by S. Ann Cole
Scrunching his nose, he sniffed once and brought the hand he still held up under his nose and sniffed again.
My face burned with embarrassment, as that’s the hand I’d had stuck down my knickers.
That damned crooked grin of his popped onto his face as he cocked an eyebrow at me. “What did I interrupt?”
Yanking my hand from him, I trained my eyes up to the ceiling, mortified and unable to look at him. But he knew, so it didn’t make sense lying. “I had a hectic day. I was trying to release some stress.”
His grin was so palpable, I didn’t even have to look. “You may proceed…”
“What about not being ‘intimate’?”
“Just observing here,” he remarked, “Never mind me.”
So I wasn’t allowed to have sex with him, but I was supposed to be all uninhibited porn star Masturbating Saskia for him?
“It never works, anyway. So, whatever.”
“What’d you mean?”
“I can’t make myself come.”
“You serious?” he asked in disbelief.
“As a heart attack.”
“Wow. That last boyfriend must’ve been damn good in bed.”
“Not the last boyfriend,” I corrected. “The one before the last.”
Tex, whom I mentioned earlier, the rock god who gave me screaming orgasms. Up until this moment, I hadn’t considered he was probably the one who ruined all other orgasms for me.
Silence stretched as Jahleel said nothing for a while, and I wondered what he was thinking. After an eternal moment of quietude, he whispered, “Where do you want me?”
Dragging my gaze from the ceiling, I glanced over at him. “What?”
Taking a hold of my hand, he lifted the covers and guided my hand down into my knickers, being careful not to let his fingers brush so much as a hair on my skin. Leaving my hand there, his withdrew his hand from under the covers. “Now, close your eyes, and tell me,” he ordered. “Where do you want me?”
Ohhhh, he meant in my fantasies. How arrogant to think I fantasized about him, which I did, but still.
Complying, I cut off sight and circled my middle finger over my clit. “A confession booth, in a medieval Vatican.”
“A w-what?”
“A confession booth,” I repeated. “You know, where people go to confess their sins.”
Silence, then, “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?”
One eye popped open and glared at him. “Hey, this is my fantasy, okay? So shut up and talk.”
“I’m confused. Am I supposed to shut up or talk?”
“JK!” I growled.
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Carry on.”
When my one eye closed down again, he asked, “What am I doing?”
“You’re the priest on the other side, in your black robe and white collar, hair slicked back, and I’m confessing that I’ve never had my bits eaten before.”
Jahleel was quiet, so I went on. “You say, ‘Such a sin, such a shame, such a waste’. And I say, ‘What must I do, Father? This sin is so…heavy. So burdensome.”
Still silence. I continued. “You say, ‘I could wash your sins away, Maiden.’ And I say, ‘How, Father?’ Then you open a small trap door in the booth, stick your head through, flick your tongue out and say, ‘With this. Lift your gown and let me wash away all your dirty little sins.’ Oh, I’m a nun, by the way—”
At the sound of a heavy thud, I stopped talking and opened my eyes.
Jahleel wasn’t on the bed.
When I propped myself up and leaned over the side of the bed, Jahleel was there on the floor clutching his stomach with one hand. He had stuffed his balled fist in his mouth as he fought to stifle his laugh.
Fucker fell off the bed laughing.
“Ha. Ha,” I grumbled.
Removing his hand from his mouth, he let the laughter rip. “Sorry, Sassy, but, what the fuck was that?” He laughed even harder, looking up at me from the floor with glistening golden eyes. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? That’s where your mind goes when you fantasize?”
“Stay down there and laugh, bloody wanker,” I snapped, flopping back onto the bed.
Jerkily getting to his feet, he shook his head, “No wonder you can’t come. That shit’s hilarious.”
“Everybody’s fantasies are different, nitwit.”
Jahleel regained his place back beside me on the bed, closer this time. Me under the covers, him on top of them. “Just let me do the talkin’ this time, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, because I seriously needed to come.
