12. Jackson
12
JACKSON
“ S o, what’s it going to be, Kelley?”
As I sit across from her, waiting for an answer, a chill spreads across the table.
Kelley’s dark brown eyes soften for a moment, as she looks down at her plate. She spoons a mouthful of eggs into her mouth, and for a moment, it seems apparent that she’ll comply. Until she spits the food all over the table, all over me, before shoving her plate away.
“I see,” I smile, wiping the egg off my face. Her eyes are narrowed towards me, and doubly so towards Vince, indicating that there’s still plenty of work left in taming this shrew.
“I’d rather starve,” she says definitely, shrugging herself into a ball on the patio chair.
“Then so be it,” I say rising, throwing the napkin on the table.
“I’m headed back to work, Jackson,” Vince says, laughter in his voice as he pushes away from the table. “You two obviously need some time alone.”
Watching him go, I realize now is the time to jerk the chain.
I turn back to Kelley, her petite frame drowning in my shirt as she glares at me defiantly. Such spirit, even in the face of utter vulnerability. It's admirable, in its own way. And deeply enticing.
"I do enjoy that fiery spark in you," I muse, watching her bristle. "But defiance will only make things harder for you here."
"I don't care," she retorts bitterly. "I won't bend to your will just to avoid punishment."
I step closer, intrigued by her audacity. "Is that so? And just how far are you willing to go in this little rebellion of yours?"
She meets my gaze unflinchingly. "As far as it takes. I won't break for you, or any man."
I can't help but grin at her bold words. She really has no idea who she's provoking. I'll take great pleasure in taming that insolent tongue of hers.
Leaning down to her ear, I whisper, "We'll see about that. I'll have you on your knees begging for mercy soon enough."
I swear I see a visible shiver run through her, though her eyes flash with defiance still. Delightful. This kitten has claws. I intend to savor every moment of stripping away that stubborn pride of hers.
And I'm confident her body will bend long before her spirit does. All the more rewarding when she finally submits completely to my will.
“I’ve got to check on things at the racetrack for a few hours,” I say, swiping a swig of orange juice and looking over the horizon. Kelley sits there watching me, her lips slightly parted as she waits for my next order.
“Marta?” I ask my attendant's attention, but my eyes are glued on Kelley.
“Yes, sir?”
“Make sure our guest has nothing to eat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wait? What?” Kelley asks, her eyes growing confused as she stares.
I look down at her with a screwed-up expression.
“You’re on hunger strike, remember?” I say, turning on my heel.
I hear the rushed clanking of plates as Marta dutifully clears away all traces of the morning meal.
As I exit the mansion, Kelley's outraged screams fill the space I leave behind a wild symphony accompanying my departure. Her fiery anger is music to my ears.
I let out a low, satisfied chuckle, already anticipating the delicious challenge of bending her stubborn will to mine. Taming this one will be my greatest pleasure yet. I lick my lips at the thought. Soon, her screams will become moans of surrender.
After a long day at work, I return home curious as to what mischief my little hellcat Kelley has been up to in my absence. The servants inform me she's kept to her room all day, refusing interactions with anyone.
“Has she requested food?” I ask.
“Not a bite, sir. She seems quite determined.”
I grab my chin, thinking her defiance over before ordering my dinner outside, right under her window.
Not a bite, huh?
I'm hardly surprised. No doubt she's sulking over our disagreement this morning, too prideful to emerge. I chuckle to myself as I sit down to a late solo dinner on the patio. Her childish stubbornness is almost endearing.
Part of me hopes she'll relent and join me for the meal. But the patio remains empty as the sun sinks below the horizon, the seat across from me glaringly vacant. I savor a glass of wine slowly, pondering what approach to take next with my defiant captive.
Her little hunger strike changes nothing. I am a patient man, and her willpower is no match for mine. She will learn her place here soon enough.
As irritating as her continued rebellion is, I can't deny it adds an intriguing challenge to our game. Taming her fiery spirit will make her surrender all the sweeter.
Let her hide tonight if she wishes. Come morning light, I will simply start again on bending her to my will. And I will relish every moment of finally conquering her stubborn pride.
When night comes, and still not a peep is heard from her door, I start to wonder how long she’ll hold out. On a hunch, I take my evening whiskey in a dark nook of the kitchen. Sure enough, I’m roused from my thoughts with the creaking of cabinets, and a tiny mouse in search of food.
“Didn’t even last a day.”
Kelley shrieks, staring at me wild-eyed, her hands clutching a jar of chocolate hazelnut spread and crackers.
I can't help but chuckle at the sight of her - disheveled hair, oversized t-shirt, cheeks stuffed with pilfered food like a greedy child. So much for her stubborn hunger strike. Predictably, her appetite has won out over her pride.
"I...I was hungry," she mumbles lamely, unable to meet my gaze. The defiance has left those dark eyes, replaced by unease and hints of shame at being caught.
I step closer, watching her press back against the marble counter. Gently I tip her chin up to meet my eyes.
“Then let me feed you,” I say, forcing the jar from her hands.
I step forward, pushing two fingers into the jar and then parting the bottom of her mouth to receive it.
“Open,” I tell her and she complies.
Her reluctant tongue grazes my hand, the warm velvet sending a jolt through me.
As I slide my digits into the waiting warmth of her mouth, I hear a small, determined moan escape her.
“That’s better, huh?” She says nothing but with each roll of her eyes back into her head I manage a little more spread onto her tongue and see a little more relief on her face. We lock gazes in the dim light, her defiant yet troubled mind burning with carnal hunger.
What this girl needs is a good fucking, and a good feed after.
“More,” she begs, as I dip my hand against the sticky dark chocolate. Smearing the nourishment over her lips, I see it melt perfectly against her skin, and I start to wonder if she tastes as good as she looks right now.
Slowly, deliberately, I trace the path of her tongue on my hand with my own. Her lips part, breath hitching at the provocation. The night air between us crackles with tension. I step closer, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin as her resolve wavers dangerously.
Her defiance only fuels my twisted desire. I pin her hard against the wall, eliciting a sharp gasp. My hands roam freely across her curves, testing her limits. I relish watching her stubborn resistance slowly crumble under my touch. This heady game of control intoxicates me.
"Ready to talk?" I whisper, my lips grazing her ear.
“Fuck you,” she says, and I wonder if she means it, until she breaks into a further string of curses, eyes ablaze.
I chuckle.
“Maybe tomorrow, then.”
We both know she won't break easily. The fire in her excites me. I intend to stoke those flames higher. This cat-and-mouse chase is just getting started. And I fully intend to catch her in the end.