Page 30 of Desperate Measures
“I’m aware,” she snaps. “I know how this works. I read. A lot.”
I’ll just bet she does. I spread my hand across her stomach, brushing my thumb along the underside of her breast. “Is there a lot of spanking in these books of yours?”
“Some of them.” The ire drains out of her voice, leaving her a little breathy. “Sometimes it’s whips. Sometimes canes.”
I chuckle. I can’t help it. “Why don’t we learn to crawl before you start sprinting toward the canes and whips?” I drop my free hand to her hip and stroke her thigh where the slit in the dress has bared it. “Do you like pain, or do you just like the fight?” No question that she does like the fight. We’ve more than established that at this point.
“I like the fight,” she confirms. “I don’t know about the pain outside of theory.”
“We have nothing but time.” It’s not quite a lie. As long as Ali is in the wind, he’s a serious threat. I need him wrapped up and taken out with the rest of the trash before I can finish solidifying my base. Yasmina’s presence, her submission, helps with the players circling outside our territory, but it’s not enough on its own. “Walk me through what’s going on in that head of yours.”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
I smile against her dark hair. Of course she isn’t sure she wants to. Every time she bares a bit of herself to me, she links us more firmly together. Yasmina’s smart enough to know that eventually we’ll reach the point of no return. She just hasn’t come to terms with the fact that we reached the point of no return the second she looked at me with lust in those dark eyes and dared me to catch her.
10
Yasmina
Across the room, the woman—the Domme—finishes the spanking and is stroking her hands along the tender flesh of her submissive’s ass. She reaches between his thighs to cup his balls, and there’s no mistaking his enthusiasm at her touch.
It’s so much hotter to see in person than it is to read about. I shift in Jafar’s lap, rubbing my thighs together. His cock is a hard length against my ass, but he simply keeps me in the gentle cage of his arms. His thumb idly strokes the underside of my breast, and he plays the fingers of his other hand across the sensitive skin of my thigh. Close to where I ache for him. So close.
I wonder if he’ll touch me if I answer his question. What’s going on in my head? I wish I knew.
I wasn’t prepared for this. That truth becomes clearer every second I spend in this place. I’ve read about these things, fantasized about them, come more times than I can count to those very fantasies. But seeing them in person? It feels like standing in the middle of a hurricane, each gust of wind tearing away a piece of the wall I spent my entire life building up around me.
The only thing steady is the man at my back, and if that’s not the very definition of irony, I’m not sure what is. He’s the reason I’m in this situation to begin with, adrift with no compass and no map, completely helpless in the face of the elements.
I take a deep breath and a leap of faith. “I like that he’s on display.”
“Watching or fantasizing about being in his place?” Jafar dips his hand farther beneath my dress and draws a single finger over my pussy.
“Both.” I part my legs. I can’t help it. I want him to touch me, and I don’t care that people might see. Or maybe the fact that people might watch only adds to the lust filling me to the brim and beyond.
“Wicked girl.” He keeps torturing me with need. “You want that pretty little cunt on display. You know damn well that anyone who looks at you will want a taste.” He nips my earlobe, the sharp pain making me gasp and squirm against him. “Just for that, I should let them. Blindfold you and put you in a spreader bar so you can’t play the bashful virgin.” Another stroke of that evil finger, this time directly over my clit. “I’ll let them eat your pussy until you’re begging for mercy, and then I’ll fuck you right there in front of them to remind everyone—to remind you—of who you belong to.”
I shouldn’t want exactly what he’s describing.?1 Except, no. That’s not me talking. That’s the shame I’ve had drilled into my head since before I could speak. Good girls do this. Good girls don’t do that.
Good girls don’t want their pussies licked by strangers.
Good girls certainly don’t want to be claimed in the most intimate and public way possible by a man who’s supposed to be the enemy.
Fuck. That.
I relax against Jafar, inch by torturous inch. I let my legs drape on either side of his thighs, let him have full access to my body. The dress still hides anything too intimate from view, but it’s not about that. It’s about accepting what I want without “shouldn’t” involved. “Is that supposed to be a punishment or a reward?”
His deep laugh startles me. Have I ever actually heard him laugh before?
Jafar drags his mouth over my bare shoulder. “That answers my question. Another night, baby girl, and we’ll see how you can earn that experience.”
I shiver. I want everything, but at the same time, I don’t have enough experience to fully understand what I want—or what I need.
A group of people walk through the door, and a man peels away from them to head in our direction. He’s a big guy, dark hair reaching his broad shoulders, with medium-brown skin and an long stride that eats up the distance between us in a few steps.
Jafar murmurs in my ear, “Remember the rules.”
Eyes down. Silence.
