyes while he devours his food like a wolf.
"Okay, what's your deal?" I finally ask, putting down my fork and glaring at my date over the table. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Like what?" He takes a sip of wine, never taking his eyes off me.
"Like you're... ugh, forget it." I stab at my salad and keep glaring at him. "It's unnerving. Do you do this to everyone?"
"No," he replies easily. "Just to people who hate it."
"Great." I eat a cherry tomato and shoot daggers at him with my eyes. "I guess I should be honored, then."
"Definitely."
I put my fork down and cross my arms. "I don't get you."
"Not many people do."
"It bothers me."
"Join the club." He winks at me and downs his glass of wine. "Enjoying the date, are you?"
"No," I hiss. "I don't get why we're even here. I don't get why you're acting so hot and cold. Why even go out with me if you're not interested?"
"Oh, I'm interested." He puts his cutlery down on the plate, never taking his eyes off mine as the waiter takes away our empty dishes. "I'm very interested, Georgina."
"Doesn't seem like it," I mutter. "Can you answer one question for me?"
"Depends what it is." His eyes get darker, filled with delicious intent, but it only makes me more upset. I want to know more about him, but I'm getting annoyed by his attitude.
"Why are you with me?" I demand, ready to wrap this night and go back to my safety.
9
Jasper
Why are you with me?
Her question floats around us like a promise, unhinged and out of control.
My little Petal has a problem in keeping things in her thoughts. She’s been restless the entire night, stopping herself time and again from asking me that question.
She doesn’t believe I would be interested in her, or perhaps she doesn’t believe this entire situation. She couldn’t have suspected me, considering she was never aware of me following her about.
For that exact same reason, she needs to stay in the dark. I’m not done with her yet. My little Petal has a lot to learn before she can demand things from me.
A movie and dinner were Dinah’s idea, and as boring as that sounded, I complied for no other reason than to catch my little Petal unguarded. It was a setting she’s familiar with and therefore, she ought to have felt more in control.
What a big fucking mistake that was.
After all, it’s a fake type of control. And while the whole setting was a means to an end, I enjoyed how she shrank to my side during the movie, her body trembling with fear.
One day, I’ll teach her that real people are scarier than horror movies.
It’s curious how she chose that particular genre, even though she’s scared of them. Yet another one of my little Petal’s special traits.
“Why am I with you?” I repeat as I cut into my steak.
“You know what I mean,” she watches her surroundings.
“I don’t know, actually. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Jasper.”
The sound of my name on her lips is like a murder symphony. Hey, there’s such thing. Google it.
Her knuckles have turned white from how she grips the napkin tight. Her white skin appears even paler against the dark blue of her dress.
“Do you believe in fairy tales, Georgina?” I ask, her name wrong on my lips. She should be Petal —or Pet, I’m not picky.
However, I’m not ready to trigger her alarms yet.
Her brows furrow at the sudden question, but she quickly recovers. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not, answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”
“I... I don’t.”
Hmm. There’s hesitation in there. Interesting.
“Are you sure?” My fork clinks against the plate as I put it down. “Because if you lie, I’ll be compelled to lie, too.”
“I don’t.” She shakes her head. “At least not in the conventional term.”
“Conventional term, how?”
“I’m not waiting for prince charming or for someone to save me from my life. I can take care of it on my own.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
She lifts her head then quickly lowers it. Good girl. “What makes you think I’m waiting for something?”
“A hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“Is it correct?” I ask.
“No.” Another hesitation, but the time is far less than the previous one.
She’s learning, my little Petal. I’m starting to notice she’s good at hiding her emotions. The only reason she’s been slipping with me is because I’m an unfamiliar company and she can’t quite get a read on me yet. Once she does, she’ll go back to her pro-level fake smiles.
“Are you going to answer my question now?” She stares at me, standing her ground.
“Since you don’t believe in fairy tales, then this should be easy.” I thread my fingers on the table, slightly leaning over. “I have absolutely no interest in your person. All I want is to fuck you raw in all possible holes.”
Her eyes widen as if someone tipped a bucket of ice water over her head.