Having Jahleel so close to me—his breath hot on my face, his scent shrouding me—caused major turmoil inside.
“Take off your underwear,” he ordered.
Sparing not a second, I dragged my knickers down and finished kicking them off with my legs, perfectly comfortable with the idea because Jahleel couldn’t see me under the covers.
“Now, spread your legs.”
I complied.
“Even wider.”
I did that, too.
“Close your eyes.”
When I closed them, his breathing suddenly turned raspy as he started, “You’re in a room…painted a deep, dark red. Nothing’s in this room but a black chair wrapped in smooth silk, fixed in the centre of the room. Perched on this chair, Sassy, is you. Naked, legs spread wide, nipples hard, dripping wet, breathing ragged. But you can’t touch yourself, you’re not allowed to. You’re waiting…”
“On you,” I finished for him, my fingers gliding in and out of my now soaked core.
“Yes,” he husked out, sounding a bit like he was struggling. “You want me there?”
“Oh, God, yes,” I moaned out.
“Well, call me into the room.”
“JK.”
“Can’t hear you,” his voice was hoarse. That made me even wetter.
“JK.”
“I’m near, but you have to call louder.”
“Jahleel fucking Kingston!” I all but screamed as I buried two fingers deep inside myself, hips lifting up off the bed. “Please. Come. Touch me.”
Long silence, then, “Am I there?”
“Yes,” I mewled.
“Where am I?”
“Kneeling between my legs.”
“What am I doing, Sassy?” he breathed on me, his lips were right at my ear now. “Tell me.”
“You’re licking me…ohmigod…”
“Go on…”
“Your hands, those strong hands are gripping my thighs, spreading them wider apart, and even wider…I try to touch you, but you deny me. Why can’t I touch you, JK?” I complained through a deep moan.
“What do I do next?”
“You’ve gripped my waist and hauled me to the very edge of the chair, and now you’re licking me again and…oh, God…Oh, God…Oh fucking god!!!”
I teetered on the brink as Fantasy Jahleel ate me like there was no tomorrow.
“Tell me what I’m doing, Sassy,” Jahleel commanded harshly in my ear. “I need to see.”
“You-You’re flicking my clit with your finger. Flick, then lick, flick then lick…oh fuck…Don’t stop…Don’t stop…”
By this point, I could barely breathe let alone talk, but I struggled through my ragged breaths as Jahleel’s own harsh breathing in my ear spurred me on. “You slide two…two…two…oh sakes…two fingers inside me and finger-fuck me, not hard…you’re gentle…so very gentle…You lean in and cover my clit with your mouth and—”
It hit me hard, and I jolted, arching up off the bed, my body rigid as the waves of my orgasm crashed over me, rippling on. Biting down on my lower lip, I moaned loud and deep in my throat, riding out the waves.
Too soon the euphoria died, and piece by piece, I came back to earth.
When I opened my eyes, Jahleel was off the bed and on his feet, watching me, hands in his pockets and making no attempt whatsoever to hide his hard-on.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.�
��
“Wait. No,” I begged. “Stay. I want to do that again.”
“You wanna come when you masturbate, that’s how you do it,” he said with a small smile. “No more medieval confession booths, priests and nuns.”
“Okay.” How do I get him to stay?
As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help asking, “You’re going to shag someone now, aren’t ya?”
He stopped and turned slightly, glancing down at the bulge in his jeans. “Well…yeah.”
Extremely grateful for his honesty, yes, but I hated that it hurt so damn much. I wanted much more than what he was offering, even if I would end up heartbroken in the end.
Fiddling with the hem of my Cami tank, I lamely whispered, “May I ask just one favour of you?”
“Shoot.”
“Could you…” I hesitated, knowing it was fool of me to ask this, but swallowed the ounce of sense and dignity I had left, and got it out, “Could you at least pretend she’s me?”
He caught his lower lip between his teeth and watched me for a beat before answering, “That’s the intention, Sassy.”
