18. Eighteen
Eighteen
9-1-2024
Nothing will protect her from my demons—me.
-Sam
Fuckin–
As I roll off the brush, I take a deep breath and quickly check Jasmine's condition to ensure she isn’t injured. Once I’m satisfied that she looks disheveled but unharmed, I stand with a grunt, pushing on her shoulder to make her spin around and run, just as she should have done in the first place. She may be okay now, but she won't be once I get my bloody hands on her.
Not only did the little devil take the life that was mine to steal, but this makes twice on this damn mission that she could've died.
“Status update,” Caspian demands, his voice overpowering the yelling and barking echoing off the trees. Growling, I swipe away the branches and leaves that whip back as I trail hard on Jasmine's heels.
“W—” Moe cuts himself off, drawing a deep breath before continuing, “What's happening?”
“Get in the car!” Jasmine starts stripping on the spot, tossing all her clothes and equipment into the trunk.
The barking grows louder, and lights beam through the brush, flashing from side to side. Damn dogs. They'll pick up our tire tracks and connect our vehicle to us if they catch our scent. I survey the area, take off my vest, and tuck my pistol into the back of my pants. I slam the trunk shut and round the vehicle, firmly securing the papers in my waistband under my shirt.
“Caspian,” I warn while sliding into the driver's seat. I know he hates causing scenes. That was the old way, and we're supposed to keep a low profile. At this point, though, I see no other option to keep our cover safe. Jasmine is already dressing and scrambling to fix her hair like it was earlier, but the rapid motion of her flailing arms does little to hide the tear tracking down her cheek.
“Do what you have to,” he replies, his voice strained.
I throw open the center console, considering whether to warn Jasmine. With a scoff, I search for the torch. It’s not like she’d listen if I told her to cover her eyes or something anyway. Despite my thoughts, I glance at her again, just in time to see her palm swipe across her cheek.
I don’t like that. It creates an odd sensation in my chest.
"We have the intel. I'll study it when I can find a cover for it and send an update when possible." The tires spin in the dirt, causing me to raise my voice to ensure they can hear me clearly.
“Good.” Caspian and Moe respond in unison. A soft sigh of relief echoes through our comms, but it’s quickly interrupted by Jasmine's screech as a flame flickers to life, illuminating the interior.
“Just got word from our colleagues. The scene was created. Hurry and get to the meeting point.” Sharkie interjects before Jasmine can say anything.
“What were they arguing about?” I grind my teeth, throwing the lighter out the window.
“Our girl got flirty with another man,” Sharkie mutters, ensuring her words remain encrypted.
The wheels gain traction, speeding us away. Jasmine raises her hand to her cheek again but ducks her head down, making it easier for me to pull my attention away before I see the emotions she's wearing on her sleeve.
“Just act angry and get to your room. You two should be safe.”
I nod to myself as Sharkie continues speaking, but I barely listen. I'm too focused on watching the fire ignite and following our trail until we turn onto the main road.
“Try to get out tomorrow so we can discuss—”
As I end the call, I tug on the jacket I wore earlier and glance down at my outfit, silently praying that blood hasn’t stained my clothes. I know I’ll get a lecture for cutting off communication so abruptly, but we don't need any more information right now. Besides, the reprimand I'm about to give Jasmine is something I can handle without Caspian's help.
“What the fuck were you thinking!?” I yell, and Jasmine slowly turns her head to glare at me. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks match the color, creating a stark contrast to the anger on her face.
“What was I thinking? You just burned down half a forest!” she shouts, flailing her arms in the air. Is she seriously fucking concerned about the burned trees right now?
“If your superior gives you—”
“I’m so sorry that the only thing you can focus on is me saving YOUR life!” she interrupts me with an aggravated growl.
“—an order, then obey the bloody command!” I finish my sentence, intentionally ignoring her statement. I don’t need saving; she should know that by now.
“Understood, Lieutenant ,” she replies sarcastically. She tries to turn her attention back to the window, but I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me.
“Goddamn it. Don’t you realize you could've died?!”I snap, focusing on the pretty pink curve of her lips. I half expect her to hit me or yell some more, but nothing happens. Quickly, I release her and grip the steering wheel instead. I’d much rather have a screaming match than deal with this silence. I just need to provoke her a little, and she’ll snap, just like always.
