by Loki Renard
The man’s eyes widen and he nods like a chastened child. Swallowing, he croaks out, “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Rico continues. “Apologize to Jasmine for your rudeness.”
“I’m sorry,” the man says, clearly flustered. “I didn’t mean—”
“No excuses,” Rico snaps. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” the man says, his cheeks flushed with anger or embarrassment or both.
“Now pull up the files I had you find and tell me what you know,” Rico commands. He holds me against his chest but pins the man in place with a piercing look that dares him to speak out of turn again.
I want to take Rico home, strip his clothes off, and worship his cock on my knees to thank him for this. His control and dominance turns my insides to butter. I want to show him how thankful I am. Instead, I lay subdued against his chest and let the steady beat of his heart settle me.
“Sir, we have the woman you seek, in witness protection as we’ve discussed. Her current location is Paris, France. She’s been briefed by what’s happened here, and wishes to see her daughter.”
Rico’s hand finds mine at these words. I don’t speak at first, but steady my breathing. They discuss details at length, but it all passes in a blur for me. I didn’t hear much beyond she wishes to see her daughter. Rico said that we would go to my mother, but it seems so sudden. So soon. I’m overwhelmed with the need to cry, but these men won’t get my tears. The only one who ever will is Rico. I sit still until Rico gently pushes me to my feet and leads me to the door. I don’t even hear the men’s parting words as I follow him out. I’m going to Rico’s. I’m going to see my mother.
I’m going home.
“Eventually, little girl, I’ll teach you to behave yourself a little better. I’m giving you a little grace now, but I’ll expect more from you.”
For some reason, the very thought excites me. I take a nibble of the grilled cheese sandwich he’s made me and follow it with a sip of the creamy tomato soup. I sit on a chair in the kitchen while he prepared the simple meal for us, but I’m not very hungry. My thoughts are on my mother and the plane we take to Paris in the morning. It’s hard to make myself choke down food when I have a lump in my throat and Rico wasn’t super sympathetic.
“Oh?” I ask him, throwing sass at him like it’s confetti. “You’ll teach me to behave, will you?” I toss my head at him, watching as his gaze follows my long, blonde hair as it cascades down my front and over my breasts. I’m wearing nothing but his t-shirt. “And what might that entail, Ricky?”
“Oh, a simple method,” he says, bringing the frying pan to the sink and rinsing it with water. It sizzles and steams before he turns to give me that look that makes my heart stutter. “Punishment for misbehavior and rewards when you behave.”
“Mmm,” I say coyly, my heart thundering in my chest and my panties dampening. “What sort of punishments do you have in mind? A little slap and tickle?”
I love baiting him.
Pulling out a chair across from me, he slides his own plate on the table with twice as much food as mine, and gives me a stern look with furrowed brows. “Stoke the fire enough, and you’ll get yourself burned.” He points his spoon to my bowl. “Eat,” he instructs. “I want half that bowl of soup gone, or I’ll feed it to you myself with you bare-assed on my knee.”
Jesus, he’s bossy. I nod and take a sip of soup to placate him.
“I’ll give you slap and tickle,” he says with a rare chuckle. He eats half a sandwich in one bite, chews, and swallows, before he speaks again. “I can be a lot more creative with punishments than a spanking session,” he says. “Though I do have a certain fondness for my palm against your beautiful little backside.”
“As do I,” I murmur, chewing my sandwich. I swallow. “And what sort of rewards do you have in mind?”
His lopsided grin makes my heartbeat race. “Finish eating, sweetheart, and I’ll show you.”
“Ricky,” I tell him, losing the teasing tone and letting myself confess to him just a little. “I’ve never been one to follow rules, though. I’m not obedient. I’m not sure if I can really please you in that way.”
Reaching for my hand, he squeezes it. “I don’t expect perfection, Jasmine. And I know you’ve never been one to follow rules. But you’ve never had a good reason to. You’ll see.” Maybe he’s right.