It’s a curious thing to see her all flustered and shocked —and perhaps offended. It would’ve been accepted if that was her entire reaction, but then something more interesting happens.
A spa
rk shines underneath the surprise and offence, something too similar to... excitement? Curiosity?
My little Petal is attracted to me, it’s as clear as the full moon outside. The problem is, she doesn’t like to show her emotions. She’s the type who keeps it all tucked under the surface between her heart and ribcage.
Like a dog with a bone, I push for more. “Then, when you think it’s all over, I’ll own your body one more time —or a few, depending on how long I decide to stay.”
Her lower lip trembles as she bites down on it.
“What would it be, Georgina? Are you going to let me fuck you hard, fast and unhinged, or are you going to stand up and leave?”
It’s a risky gamble, but a necessary one. I need to know my little Petal’s actual core; If she’s the type who breaks or the type who fights.
I have no interest in the former, it gets too boring too soon and I have no time to waste on that.
If she does stand up and leave, my little Petal isn’t worth it after all. I probably won’t disappear from her life immediately, but I’ll have my way with her, then bury her six feet under to erase any witnesses.
That’s how it goes in my world. Leave witnesses behind and you’re dead.
If she stays, however—
Petal stands up, her cheeks flaming red as she clutches her purse.
“In case no one told you, you’re a jerk.”
“Compliment accepted.”
“Asshole.” She turns and starts toward the door.
Shame.
I thought my little Petal was more than that. As my eyes rake over the curves of her waist in that dress, my mind fills with my spare plan.
I can take her back to her apartment —scratch that, it’s not an option, I’ll follow her. Watch her undress and talk to those cats.
Then what? Break in, done. Watch her, done.
It’s time I moved on to the next step.
Petal stops, gripping her purse tight. “What are you waiting for?”
I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. Is she expecting a farewell party?
She glances back at me, it’s quick and barely lasts a second. “You drove me here.”
“If I drive you back, I demand payment.”
I can hear her gulp, even though the restaurant is busy.
“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.” And with that, she’s out.
I don’t count the bills as I put them on the table, grab my jacket and head outside.
My little Petal waits by the passenger door, fidgeting with her purse’s strap and something tells me it’s not because of the wind or the cold.
She’s nervous. Good. Nervousness will keep her in line.
My little Petal doesn’t take men home on her first date. She’s too safe for that. However, something is making her adventurous today. Something like me being honest about wanting to fuck her.
Poor girl. She has no idea about who she invited into her world, front door key and all that.
I don’t say a word as I climb into the car and I drive back to her apartment. Aside from asking her about directions I already know, silence occupies the car.
“I live around this area, too,” I say with mock surprise.
“You do?”
“Yes, what a coincidence.”
“Yeah, it is.” A smile breaks on her lips.
My little Petal doesn’t question coincidences. She should. All disasters start with a harmless coincidence.
We arrive at her apartment and her shoulders stiffen, like she’s thinking about changing her mind and asking me to leave.
The door opens as she inserts the key in her lock and she stops for a moment. The battle is visible through her rigid face and shifty eyes. When she finally meets my gaze, I expect her to tell me she changed her mind, but she whispers a simple, “Come in.”
She disappears inside and I follow her, through the front door —without breaking in.
No idea what people call this, but from my side, it’s progress.
The cats barge in front of us like starved little demons, mewing and demanding food or attention or whatever demons need.
The fat orange cat hisses at me. I wink at him behind Petal’s back.
“Mr. Bingley. Stop it.” She gives me an awkward smile. “He’s not usually this aggressive.”
We have history.
And what type of name is Mr. Bingley anyway? I can imagine an old fat British man with that name. Which would suit the cat, now that I think about it.
“Come here, Mrs. Hudson.” Petal’s tone changes to soft and pleading as she calls her other lazy cat.
I try to focus on the hideous name, but I fail. My cock gets rock fucking hard at that tone. She’s not speaking to me with it, but she will soon.
After she gives her cats food, they eat without paying her attention and she busies herself behind the counter.