“Of course, you knew. I tried to warn Caspian that someone with a constant death wish wasn’t fit for this mission.”
"You could have died!” she exclaims, her voice echoing inside the car. But it doesn’t have the sharpness I expect; instead, it wavers. I don’t like that sound—it feels as if I’m hurting her in a way I never intended. My brows furrow as I try to hold my tongue, stopping myself from saying anything that might provoke that reaction again. My fingers flex against the wheel as it slowly dawns on me that she’s worried about me . Suddenly, Sharkie’s incisive rambling makes sense, and I glance at the dark pavement rushing past, trying to rationalize all the times Jasmine flirted with danger, dismissing them as mere carelessness. Regardless of the situation, they all share a common factor that I’d rather not admit out loud. I’ve been there—each time.
I knew she cared somewhere deep down, but not to this extent. I don’t deserve any more than what she's been giving me—the occasional bedroom eyes and a whole lot of resentment. She doesn’t understand who I am or what I’m capable of. She doesn’t realize that I don’t deserve her care, her lo—
Suddenly, I swerve around Jonathan's car, and he mimics the motion, interrupting my thoughts.
“It doesn't matter. Don't pull that shit again.” I say, my voice barely audible over the sound of spinning tires and the occasional blaring of horns.
She doesn't respond; instead, she brushes her finger under her lashes to calm her breathing. I'm barely parked in front of the hotel when the passenger door is thrown open, and she stumbles while pulling off her heels and rushing towards the entrance.
“Jasmine!” I growl, tossing my door open hard enough to knock into the valet. She doesn't stop, so I’m forced to storm through the lobby like a madman, desperate to get her attention.
“Jasmine fuckin’ Morana!” I raise my voice a little louder as I stop at the main desk. Straightening my shoulders, I run my hand over the front of my suit and grin. However, my brief feeling of triumph quickly fades when she turns and hurls one of her heels in my direction before angrily stomping away.
“Ma’am, we can't throw things in the lobby!” the woman behind the desk calls out, and I grimace in response. I don’t think that was a wise choice of words; the poor girl hasn’t realized that my wife has a bit of a temper, and she's already on her shit list.
“Piss off!” Jasmine yells as she kicks off her other shoe, waving it in the air like she might throw it, too. Bending over, I pick up the poorly tossed heel, muttering a few unnecessary curses under my breath. I rush to the elevator and grip her wrist. The sudden motion of my fingers wrapping around her delicate arm prevents her from smashing the button with her thumb as if she’s imagining it's my eye instead.
“Knock it off,” I warn quietly, but she suddenly spins around, yanking her arm away and putting her hands on her hips. It’s like I’ve been hit with a shockwave, frozen in place, completely taken in by the amazing sight in front of me. Jasmine’s eyes are burning with a fire I’ve never seen before; her chest rises and falls with every breath, making her dress hug her body just right.
“You're not my dad.” She grits her teeth, pushing her heel into my chest. “You’re my husband, so act like it.”
Hearing the word “ husband ” come out of her mouth shouldn’t feel this good, but here I am, biting my lip to hide how it hits me. I got so wrapped up in our earlier fight that I almost forgot we’re playing a role here, but when she rolls her eyes, I pull myself back together.
“He touched your bloody arse! How do you expect me to react!” I snap back, and her bottom lip quivers as tears well up in her eyes. I don’t know why it affects me so much, especially knowing she’s putting on a show, but without thinking, my hand reaches out to touch her.
“Don’t—”
The elevator dings, and she steps in before I can finish speaking, prompting me to follow her inside. I press my chest against her back and watch her reflection in the metal doors. Typically, I appreciate the silence because it allows the screams in my head to escape, but today, they’re absent. Instead, my thoughts are solely focused on her tense posture, the conflicting emotions playing across her face, and the faint scent of smoke clinging to her skin.
The longer I stare at her disgusted expression, the more I realize how much I can trust her with my life. She has proven herself time and again. Whether it's those late nights when she stops me from losing myself with a punching bag or when she follows me into a building where she has no reason to be just to ensure I’m not hurt.
