Chapter 4 Julian #2
The rest of the meal passes in a blur of forced laughter and polished lies. The food is excellent, but no one tastes it. By dessert, Amara’s posture is still perfect, but her hands are beginning to twitch.
She stands, smoothing her skirt. “Excuse me,” she says. “Restroom.”
She leaves the table with the grace of a dancer, never looking back.
I wait exactly thirty seconds before rising.
Remy’s voice is low. “You need to go, too, huh? Don’t defile her too much, Dad will have your head for bringing shame to the family name.”
I smile, slow. “That’s the point.”
I follow her through the maze of mirrored corridors to the back of the restaurant. Without hesitation, I enter the women’s bathroom.
She stands at the marble counter, hands braced on the edge, breathing hard.
I close the door behind us and twist the lock.
Her reflection meets mine in the glass. There is no fear in her eyes now, only the anticipation of violence.
It makes me want her so much I can barely stand it.
I move toward her, every step slow. She doesn’t flinch as I come up behind her, close enough that she can feel the heat of my body.
She tilts her head, exposing the line of her neck.
“Are you going to fuck me?” she asks.
I laugh. “Haven’t decided yet.”
Her lips are parted, breath shallow. She’s waiting.
I place my hands on her shoulders, then slide them down to her waist. She’s trembling, but not from fear.
Turning her to face me, for a moment we just stare at each other, both waiting to see who breaks first.
It’s her.
She kisses me, hard, almost desperate. I bite her lip, draw blood, and she gasps but doesn’t pull away.
I push her back against the counter and trap her there, hands on either side of her thighs.
“You’re not as fragile as you look,” I say.
She laughs, voice raw. “Figured I’d get the party started, may as well have some of my own fun since I don’t think saying no is an option.”
We devour each other in the silence. It’s not gentle, not pretty—just need, sharpened to a point and driven home. Then she pulls away and turns to face the mirror again, grabbing her lipstick from her clutch.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I growl. “You’re allowed to want this.”
She bares her teeth. “Fuck you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Before she can answer, I shove her against the counter, flattening her chest to the marble. Her palms slap the surface, but she doesn’t struggle.
I fist her hair, pulling her head back so she’s forced to watch herself in the mirror.
“Look at you, flushed, eyes alive, those pretty little lips open,” I whisper. “Is this what you wanted?”
She meets her gaze, cheeks burning. “You’re disgusting.”
I press my mouth to her ear. “Bet you’re wet.”
Her denial is silent, but when my hand slides up her thigh, the truth is obvious. Her body arches away, but I hold her fast.
I slip my fingers under the hem of her dress, drag the fabric up until her ass is bare. The skin is pale, unmarked and perfect. I want to ruin it.
She gasps when I spank her—hard, enough to leave a bloom of color.
“Say thank you,” I order.
She shakes her head, defiant even now.
I spank her again. Harder.
“Thank you,” she chokes.
I smile, lips to her nape. “Mmm, such a good little student.”
My hand finds the heat between her legs, and she tries to twist away. I clamp a palm to her lower back and pin her, fingers working between folds already slick with want.
She bites her lip so hard I worry she’ll draw blood. The sound she makes is not pain, but surrender.
“You think you’re so fucking special,” she spits.
I curl my fingers inside her, knuckles deep. She shudders, knees buckling.
“You are special,” I say, “But not because of your name.”
She claws at the counter, breath coming in ragged bursts.
I work her, slow at first, then brutal. She tries to hold back, but I know the signs—the way her thighs tense, the way her back bows. She’s close, and hating herself for it.
My eyes are glued to her reflection, both of us watching her unravel in the mirror.
“Tell me what you want,” I command.
She’s silent, shaking.
I slow my hand. “Beg for it.”
Her eyes are glassy. “No.”
I stop completely. The threat of denial makes her whimper, a sound so pure I almost pity her.
“Say it.”
She sobs once, then: “Please.”
I fuck her with my fingers, relentless, until she screams. The sound echoes off marble and crystal, a shattering that I will remember forever.
She comes, hard, pulsing around me as she squirts, soaking the front of my pants. Liquid runs down her thighs, wetting the floor. She sags, nearly collapsing.
I pull my fingers free and hold them up to the light, admiring the slick. I lick them clean, slow, never breaking eye contact.
She watches, humiliated and hungry.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” she whispers.
I kiss the back of her neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
She stands, trembling. Her dress is bunched at her waist, her lipstick smeared from biting her lip. She reaches to fix her hair, but her hands are shaking too badly.
“Let me,” I say.
She turns, submitting. I smooth her hair, wipe her cheeks, right her dress.
When I finish, I cradle her jaw in my hand.
“You belong to me,” I tell her.
She looks up, eyes full of tears and something darker.
“I know,” she says.
I unlock the door and leave her in the echo of her wreckage. My pants are wet and I don’t give a fuck. I may never wash them.
At the table, my mother asks if everything is all right.
I smile, wolfish. “Perfect.”
Remy smirks, eyes darting to Amara when she returns. Her face is composed, but her walk is unsteady.
My father toasts the future.
I watch her, and she watches me, and the space between us is charged with the knowledge of what we are.
Predator and prey.
But it’s not clear which is which. She’s just as dangerous as I am, just in a different way.
After dinner, I drive her home. We don’t speak. When we reach the curb, she turns to me.
“Is this how it’s going to be?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I lean in and bite her neck, just hard enough to leave a mark.
She sighs, then lets out a hysterical laugh, then slams the door behind her.
I sit in the darkness and taste her on my tongue.
The first stage of possession is always consent.
Even if you have to drag it out of them.
Tomorrow, I’ll give her a new reason to scream.