5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
A dam
I shift nervously as I listen to the chime of Jessica’s doorbell echo somewhere in her apartment. It’s fall, the air crisp enough that I pull my jacket tight and shove my hands into my pockets. There’s the sound of rushing footsteps and the rattle of chains as she unlocks her front door. I glance around one last time before she opens it, scowling. I don’t like where she lives, not one bit. It’s a run-down neighborhood. Not quite a slum, but the kind of place that will turn into one within the next decade. There’s graffiti on the dumpster across the street, next to a neon-lit convenience store. The concrete steps that lead up to her place are chipped and stained.
It’s all so disgustingly familiar. I used to live down the road in a shithole just like this one.
Bright light shines out when she swings the door open, making me squint. I blink against the glare and see her standing there, with the glow outlining her. It highlights her hair, lighting it up like a damn halo.
“Hi,” she breathes out, smiling up at me.
Something pulls in my chest, sharp and fast. An answering grin lifts one corner of my mouth before I can stop it. I attempt to straighten my features. I’ve thought about it a lot and decided to keep my walls up this evening. She seems to enjoy the commanding doctor persona, and I like the distance that it places between us. The last thing I need is to fall for Jessica Jones.
Screw her, yes.
Love her, no.
My life is carefully organized. Everything in nice little compartments. I don’t need her disrupting it more than she already has.
Without greeting her back, I push into the small living room of her apartment. My mood darkens even further when I see the threadbare carpet, worn couch, and tiny TV. Are those actual rabbit ears on her TV? Like the twin antennas that people used in the 1980s to get reception. Does she not even have cable, for god’s sake?
I toss my brown leather satchel onto a chair near the door, followed by my jacket, then turn to her. I’m not sure what my expression reads, but it must be bad because Jessica takes a step back and raises her hands as if to ward me off.
“Are you okay?” she asks warily.
I take a slow, measured breath before answering. “Fine. And how are you this evening?”
She blinks, then brightens with a teasing smile. “So formal, Dr. West,” she teases, batting her lashes. “I’m doing well. Extra good, actually, since I got a certain surprise gift from you today.”
Some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. “Do you like it?” I ask, softer than I intend.
Her grin widens, easing a knot inside me I didn’t know was there.
“I love it!” she exclaims, then grabs my hand and drags me after her, chattering excitedly. I snatch my satchel from the chair as we pass by.
“It’s so pretty!” Jessica says. “Exactly what I would have picked out for myself.”
She tugs me into her bedroom and waves to the large bed located in the center. “Look! Isn’t it amazing?”
The bed looks good, but it takes up the entire room. That’s how cramped her bedroom is. Irritation flashes through me that she lives like this. Jessica the prom queen deserves a real crown. A palace. Not this.
“What do you do for a living, exactly?” I demand, my tone harsh.
Again, she steps just out of my reach, until the backs of her legs are pressed against the mattress, and I instantly regret my words. I could have googled to find out more about her, but I deliberately hadn’t. It’s better not to know. I’m here for one thing only. To satisfy my desire and hers too. I'm not here to get to know her.
She lifts her chin, and even I can admire that spark of bravery in the face of an angry man.
“I’m a teacher. Just like my parents before me. High-school math.”
My stomach clenches as a premonition occurs to me. “Which school?”
I know the answer before she says it. “Southfield High.”
That place. The one I hate more than any other. That’s where she goes every day. No doubt the boys there all ogle her when she’s at the front of the classroom. They probably imagine her spread out on their desks. They probably masturbate to that thought.
Just like you do, says a little voice in the back of my mind. I tell it to shut the fuck up.
“My parents used to teach there,” She continues, telling me information I already know. Her father, Mr. Jones, was my geometry teacher sophomore year. He was a nice man, even-tempered and patient.
“When I started teaching, the principal said it was full circle,” She says with a note of pride. “That my parents worked at that school and now I do too.”
More like circling the drain, I think. To be at a school like that.
“Isn’t that place kind of rough?” I ask, remembering how the surrounding neighborhood was run-down when we went to school there.
“It is,” she answers with a soft smile. “That’s why I teach there. Those kids need someone who gives a damn. They need extra attention.”
Great. She’s a bleeding heart. One of those people who think they can make a “difference.” Well, she’ll learn soon enough that the world is fucked and all that matters is looking out for yourself.
Strangely irritated by the thought of her wasting her time on those delinquents, I tell her, “Get on the bed.” I don’t bother smiling.
Her face falls, just for a second, but I notice. “I thought you said this was a date.”
“It is. A date where I fuck you.” I gesture toward the king bed with my chin.
She glances back at the doorway that leads to her kitchen and living room. “But I made dinner.”
For the first time, I notice the smell in the apartment. Something garlicky and aromatic. I quirk my head, confused.
“My grandma’s spaghetti with garlic bread and spinach salad.” Jessica winds her hands in front of her, probably nervous to see my reaction. “It’s delicious,” she adds, like she’s trying to convince me.
I stand there, torn. On the one hand, I’m touched she made food for me. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. On the other hand, when I said “date,” I thought she would understand I meant sex.
Nothing more.
Dinner is definitely something more.
I take a step closer and then another until I’m towering over her, our chests almost touching. Her breathing hitches, then speeds up. I lower my lips to her ear and murmur, “There’s only one thing I’m interested in tasting tonight, and it’s not your grandmother’s spaghetti.”
I’m so close I hear when she takes a large swallow. “Are you sure? We could eat and then…” She trails off uncertainly.
“I’m sure.” I shove her back, and her knees buckle. Jessica lands with a thump on the soft white duvet that covers her new bed.