She’s always there.
Before I know it, one of my arms wraps around her waist while my other hand moves up her torso to cover her mouth. She tenses and glances at me in the mirror, her focus shifting between my gaze and my hand, in sync with the elevator dings as we pass each floor. I wish she could see herself as I do, recognizing the beauty behind the mask I give her rather than the one she wears for everyone else.
Holding her gaze, I tuck my head into the crook of her neck and breathe her in. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little devil.”
The elevator stops on our floor, and she quickly turns to face me, panic evident on her features.
“Please don’t get me kicked out. I’m sorry—”
“Go.” I cut her off, but she continues to ramble, looking over her shoulder to ensure no one is listening.
“I couldn’t leave you—”
I pull the other shoe from her hand, effectively silencing her again. She turns, her head bowed into her chest. I can tell she’s caught off guard and doesn’t know what to expect. This is new. Having hidden eyes and ears doesn’t help my case for everything I want to say, but it certainly isn’t stopping me from doing what I want.
As we approach our door and I unlock it, she rushes inside, heading straight for the bedroom as if it will keep her safe. I’ve always loved a good chase, especially when it comes to her, but I’ve waited too long for this. Nothing will protect her from my demons—me.
I give her a moment to think she’s in the clear while I kick off my shoes and place them in the small entry closet alongside her heels. I pause mid-motion, contemplating letting the intel out of my sight. However, it's unlikely anyone would dare to walk into our room, so I pull the files from my pants and tuck them into one of our duffle bags so they won’t get in my way.
“Jasmine,” I call softly just before she reaches her destination, causing her to hesitate at the doorway. She glances over her shoulder and watches as I make my way around the couch.
“Come here, Darlin’,” I say calmly while pulling my pistol from my pants. I’ll always show her who I am inside and out—the bad, the ugly, the unhinged—and if she’s as willing as my mind is begging me to believe, she’ll help me learn how to be good for her.
She rounds the couch, fidgeting with the straps of her dress, which barely hang onto her shoulders. Unloading the weapon, I sit and take the hem of my jacket, dragging it up the side to clean the cold steel.
“Why don’t you go turn on the fireplace? We can sit and chat for a moment.” I murmur with a slight grin. It's fucked, I know, but if I’m going to trust her, then she's going to have to prove she trusts me too.
I don't hear her move, so I look up from my steady motions and cock a brow at her wide eyes.
“You can't be serious.”
Sucking on the back of my teeth, I tilt my head toward the mantel in response. With a scrunch of her nose and a stern scowl, she walks over to the brick wall and flips the switch. Does she think she looks intimidating with that expression? A whoosh fills the room as flames erupt behind the glass. I pause my cleaning to focus on her tense shoulders and the steady steps of her bare heels as she backs away before turning to face me.
“Please don’t I’m–” She mouths the words, and tears start forming in her eyes again, contradicting the anger she was just harboring. There's no doubt that with the fear in her eyes, she thinks she finally messed up enough that I will have to deal with her like I do others who hold too much information. We can’t kick those soldiers out if they're not trusted, so we have to dispose of them.
I raise my gun to cut her off while motioning for her to come closer with a sympathetic tut, “What do I do for a living?”
It's fascinating how closely my alias resembles my real life; both are private yet dangerous.
Watching her features soften, it seems she understands the underlying meanings I'm trying to convey, allowing us to communicate without saying too much.
Using my free hand, I push my suit down to my hips and undo the buttons on my shirt so I can focus solely on her without the distraction of the fabric straining against my chest.
“You kill.” She whispers, causing me to chuckle, but I don't smile even when she comes to a stop. Leaning forward, I drag the barrel of my pistol up her bare calf and over her knee.
“That doesn't matter though. I can handle myself.” The words come through with her soft exhale as her attention pulls to the movement.
“I know you're strong, Darlin’, but you're my wife,” I murmur, lowering my gaze to how her dress rides up the higher I go. My head tilts curiously as her thighs press together, locking the weapon in place against her cunt when it hits the apex.