She’s only in her blue dress and the medium heels. The line of her back from this angle is begging for my hands on her waist then her hips as I slam inside her wet cunt over and over again.
“I have tea and some snacks.” She fusses with something over her head. “What do you want to eat —”
Her voice dies when I grab her hand and spin her around so abruptly, she gasps. Her eyes widen with surprise, but her cheeks heat with unmistakable want. It’s so fervent, I can feel it on my tongue, rip it against my teeth, carve it with my knife.
“You,” I answer her question.
Her chest rises and falls so rapidly, her tits strain against the dress and in my face, begging for my hands on them.
Judging by the small peak in the fabric, I'd guess she's not wearing a bra.
One way to find out.
I grab her dress’s straps and rip it off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to her waist.
Her bare tits bounce gently, they’re bigger than I saw from the window the other day, firmer, too.
Her squeal matches the sound of the tearing clothes before she crosses her arms over her nipples like some lingerie model.
“Drop your arms.”
“W-what?” Her face has turned a deep shade of red.
I push back and stare down at her. “You heard me. Drop your arms.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” Her voice is barely a whisper, the defiance almost non-existent.
She wants this, she just doesn’t know how to surrender to it.
“It was good knowing you, Georgina.” I spin around.
“W-wait.”
I stop but I don’t face her.
“You’re leaving? Just like that?”
“Just like that. Unless…” I whirl around and find her in the same position, her chest rising and falling harder, faster, almost out of control.
“Unless what?” she murmurs.
“You do as you’re told and I don’t only mean dropping your arms. When I order something, I expect you to obey with zero fucking questions. I have no tolerance for disobedience. This the last time I repeat it, so listen carefully." My voice lowers. "Drop those fucking arms.”
It takes her a full second, but she slowly lets her arms fall on either side of her, baring her tits for me again.
Good girl, my little Petal.
Her pink nipples pucker as I stalk toward her, and she tries to keep a straight face, but the fidgeting and the crimson cheeks give her away.
Such a breakable thing, my pet.
I tower over her, my fingers slowly circling the hard nipples, turning them into tight buds. Her eyes flutter as if to close while her body melts against mine.
“Does this turn you on?”
“W-what?”
“Being told what to do by me.”
She bites the inner of her cheek but says nothing which is all the answer I need.
“How about this?” I pinch her nipple harder, eliciting a whimper from her pink lips.
“Do you like being hurt, my pet?”
Her eyes widen as she stares up at me. I don’t know if it’s b
ecause of the name or the question, or both.
I thought it would’ve been unlikely, but from the guilt in that cloudy gaze, she thought about it and she likes it more than she wants to admit.
Fuck me.
I knew my little Petal has more hidden underneath the normal life she leads so well.
Still pinching her nipple, I tug on it with the intention to hurt. She cries out but doesn’t push away. She doesn’t even lift her hands to protest.
Another answer she gives without speaking.
I reach my free hand and grip her jaw tight, forcing her to stare up at me. “What should I hurt you with first, Pet? My fingers, my teeth, or should we start with my cock down that pretty throat?”
Her breathing turns shallow with every word I say. Her nipples turn harder like tiny diamonds. I’m tempted to bite them into my mouth and feast on them until I taste blood.
The same with her parted lips. Only I don’t usually do kissing —or stalking for that matter, but different time, eh?
“Answer me.” I shake her jaw.
She opens her mouth, but no words come out.
“If I make the choice, there will be a payment.”
“I—”
Her words die when something vibrates between us.
My phone.
Fuck.
I’m tempted to ignore it, but there’s only one person who calls me this late —or any time for that matter, and he doesn’t like being ignored.
My cock is about to go on riot as I make the decision.
My little Petal’s face whitens when I push away from her.
“I have to go.” I turn around and stride to the door.
“You’re going?” Her voice is disbelieving instead of angry.
I throw one last glance at her. “Think on that answer.”
And then I’m out of her apartment. I take a long breath as I answer the phone on my way down her building’s ugly stairs.
“What’s your progress?” Lucio’s voice never made me so fucking pissed off as I am right now.
“On it.”
“On it, how?”