Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

12. Twelve

Twelve

8-31-2024

This is going to be the mission that ruins everything I was created to be.

-Sam

Jasmine is deep into her notepad, her lip tucked between her teeth and her brows pulled together in concentration. I haven't wanted to tell her we landed over ten minutes ago, so I've patiently waited until she decides it's time to close it.

It’s odd to think that all it took was the feeling of her mouth against mine to let a few walls crumble, but they did. Her taste hit me like a sledgehammer beating against any barrier I could provide until all that was left was me bare and exposed for her to see.

It was too much and not enough at the same.

The flight attendant steps around the corner again. What was her name? Lily? Lucy? Hell, I don't remember. She's one of the many recruits who never finished their training, so Caspian found them a different job to fill. I shoot yet another warning glare in her direction.

It’d be nice if she brought us the red wine Jasmine requested an hour ago instead of shooing us off like she’s not being paid enough when I know she is. After all, anyone who works for Depth–even as a stewardess–gets amply compensated. I turn my attention back towards Jasmine, hating how I keep getting distracted from all the new little things I could be learning about her.

Typically, I can only watch her write from a screen or at a distance. So, I've never noticed how her features change when she starts a new line or how she occasionally brings the tip of the pen between her teeth when contemplating.

“What are you writing about?” The question slips from my mouth quicker than I can pull it back, breaking Jasmine from turning whatever movie was playing in her head into words.

“Nothing.” Her voice strains with the stretch of her arms over her head.

“The weather? Your past? Goals, aspirations?” I start to interrogate out of habit, but her head darts to the window and around the cabin, cutting off my need to know. She almost looks lost in the way she scrambles to gather her stuff.

Sighing, I stand and extend my hand. Luckily, while she was in her fog, all our belongings were loaded into our vehicle, so I only have to focus on keeping her close.

“Come on, little devil.”

She wobbles when standing and grips the back of the seat to steady herself.

Hold onto me. The words stick to my tongue, refusing to come out, unwilling to give more of myself than I already have. My jaw clenches when she doesn't do what I crave. Instead, she straightens her shoulders and brushes her hand down the side of her dress, drawing my attention to the curves they trace over.

“Jet lag.” She laughs, and I hum, dropping my hand into my pocket to lead her through the aisle. The wind picks up as we approach the open door, sending Jasmine's hair into a flurry. We pause so she can brush it back, and the flight attendant huffs in response holding up a tray in our direction.

“The wine you requested for your travels.” The stewardess draws, pulling my attention from where my hand subconsciously moved to help Jasmine.

“We asked for it an hour ago, Lacy–” Jasmine bites out, still struggling to push her hair behind her ear, and my jaw clenches. Here we go again. Her temper is flaring. It's clear as day, with the red hue crawling up her neck and her shoulders bunching tight like she's trying to physically restrain from lashing out.

“You were busy doing everything but your job again .” The woman, apparently named Lacy, snaps back.

“It was a long flight, let's just–” I start, but Jasmine's sass is already returning ten times harder.

“At least I didn't give up my training to keep my nails pretty.”

“At least I didn't have to sleep my way up.” Lacy purrs.

“That’s enough.” I bite out just as Jasmine turns, but before I can reach her elbow to pull her back– from what I'm sure is about to be yet another unnecessary fight I'll have to break up –the red wine topples off the tray and spills down the front of her white dress.

“Oh my! I'm so sorry! " Lacy gasps. My little devil stands frozen, a thousand emotions flashing over her features as she studies the deep maroon stain trailing down the fabric. She settles on a calm expression and gives a sympathetic grin.

“It’s okay. I have five more in the car. I guess my lack of training paid off." She says innocently, with a smile that could kill. That's my fucking girl. I’ve never seen her so restrained–so in control of her temper. I can't help the wave of pride that crashes into my chest.

I place my hand on Jasmine's back, pulling her into my side to guide her down the rest of the steps. Lacy curses something under her breath.

“Do you have a bad rep with everyone?” I try to joke, but Jasmine's features falter.

“She’s the one you made me spar with on the first day,” She mutters, and my brows furrow. Typically, I can recall every moment with my devil, but that one is a blur. I was so wrapped up finally seeing her in the field that day that I can only recall how natural she seemed. Her steps were off when she swung, but she fought like she was raised watching grown men in a boxing ring.

I open the trunk in sync with my mouth, and she catches me off guard with a quiet statement that I can barely hear over the wind.

“She busted my lip open, so I broke her nose. That was the first time you yelled at me; then you carried her like she was some princess to the med bay.”

I wince as she leans into the trunk, shuffling through the clothes. With the small reminder, every little detail comes back in. It’s not like I wanted to carry her off, but I was worried that Jasmine punched her so hard that Lacy’s nasal bone went into her skull. It was bloody perfect; the force she used, the leverage of her gorgeous thick thighs with the throw of her fist. I’m pretty sure that's the same day I broke my schedule for the first time of only fucking my hand on Wednesdays.

I shake my head, trying to clear that thought and change the subject, “Do you really have five more?”

