Page 44 of Desperate Measures
All I want to do is crawl back into that bed and let him tell me that everything will be okay. That he really does care. That no matter how unconventional the beginning of this relationship was, it is a relationship. I want him to tell me a lot of things.
No, not things. Lies. And because they’re lies, because he might just deliver them as if they’re the gods’ honest truth, I have to walk away.
His voice stops me when I reach the door, the snap of command stilling my feet despite myself. “Yasmina.”
I don’t turn, don’t answer. I simply wait. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait long.
“I meant what I said—I’m going after Ali. I might not be home for a few days, but you’ll be safe here.”
I press my lips together, hating how worried I am about him. “Okay.”
“Tink will be here Monday morning.”
He scheduled the appointment with her that I asked for. “Thank you, Daddy.” My lips form the words without thinking, and I can’t even manage to make it sarcastic.
“Be ready at eight Monday night.” Some amusement melts into his low voice. “I’m feeling generous, so I won’t even command you to kneel.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper. I feel broken and filled with shards. The worst part is that I don’t hate the sensation, that I’m looking forward to whatever he has planned Monday night more than I’m looking forward to two days left to my own devices.
If I’m not careful, I might forget myself and grow to love this cage he’s built around me.
That fear, more than anything else, gets me moving again. I walk down the long hallway to the opposite end of the penthouse. My bed feels cold and empty after leaving Jafar’s, but I ignore the sinking in my chest. I have to put some distance between us. He’s too big, too dominant, too overwhelming. Too much. I forget how to fight when he’s touching me. No, that’s not right. I still fight. I love to fight Jafar.
I forget how to fight to win.?3
Despite my racing thoughts, I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, soft light filters in through the gauzy curtains covering my windows. I sit up and push my hair out of my face. My body hurts in the most delicious way possible, and I press my thighs together, relishing the ache.
A note perches on my nightstand, a short line written in Jafar’s careless scrawl.
Call me when you’re up.
A phone sits next to it, one I’ve never seen before.
It’s so new and slick, it practically slips from my fingers when I pick it up. The first thing I do is pull up the contacts. There are only two. Tink. Daddy. I press his name before I even have a chance to consider disobeying. With a sigh, I flop back into my oversize pillows and stretch.
It rings three times before he answers. “Afternoon, baby girl.”
“Hi, Daddy.” Every time I say it, it feels more natural. Right and yet a little dirty, all at the same time.
“Did you dream of me?”
That startles a laugh out of me. “You mean did I dream about shoving you out a window? If so, then the answer is yes.”
“Brat.”
His chuckle has my body perking up. I bite my bottom lip, trying to keep from squirming. How does he manage to do that?
His voice lowers. “Are you still in bed?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have to apologize to you.”
I blink. “Apologize, because…”
“I’m not there to make your pretty pussy feel good right now.”
This time, I can’t keep my little whimper inside. “Oh.”