I finish my meal in silence, earning me his approval. “Good girl,” he says, clearing our plates. His praise seeps through me, and I smile to myself.
Leading me to his bedroom, he sits me on his knee and slowly strips off my clothing, before he leans me back in bed and kisses me from my forehead down to my toes, taking his time ravishing me with his mouth and tongue, my wrists captured deliciously in his firm grasp.
“You’re mine,” He whispers in my ear, when he parts my legs and slides in between me. “Mine,” he says with a firm thrust of his hips that makes my pulse race. “Mine,” he says, when he meets my climax with his.
The sun is setting over Paris when our plane lands. The past few hours have passed in a whirlwind of packing, travel, and climbing aboard this plane. Rico was the one who orchestrated it all, though I did most of the packing. He might be bossy and in charge, but a girl needs to pack her own things. When I told him this, he gave me a playful smack to the ass, but then sat on the edge of the bed and watched as I carefully packed minimal makeup, hair supplies, jewelry, and shoes.
“We’re going to see your mother,” he muttered, his hair tousled comfortably, shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Hell, even Rico all domestic looks hot as hell. “We’re not hitting a runway.” But I know he’s just teasing me. He watched in rapt attention as I fixed my hair, spritzed body spray, filed my nails, slid into a pair of tight-fitting jeans layered with a tank top and comfortable flats. “You’ll freeze your ass off on that plane, though.” He wrapped me in an oversized hoodie of his that smells like him. He might never get it back.
We left this afternoon on a direct flight, and though I ate on the plane under his instruction, I wish I hadn’t now. My stomach churns with nerves.
“I’m not sure this was such a great idea,” I mutter to Rico. I scowl at him because I have no idea what else to do with myself, and it makes me feel better to direct my nerves into anger. “Why does she even want to see me? She left me to a monster, and yet I’ve forgiven her. I forgave my brother. Does that make me weak?”
“No, baby,” Rico says, pulling my hand into both of us and bringing my fingers to his lips. He kisses them softly. “That makes you strong. That gives you the freedom to leave the past behind you and live the rest of your life unencumbered with anger.” He smiles. “The rest of your life with me.”
I don’t want a ring on my finger. And I’ll take my name to the grave. I was born Jasmine Francoise, and I’ll die Jasmine Francoise. But yes…the rest of my life with him? Yes. I give him the faintest of smiles. He smiles back at me, as if he knows what I’m thinking. And maybe he does.
We take a taxi to the hotel he’s booked, a swanky but private place with valet parking and attendants ready to see to our every whim. I help unpack our things when we get to our room, and look to the large, comfortable four-poster bed. I’m strangely energized. A bottle of nerves.
“You need some sleep,” he says, unbuttoning his cuffs. “Tomorrow will be a big day, and I want you well rested.”
“Sleep?” I tell him. “I don’t think so. Not now.” I toss my hair, and hope he hears the underlying challenge. I know what I need. I hope he does, too.
His eyes stay focused on mine while he unfastens the cuff on his right wrist. “Are you defying me, little girl?”
I shrug. Of course I am.
I watch as his jaw tightens. I don’t even realize I’m stepping involuntarily backward until he prowls closer to me. My back hits a wall and there’s nowhere to go. He advances on me until he has me pinned in place, caged in against the wall.
“Not tired?” he says. “Feeling feisty, are we?”
“I am,” I tell him. “I don’t know about you. Eeee!” I squeal when he lifts me straight up in the air and over his shoulder.
“So you need me to wear you out,” he says, plopping me down on the bed. I bounce on it and feel my eyes go wide when he reaches for his belt buckle. “On your knees, chest down,” he orders.
I scramble to obey, both eager and terrified to feel the spanking he’s about to give me. I dread it but need it. God, do I need it.
I’m still clothed when the folded leather meets my ass, and it hurts like hell but I need more. He slaps the belt again and again.
“You’ll behave while we’re here,” he says. “And trust me.”