Then he turned and slipped through the door.
I stared at the door long after he’d gone through it, praying, hoping, he would come back in and tell me he’d changed his mind.
When a solid twenty minutes passed and I realized he wasn’t coming back, I burrowed myself under the covers, and for the first time in a long while, I sobbed.
Jahleel was hurting me by trying not to hurt me.
It fucking hurt.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, I was frozen.
Standing in the kitchen with a glass of orange juice in hand—a glass of orange juice I’d poured out around fifteen minutes before and had yet to take a sip. Immobile, mindless, I just stood there, staring into space, with my lower back propped against the counter.
Amanda came dragging into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her face. Upon seeing me, she stopped in her tracks, observing, but respecting the silence.
Until she broke it. “Oh crap.”
Eyes fixated on a sugar jar on the counter across from me, I spoke like a zombie. “I was doing so well, Manda. Have you heard me even utter his name at all over the past week?”
“No,” she cautiously replied.
“I haven’t thought about him either. I was ready. Ready to leave here for good. Ready to forget it all. Ready to move on. Ready to call Chad over to fuck me ten shades of purple.”
Silence.
Amanda stood patiently and waited for me to gather my thoughts and enlighten her regarding the funk she’d just found me in. “But no. He couldn’t let me be. He just had to come here like a thief in the fucking night and steal back everything!!”
Drawing back my arm, I launched my glass of orange juice across the room with all I had. Glass splinters and orange liquid shattered everywhere when it smashed through the glass-faced cabinet door. “Jesus Christ, Kia.”
Whirling around, I jabbed an angry finger in her face, as though she was the captor, the heart-breaker, the womanizer, the game-player, the bloody thief. “Every-goddamn-thing! All my strength, all my sense of worth, all my thoughts, all my dignity. My fucking heart! He stole it all back. As though none of it were ever mine to begin with.”
I moved into her space and her face, levelling eye to eye with her. In that moment, she was Jahleel Kingston to me as I barked out, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I. Hate. You!!!”
“Okay,” she crooned in a calm, quiet voice, understanding. “You should.”
Stepping around her, I stomped out of the kitchen and bumped into Ferbie, who wore a concerned expression on his face. “Aye, Ma—”
“Sod off, Ferbie!” I screamed at him. “And you might want to stop saying ‘Aye’ like a darn pirate if you want to become a part of the bloody Hot Pack!”
Sidestepping him, I bolted upstairs, shut myself in my bedroom, sank to floor, and bawled.
I was so weak.
After acting like a complete nutter earlier that morning, I wiped my pathetic tears away some hours later and got ready for the day. I had far too much to do to be acting a fool.
Refreshed and revived, I headed downstairs, reading through a load of emails my assistant forwarded to me for approvals or rejections.
My team was all ready and waiting for me, except Amanda who was sitting at the glass coffee table that happened to be covered in diamond jewelleries. A stumpy man with receding hairline, dressed in a black suit, was standing over her, hands gentlemanly clasped behind his back.
“What’s all this?” I asked, sauntering into the living room.
With a throaty laugh that had nothing to do with humour, she answered, “One word: Zane.”
“Blimey!” I cheered, clapping my hands together and grinning with excitement.
“Kia!” she berated. “I haven’t even agreed to be his girlfriend or anything. All I agreed on was to go on one date with him. Next thing I know, this fella shows up telling me I’m supposed to pick whatever I want from this collection?”
“Well,” I considered, plopping down in the sofa-chair across from her. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, no?”
“It’s overwhelming,” she stared bedazzled at the glitz on the table.
Were I a diamond girl, I would’ve been all over that collection. I wore that kind of jewellery only when I had to, but in my opinion, they’re pointless fripperies. With the exception of custom made thumb rings, I only wore leather cuffs and chokers.