“No, but it's okay.” She laughs while pulling out a white top with a black skirt, but when she turns, she goes still, looking up at me with those gorgeous molten eyes through her thick lashes.

I flick my gaze to her mouth, tempted to get another taste of something so intense I couldn't process it the first time– desperate to take the time to learn how her breath catches when I turn a certain way and memorize the tension that bunches her shoulders as she tries not to move.

Subconsciously, my head leans towards her, but she turns and slides into the car's back seat. I let out a low growl raising my hand to push it through my hair, but I remind myself that I can't when it has this stupid shit Caspian put in it.

So that's how it feels. I guess it's karma for the many times I've pulled away from her.

Taking a deep breath, I climb into the driver's seat and look around to distract myself. Although it may be secluded here, the skyscrapers can still be seen kissing the bright sky in the distance.

“Good back there?” I grumble as I situate myself and adjust the seat for my frame. Jasmine growls, and I fight back a laugh at the sound.

“I broke the zipper. Not much room back here to get out of this sticky thing.”

Don't look back. Don't … As I reverse, my phone vibrates against the center console, so I answer by holding it to my ear.

“Yes, sir?” I already know who it is. Since only one person calls me, I don't have to check the caller ID.

“Great, you landed. Moe uploaded the address to your hotel into the GPS. Get settled, update me on any complications, and don't forget your reservations. It's said most of the higher-ups go there to dine.”

Jasmine's leg darts beside my head before it's quickly pulled back again. Why am I trying not to look again? I flick my gaze up to the rearview mirror to catch Jasmine pulling her top over her head, slowly lowering it over her perky breast, barely contained by a white bra.

The rumble strips vibrate the car, forcing my attention back on the road I was slowly veering off of. I clear my throat, and my grip tightens around the steering wheel. Hard enough, my knuckles start to turn white, and the leather groans in protest.

“By the way, it'll be a double date. They're just reinforcements to help your cover in case anything arises.”

“Understood,” I say through clenched teeth.

“And one more thing, Sam… " Caspian pauses, and I draw in a deep breath, stealing one more glance in the rearview mirror, expecting to see another flash of skin, but deep golden eyes stare back as she leans forward between the seats while pulling up her skirt.

Even when it's in place, she doesn't budge. Her face is close enough to mine that if I turn, she won't have much chance to pull away this time. She’d be forced to accept the way I'd devour her mouth. I could pull the car over now and test my theories on how she’d sound or if she's as submissive as I think she is below that bratty behavior.

“I know things are different for you, but try to play your part. We need to accomplish our mission, or everything we've done will go to waste. Remember your training with me .”

Typically, Caspian's words would be enough to pull me from my thoughts, but as she applies a deep red gloss to her lips, all I can think is how good the color would look if it were stained on my cock. I hang up the phone without saying a word and turn my attention to the directions, trying to find the best route to make this thirty-minute drive a ten-minute one. Her lips pop, and I shift my hips in my seat.

I just have to get there first. I don’t mean to the hotel by 'there,' but in her head. Until then, I can't allow myself to feed into these urges and intrusive thoughts.

This is going to be the mission that ruins everything I was created to be.

“All better now?” I strain the words.

“Much.” She mumbles and leans back in her seat.

We stay quiet for the rest of the ride until we’re pulled in front of an elegant hotel with white-painted brick and red details along the siding. Looking around, I can spot plenty of dark allies that dip between contradicting towering business empires and quaint shops. Who knows how many crimes are committed at night when it's dark and there’s no one around to see? Two large doors swing open on the hotel only to shut as a new person joins the people waltzing along the pavement. They make the perfect victims with how completely unaware they are of their surroundings. They are utterly oblivious to the world around them–too busy studying their phones or sipping whatever drink is in their warm mugs.

I cut the engine and pull at the collar of my button-up. I guess they can handle their own, though, considering Jasmine is one of them. She looks just as sweet and innocent, but she's a criminal.

It makes me wonder, the same way I always do, what she could've possibly done . Was she a notorious thief or a pyromaniac? Does blood paint her hands like mine?

“What were your crimes?” I finally ask. I shake my head, knowing all too well that I won't get an answer and the subject will be changed, so while reaching for the handle, I mutter, “Never mind.”

“I took the fall for someone else, but in the long run,” she pauses, so I do the same, studying her in the rearview mirror. Her attention is averted to the crowd, and her brows are pulled together, deep in thought.

“Betrayal seemed to become my crime.” She's so quiet that I have to process if I heard her correctly. After exiting the vehicle, I open her door and grab our belongings from the trunk.

What does she mean?

Her hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me from my thoughts to see how tiny it looks in the crook.

“What if I mess this up?” she nearly whispers, and my attention is quickly pulled to hers, which is averted. The pure innocence in her voice almost causes me to drop to my knees right then and there.

“Just hold onto me like you love me, and I think we will do just fine,” I mumble, and her fingers flex into my skin in response, but she still doesn't look at me. As we walk through the doors, I look down at her, and it’s like I’m seeing a new person. She's put together, smiling, almost looking relaxed– confident .