When a particularly harsh lash lands on my upper-thighs, I hiss out and arch my back, but quickly fall back to my chest on the bed. “Good girl,” he says, giving me one more whack of his belt. The buckle hits the floor as he comes to me and his hands find the clasp of my jeans. He pushes them down and kisses my heated skin.
“On your back,” he says. I obey, submersed in the freedom of obedience. Pulling down my panties to my ankles, he kisses my thighs before he swipes his tongue lazily through my folds. I arch and keen at the intensity, but he holds my hips and works magic with his tongue until I’m screaming his name and chasing my climax. I come so hard my eyes close and my breath whooshes out of me, spasms of pleasure ripping through me.
I finally settle back down and he’s holding me against him. “That’s a good girl,” he says. “A good spanking and a good orgasm. That ought to make you good and tired. Now you settle down and get some sleep.”
I sigh. “Mmm,” I whisper. “You’re so good to me.” I take a deep breath and let out the words I need to say in this moment of complete vulnerability. “I love you.”
“And I love you. You let me do this for you,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Thank you.”
All this time I feared this was one-way, that I needed his dominance and protection, but he’s happy when he’s caring for me. Somehow, taking care of me fulfills him.
I sleep blissfully by his side and wake the next day nervous but excited. I get ready to go to the little coffee shop silently. I’m glad he’s with me.
“Settle down,” he says over his coffee, and somehow the simple command is all it takes for me to stop tap-tap-tapping my foot with nerves. I earn an approving smile by eating a whole croissant and drinking my juice.
Rico’s gaze travels upward when a feminine voice sounds behind me.
“Jasmine?”
I recognize her before she says another word. She looks just like me, tall and thin with high cheekbones, blonde hair tinged with the slightest bit of silver. I’m on my feet before I even register what’s happening and she pulls me to her. “Jasmine,” she whispers, rocking me.
“Mom.”
Epilogue
Rico
Three months later…
“Jasmine. Get up. Now.”
A grumble emerges from beneath the sheets, but Jasmine does not.
With every passing day, I know one thing: I love this woman more than I have loved anyone or anything. Even when she’s grumpy, which, right now, she very much is.
A pretty blue eye peers at me from a crevice in the sheets.
“I’m not getting up, Rico.”
“Come on, little girl,” I rumble. “Your mother is expecting us for lunch. It’s 10 am.”
“I don’t care,” she says, burrowing into the blankets. “You go have lunch with her. I’ll stay here.”
This isn’t like her. Jasmine loves her mother. The two of them have been bonding since being reunited. They’re so much alike in big ways and small. From the way they push their hair back out of their eyes, to the way they live life so fiercely they set every day aflame. When they’re together, Jasmine is more trouble than ever. They tell each other little French jokes which make no sense to me. I’m fairly certain they talk about me right in front of me, which I have informed Jasmine is a highly spankable offense, and yet she still risks it.
I reach down into the bed, feel her forehead. It’s a little clammy. I start to worry.
“What’s wrong, are you sick? Does Daddy need to get the thermometer?”
“I’m not sick,” she mumbles, moments before getting up and sprinting to the bathroom with surprising alacrity for a woman who wouldn’t move an inch.
I follow her, frowning. She’s definitely sick, even on an empty stomach. I rush to hold her hair back as she retches.
“Don’t fuss over me, Rico,” she says, emerging from the toilet bowl to wash her face and hands. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You’re acting like a co-ed at a bar, but there’s no alcohol in sight. I’m calling the doctor.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
She’s more stubborn than ever when she’s sick, but so am I. I almost lost Jasmine once to her devastating mess of a family, there is no way I am taking any chances with her health.
I bundle Jasmine back into bed, and I tell her I’m going to call a doctor.
“Really, Rico? A house call? Just because I was sick one time?”
“Yes. Really,” I say firmly. “And you know what else? You can see the doctor with a red bottom if you keep this up.”
She pouts at me. “You’re being mean! And I’m sick!”
“I thought you just said you weren’t sick.”
“Got me there, Agent Rico,” she pouts.