Snapping my fingers at her, “Oh, you tosser! Just pick something quick before the giggly sluts get here,” I said. “Better yet, pick somethings in case you decide not to go on a second date. That way, it won’t be a complete waste. You’ll have diamonds for your effort.”
With a shrug, she laughed humorously this time and began making her selections.
This was Zane’s manner, he wanted Amanda, and he wasn’t a man easily deterred. He was going to buy, force, charm his way right to her heart.
My cellphone pinged on my lap. A text message from the thief:
C u 2day?
I didn’t even bother entertaining the possibility. One, because I hated him, and at the moment, the last thing I wanted was to see him so he could shred me to pieces again and steal more from me.
Two, due to spending the majority of the morning shedding unnecessary tears, my day was now squeezed tight with no breaks, so I couldn’t see him even if I wanted.
And three, I knew better than to place myself in the path of the wrecking ball named Jahleel Kingston.
Busy.
I turned my attention back to Amanda who’d chosen over six pieces of jewellery, a wicked grin now dancing on her lips.
“I think I get what he’s trying to convey,” I commented, speaking in favour of Zane this time. Both of them are cherished mates, and I wanted them to be together.
“What?” she asked, slipping a dazzling cuff around her wrist.
“Diamonds are forever…”
At that, she glanced up at me, understanding. “So he’s two feet in,” she concluded. “Head and heart.”
“Exactly.”
Now, if only Jahleel would…
I ended that thought as soon as it began. Saskia Day was too fly to be daydreaming anymore.
The day ended in a crash after consuming too much guarana. Couldn’t go a mile further, but had too much energy to sleep.
Amanda wasn’t there for me to annoy, as she was out on her date with Zane. Ferbie was in his room snoring. And I couldn’t smoke another Davidoff, because I had to cut down to burning one cigarette per day due to the upcoming tour.
Unbelievably so, I resorted to ringing Timberly for conversation’s sake, but after thirty-minutes of her non-stop babbling about world facts no one gives a crap about, I decided I wasn’t that bored and ended the call—while she was still talking.
Amy and Jamie giggled as much as Timberly talked, so I could care less for their com
pany.
As a result, I landed up on the kitchen counter with a whole chocolate cake in front of me, digging in with a fork. Yesterday I had a craving and asked Sylvie to bake me one, but looked at it with disgust when I returned home this evening, wondering what the hell had I been thinking. With the tour coming up, I needed to stay in shape more than anything else. Plus my fitness trainer would strangle me.
But Sylvie knew my moods better than I did, so instead of binning the cake, she left it where it was.
Now with nothing to do, I was indulging. Baked just the way I loved chocolate cakes: extra moist and slathered with too much melted chocolate.
As I forked another chunk of carbs, sugar and all that’s forbidden into my mouth, my cell pinged and vibrated across the counter top, declaring a text message.
Up?
Oh Jesus. This chap.
The sensible part of me cautioned me not to respond, but I couldn’t help myself. I blame it on the chocolate and guarana.
Yes
__Ping__
Gate
He was outside?
This guy’s no joke. He arrived first, asked questions later.
Pushing up from my stool, I glanced down at myself to inspect my attire. I was in white Long Jane pyjamas and red socks. A blotch of chocolate stained my bosom area, looking like a new-born did a number two on me. I contemplated changing but decided it didn’t matter what I looked like since we weren’t intimate.
On the monitor by the door, I pressed the button for the gate and once it started its slow open, I left the front door open and went back to sitting in the kitchen, schooling my features and posture into a semblance of indifference.
But on the real, I was hypersensitive, ears perked up like a watch dog’s as I listened to the turbulent roar of his bike…the silence after the engine was shut off…the click of the front door closing …the mild thuds of hefty Timberlands against marble tiles…
The kitchen was the first turn off on the left after entering the house, so I figured he wouldn’t miss me sitting at the counter, as the archway was high and grand. But he walked past the opening, and I listened as his footsteps stopped abruptly, then re-directed to the kitchen, after he registered he’d glimpsed me in passing.