It's a complete contrast to all of her other forms I've witnessed. The way she struts to the front desk makes her seem like she was born for a life like this, slipping into the role naturally and drawing the attention of any person who walks past.

The only person who doesn't seem drawn to her aura is the receptionist, her nails clicking against the board rapidly while she doesn't so much as glance in our direction. I tilt my chin, looking down at the woman while clearing my throat, and Jasmine squeezes my arm in warning.

“Morana,” Jasmine states in a sweet voice that has the receptionist looking away from her work and between us. I look away.

“Of course, you're just on time. I believe it's room 405.” The woman's voice comes out smooth, like it's trying to glide over my skin, making me look back with a cocked brow. I'm no stranger to flirtation, but being so open in front of the woman on my arm is irritating. Before I can open my mouth, Jasmine steps between me and the counter, leaning over the desk. The woman behind the counter swallows at the proximity.

“Card, please.” Jasmine purrs, and I clench my teeth. There's something evil and so goddamn addictive below Jasmine's composed exterior, and I'd give anything to take a peek. Does she know she's testing my restraint, or is it natural for her? I thought I had eased the raging hard-on during our ride, but it comes back tenfold when she leans over the desk pushing her arse into my crotch while pointing at the screen.

Trying to distract myself, I drop my hand to her waist, ensuring she doesn't fucking move and make it even more difficult for me to survey the area.

Thankfully, she listens for once, and I can note a grand staircase leading to who knows where, three different exits, and multiple cameras poorly concealed throughout the area. I can have Moe access and upload the systems to my phone without raising alarms.

“How sweet of you. I'll let management know how much I've enjoyed your service.” Jasmine's sarcasm pulls me back to where she's pulling the card from the woman.

“Come on, darlin’, leave the lady be. You're just tired.” I say slowly.

Jasmine looks back at me through her lashes, poking her bottom lip out in a mock pout. I roll my eyes and move my hand to the small of her back, urging her off my lap but keeping her in front of me.

“I can take those for you, sir.” Ignoring the man trying to grab our bags, I make a straight line to the elevator. The last thing we need is for our equipment to be flagged, and honestly, I bloody need to adjust my pants.

Once in, she steps away from my touch, and I stare at our reflection in the mirror sliding doors while subtly kicking out my leg, hoping it'll do the trick. She's so smooth compared to me; she doesn't have scars from her past or wrinkles in her features from years of wear and tear. My brows furrow, confused about how I'm so adamantly studying the sight, but her attention stays on her shoes.

The doors open on a different floor, and two men step in. They look at my wife longer than necessary before turning away.

I inhale slowly, trying to calm the unwarranted anger flaring, and snake my arm around her waist, pulling her back flushed with my chest. I don't give a damn if she can feel the effect she has on me as long as I know they keep their fucking distance.

Their eyes lock on mine, so I slowly drag my palm up her abdomen, refusing to break eye contact until it's wrapped around her jaw, and I'm turning her head to the side so I can whisper in her ear, “You're gorgeous.”

Placing my lips on her temple isn't enough to sedate the beast inside, threatening to claw its way out, but it's enough to redirect my urges from blood to her body. Her shoulders relax, and her head tilts into my kiss, so I glance at the mirrored wall I have her facing.

“I'm tired.” She whispers, and her eyes stay downcast, refusing to raise. How am I supposed to differentiate between her acting and her ? They seem like the same person at times. I pull away, sending a warning glare to the man who looks back.

“I know, Darlin’.” The doors open, and I push us past the men. “Maybe you can relax before dinner.”

It takes a moment to find our room, but when we do, she's out of my arms–instantly, kicking off her heels and pulling at her clothes like she can't get out of them fast enough.

After locking the door and placing our stuff on the floor, I unbutton my shirt and walk around the spacious area. Velvet furniture contrasts with the dark interior, but a large fireplace sits in the main living area, casting just enough glow that you can see with the large blacked-out curtains closed over the windows that line the far wall.

“Can you turn that off?” Jasmine mutters from the open kitchen island she's leaned against, trying to gain leverage to reach a button at the back of her blouse. I raise a brow, pausing midway to open the curtains, and she points at the mantel above the fireplace where various switches sit.

She’s scared of fire.

My mind finally catches up with the thought, so I redirect my motions. Taking a deep breath, I study all the switches, but my mind starts to wander away when I find the one to turn it off. Is she like other people when afraid? Does she want to run and hide, or does it excite her? How would she react when being close to the flames that haunt her nightmares?

I should find a secluded space so I can stop fantasizing about all the ways I could take her in this room– of all the things I could explore and all the ways I can show her that even the scariest of things can be so fucking good.

Finding the only shut door in the ample space, I open it.

Jasmine huffs as she tries to push past me with a bag, but I’m stuck staring, unable to move a step.

“I told you I'm tired, so move over and stop–” Her words trail off as I step to the side and cross my arms over my chest, exposing the thing I knew to expect but wasn't prepared for.

There’s only one bloody bed.