“Stay in bed,” I say firmly. “I’m getting Doctor Alice.”
Jasmine grumbles, but she doesn’t mind Doctor Alice. Nobody minds Alice. She’s technically our on-call in field physician. She’s the one who gets a message when one of the team goes down. She’s a younger woman, but I’ve seen her deal with everything from twisted ankles to split skulls with the same calm, collected, somewhat impish manner. It’s a real skill she has, making people feel better even when they’re missing bits of their bodies.
She’s quick too. Not fifteen minutes after I call, she’s cheerfully banging at the door loud enough to wake the dead.
I open it, as much to save the door as to let her in.
“Hey Rico,” she says, coming through with her doctor bag. Her hair is blue and red today. Last time I saw her it was pink. Her eyes are green. She has a pixie face with big dark eyes set in it. She’s a smart cookie, and everyone is protective of her. Half the agency would date her, if she’d let them.
“Hi Alice, Jasmine is in bed.”
“Wish I was,” Alice quips. “What’s wrong?”
When she hears that Jasmine has been feeling nausea with no obvious cause, is too exhausted to get out of bed, and is otherwise a grumpy little brat, she smiles.
It’s not the reaction I was expecting.
“Is there some kind of disease that makes you happy, Doctor?”
“Well, not a disease technically,” she muses to herself, pulling a slim plastic wrapped cylinder out of her bag. “More of a parasite, if you want to look at it strictly.”
“She has a parasite!? How! Something she picked up in Paris?”
“Could have been Paris, could have been here. They’re really common. I’m going to go talk to the patient. You should make her something to eat. Something light, like toast.”
I’ve just been deputized by five feet nothing of neon hair, but I don’t mind. I head to the kitchen while Alice goes in to see Jasmine.
A few minutes later, Alice emerges, still smiling.
“So, what is it?”
“Not sure,” Alice says. “I just sent her to the bathroom. We need urine.”
“It’s that serious? I’ve never heard of any common parasite that makes people sick like this,” I rumble.
“I think you have,” Alice smirks.
“Is there a chance I have it? I feel fine.”
“There is no chance you have it, Rico,” she snorts. “You’re immune.”
Before I can further interrogate the doctor, a high-pitched scream emanates from the bath
room. I drop the toast and run, reaching the bathroom door just as Jasmine throws it open…
BAM!
After Alice resets my nose, Jasmine explains what’s going on. Or, she at least tries to as I hold my head back to stop the remnants of blood from making any more of a mess.
“It’s positive.”
“It’s positive?” Damn. She has a parasite. Somehow, I’ve allowed her to become infected with some kind of organism which is making her ill. I promised I’d look after her and yet here she is, ill. “We are going to have to take care of that,” I growl.
Jasmine’s eyes narrow, her breath hitches. “Wow,” she breathes. “I thought you’d be happy. I never thought you’d even consider wanting to… take care…”
“Happy!? Why would I be happy?!” I look down my broken nose at her, utterly confused. “You’re infected!”
“Infected?” She bursts into tears. “I mean, we hadn’t talked about it, but I thought you’d be happy. I thought we had a future together…”
“Oh shit,” Alice intervenes quickly. “This is my fault. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. My humor. The parasite thing. I thought you’d get it. Jasmine isn’t infected. She’s pregnant.”
Pregnant? As in… having a baby. As in… I’m going to be a father. All of that takes a lot more to process than it should, and as it works through my mind. I look at Jasmine, her cheeks stained with tears. I feel my heart swell with love.
“Baby!” I sweep her up into my arms. “Oh we’re going to have a baby, baby!”
Jasmine floods my face with her tears. Neither one of us were expecting this. Maybe we should have. We haven’t been as careful as we could have been. She is crying and squealing, I am holding her as close as I can, and together we are swept up in a celebratory moment like none I have ever experienced.
“I am so sorry,” I say. “I had no idea what you were saying. That damn doctor…”
While we celebrate, Alice is packing her things, making a quiet exit.
“Alice!” I call her name just as she gets to the door.