“Do you understand the anger I felt? The fear.” I pull the handle, dragging it against her sensitive bundle of nerves. A sweet noise from her lips, but she tries to cover it up by speaking again.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t . We’re different in ways I can’t explain.” There's no keeping the grin off my face as I raise the pistol, inspecting the slick shine that shimmers off the metal. She'll never understand the way my head is hardwired. Sucking the back of my teeth, I lean back, spreading my knees, contemplating how I want to go about this–how far I should push her and where my limits might lie.
“Then show me.” She murmurs, drawing my attention to how her full pink lips say the words. Caspian always made me talk through my thoughts—said it’d help—but it only worsened matters because I didn’t feel in control of my words.
“Get on your knees, but don't sit.”
My breath catches in my throat as I watch her effortlessly drop to the floor, bending her toes against the expensive carpet while her knees support her weight. There is no hesitation or flicker of doubt, only complete and undivided trust in her actions.
Once I reach this point, there’s no going back. I’ll never be able to take back my actions or any deep-buried feelings that may arise with them, but if she’s going to burn me in the long run, then at least I can say I enjoyed the pain while it lasted.
Pushing my foot between her legs, I force them to spread until my calf is comfortably nuzzled between her thighs and her whole body tenses.
“You want me to show you? You want to know the panic I felt when I thought—” I clear my throat, cutting myself off before I voice too much that can be used against us.
“Go on. Straddle my leg, and I’ll show you exactly how you make me feel.” I say instead while pulling the chamber from the cushion. I load the pistol, and she swallows, lowering herself until I can feel the heat from her cunt radiating through my slacks. I bite the inside of my cheek, wishing I could feel just how good it'd be to have it wrapped around my cock. Another time.
“You won’t hurt me,” she murmurs as if reminding herself more than me while staying completely still. I raise the gun until it's pointed between her beautiful, panic-filled eyes. Instead of screaming and crawling away as any sane person would do, she grinds against my calf, making my smirk turn into a wicked grin.
The little devil likes being scared. The thought almost makes me groan, so I clear my throat.
“Don’t get too confident in that statement. You don’t know me, Darlin’." Her gasp tempts me to throw this idea straight out the large pane window and fuck her right on the carpet, but this is a punishment, so I flex my calf, encouraging her to move again.
“Be a good little wife and ride my leg while I show you exactly how you’ve made me feel this whole damn trip—the whole damn time I’ve known you.”
She leans back against the coffee table to hold her body upright as she slowly rolls her hips. It's a sinful sight. The flickering flames cast a warm glow, enveloping her silhouette and highlighting the blonde waves that spill over her eyes.
I tsk and shake my head, “Hands on me.”
As if she’s been waiting for this moment, her palms land on my thigh, delicate fingers wrapping around the thick muscle as she stabilizes her balance to repeat the steady roll of her hips.
“Do you feel good? Are you scared? Is it getting so fucking irritating not knowing how you should react that you're getting mad?” I bite out, returning my attention to her fluttering lashes, and the red-hot blush crawls up her neck to the tips of her ears.
I thought I was dangerous, but I was wrong. This is dangerous.
“Yes—” the one word comes through a sharp intake of air, and her perfectly manicured nails dig into the fabric of my slacks as a broken whine falls from her lips.
“Everything you're feeling right now is everything I thought I’d never feel again.”
I look at the flames dancing beautifully behind her body. This was never a mission; it was some devil-sent opportunity to force my mind into accepting that she is what I need . The pistol shifts in my hand, pulling my attention to hooded golden eyes darting between mine as she leans into the barrel.
“Is it for better or for worse?” She pants like a question. I shift my hips on the couch and inhale deeply with a grin.
She’s tempting death again—playing with the fire she claims to fear. Yet, that common factor returns… it’s for me . Those pants, moans, and whimpers. The light bead of sweat on her brow as her eyes droop. It's all for me.
“You're saying it wrong, Darlin’.” I drop the barrel to press it against her lips, and her eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights. I don't know whether it’s from the motion or my words, but she picks up pace, panting through her nose, and my slacks moisten.
“It’s for better or worse. Richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part, and even after, I’ll burn in hell with you.” I take a deep breath through my nose, gripping at my growing erection as I tap her mouth with the barrel, expecting her to repeat the words.
“I do.” The teasing in her tone and her lopsided lazy grin has my restraint slipping further.
“You keep saying these things, but you don't know what the fuck you're getting yourself into.” I nearly spit the words. She treats this like a walk to heaven as if everything I'm showing her is a bright light leading to the pearly gates. It's not, though. It's a struggle to crawl out of hell as demons tug at your heels and flames scorch your skin.
“Please….”
Furrowing my brows, I chuckle in confusion. Don't get me wrong, I love the begging–it goes straight to my cock, making it throb against my palm–but I never expected to hear the word from her mouth.
“Are you begging me to let you suck my gun while you make yourself come on my leg?” I taunt, tilting my head and dragging the cool steel against her lips.
She hesitates–stilling her hips, and her grip loosens against my leg. It's as if her mind is finally processing the situation and realizing she should never trust a man like me with such a thing. Her palms slide along my thigh until her fingertips barely graze my belt. It seems as if she's preparing to stand, but her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, her hips create a damning rotation, and she sticks her tongue out to drag it up the length.
She does have a bloody death wish.
“Such a little damn devil.” It's embarrassing how the words chop from my heavy breathing as I push the cool metal between her lips, watching the soft flesh wrap around it.
“You’re just as fucked in the head as I am,” I mutter, and her lips pull to the tip of the pistol allowing me to quickly pull back the slider, loading a bullet into the chamber. The soft click has her moaning, sending the vibrations against the metal into my palm.
“And I don’t know if I should be thanking God or cursing the devil for it.”
With a quiet curse under my breath, I palm at my dick. If she sucks a barrel like it's a bloody lollipop, then I can only imagine how hard she’d blow me. I can see it now, my fist in her hair and drool pooling at the corners of her mouth as I fuck into her throat.
Tilting my head back against the cushion, I’m almost tempted to let my eyes close so I can live in the fantasy, but the rough texture of her nails grazing the skin under the hem of my slacks has my arm darting out to grip her wrist.
“What do you think you're doing?”
She smiles, breaking her mouth from the barrel to lick her way towards the handle. Please, devil, give me strength because denying a look like that is sinful.
“Oh no, Darlin’. After the shit you’ve pulled, you’re going to make a mess on my leg before I even think about letting you touch my cock.” I laugh, and a red-hot blush crawls up her neck and cheeks as she whines. To prove a point, I tuck my dick into the waistband and relax back to watch her through a hooded gaze. Her breaths come out in shallow pants, and her lashes flutter as her eyes roll. It’s a sight I'll never get used to, but I'll always enjoy seeing it. Especially when she brings her hands to clasp over mine so that hot mouth can get back to work on my pistol.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” She barely gets to nod before she's gagging from the way I shove the barrel into the back of her throat. It's as if she's levitating with how tense her body goes, making her lift off my leg only to lower back down.
“Fuck, just look at that.” I groan, pulling the gun away to push it under the hem of her dress and draw it up around her waist. She continues to ride out her orgasm, each rock of her hips smearing her come along my black pants. I tilt my head to the side, examining how the thin red material has turned a dark maroon, and her thighs tremble as she tries to hold herself upright.
“There’s my wife,” I mutter as I run my tongue over my canine and look her over again. I'm sure she's still sore from the fall and likely exhausted from the night, but I can't care now. She looks amazing, glowing with her flushed skin and a sheen layer of sweat on her brow.
Tossing the weapon onto the cushion, I grab her jaw to crush my mouth into hers. Nipping at her bottom lip, I force my tongue between her teeth until she's humming into the kiss.
“Do you want me to run you a bath?” I murmur against her lips. I've never been good at comforting others, and I've never cared for the women during Chaos enough to provide any aftercare. But now, it feels as if there's a living organism inside my chest, clawing through my muscles, yearning to wrap its arms around her and alleviate any pain she might be experiencing.
Breaking the kiss, she tilts her head towards the ceiling as if collecting her thoughts and shakes her head.
“I–” Clearing her throat, she uses my leg as leverage to stand, her legs trembling. I wrap my arm around her waist, hoping she’ll let me help stabilize her.
“I need a moment.” She whispers as she pushes against my chest and rushes off to the bathroom.