I ordered that for her too.
Her breath catches, a small, delicate sound that tightens something deep in my stomach.
“I saw in the office how much you like it when I touch you.”
Jessica blushes bright red, all the way to her hairline. Her fingers flex at her sides, her weight shifting. “I—I wasn’t sure you noticed,” she mumbles, staring at the floor.
I take a single finger and place it under her chin, tilting her face up to mine. “I did.” I let the words settle between us. “I enjoyed it. I want you to lose control like that again.”
Jessica’s lips part slightly. A flicker of hesitation, and then—there it is—that moment of submission. The way her pulse jumps at her throat. The way her pupils widen, her body reacting before her mind can catch up.
I reach into the satchel and unzip it. Inside, several ropes lie neatly coiled. Jessica’s eyes widen when I bring them out. “Made of hemp,” I say, holding them up, “so they won’t stretch when they’re under tension.”
“Umm,” she stutters, eyeing the ropes like they’re going to bite her. Her throat bobs in a swallow.
I remind myself to be patient. The women I usually screw are used to this. That’s why I choose them and they choose me.
Jessica is different.
The thought that I can be the one to initiate her into this world makes my cock harden.
“You pick a safe word,” I say gently, surprised I’m explaining all this. I had originally planned on coming over here and taking what I wanted, but I don’t like the fear that ripples over her face. If we’re going to do this, I want her to enjoy it as much as I do. That means I’ll have to take my time. “If you say the safe word, we stop. No questions asked.”
“Here.” I hold out the rope. “Feel it. It’s not too rough. It won’t leave any marks.”
Hesitantly, she takes it and unspools it slowly, running it through her hands. The moment her fingers skim the fibers, I see the shift. The curiosity in her eyes. The way she tests the texture against her palm. I want to tell her more, but I bite my tongue and give her the space to make her own decision.
She stays quiet, studying the rope. I can hear a clock clicking somewhere in the room. Probably the old-fashioned–looking one on her nightstand next to a pile of books. I examine them more closely and find they’re all romance novels.
Figures .
She still hesitates, a war in her eyes, logic battling with raw, undeniable need. I soften. Just slightly. My fingers brush up her bare arm, barely a whisper of a touch. Goosebumps rise on her delicate skin.
Another minute of tense silence. Then, finally, she squares her shoulders. “What were you saying about a word?”
“A safe word. Pick the first one that pops into your mind.”
“Cupcake,” she blurts out immediately.
I laugh, a loud sound that bursts out of me, surprising us both. It’s my first real laugh in—hell, I don’t know how long.
Jessica grins at my reaction.
“Cupcake?” I wheeze, smiling. “You can’t pick cupcake.”
Her hands go to her hips and her lower lip juts out into a defiant pout, making me want to bite it. “Why not?”
“Well…because it’s…” I flounder. “I mean, cupcake? Really?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and sends me a glare.
“I—oh, damnit.” I take in her narrowed eyes and give in. “Fine, cupcake. That’s the safe word.”
“Good.” Jessica swallows hard, but when she meets my gaze again, there’s no fear. Only anticipation.
She hands back the rope, fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment.
I pause and stare down at the coil, feeling the weight in my hands. The weight of my choices.
Both equally heavy.
My thumb drags over the rope’s fibers, rubbing them against my fingertips. My mind is already calculating where I’ll tie each knot, where I’ll wrap her wrists, how she’ll look beneath me, stretched and bound. I push the thought away and inhale deeply, forcing my muscles to stay loose.
When I look back at her, the playfulness from before is gone. Jessica watches me carefully, breath slower now.
Something tightens in my chest. Maybe the last shred of my morality or maybe the ghost of a conscience I thought I buried long ago.
I step in and close the distance, then bend forward until my palms hit the mattress on each side of her hips. We’re face to face now, closer than ever before. Her breath is a warm caress, ghosting across my cheek.
She stills. Green eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
“Tell me to stop.” I say urgently, my voice low and husky. “Tell me no.”
It’s more of a plea than a command.
I know what comes next. She doesn’t.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
One second.
Two.
I wait for her to take the deal, reject me, but instead, resolve hardens behind those beautiful eyes. They blaze with a stubborn, reckless trust.
Like she’s challenging me . Jessica deliberately lifts her wrists, pressing them together like an offering. A silent surrender.
That’s when I know…I’m going to ruin her.
And even worse?
She wants it.
I exhale slowly, accepting her decision to move forward, a choice that suddenly feels inevitable. Like this was always where we would end up. Like we’re race cars locked on a collision course, engines roaring, neither of us willing to hit the brakes, unable to stop the wreckage.
“Not like that.” I gesture behind her. “I’m going to tie you to the bed.”
Jessica whips her head around with her mouth hanging open. “The bed?” Her voice goes up an octave.
“Yes. The bed.” Amusement stirs, brought on by her shocked expression. “Why do you think I got it?”
She looks at me, looks at the bed, then looks back at me again.
Her mouth opens and closes. On the third try she gets out, “You bought a bed…to tie me up in?”
It’s not accusation.
It’s wonder.
The air thickens between us. Jessica’s pulse thrums at her throat, her breathing shallow. She wets her lips, her fingers twitching at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. A flush creeps across her collarbone, rising up her neck like she can already feel the ropes binding her.
That alone makes me chuckle. With a smirk, I slowly trail my fingers over her bare shoulder. I savor the softness of her skin, relish the way she trembles under my touch. I lift a brow. “Would you have preferred the floor?”
She exhales shakily, like she’s trying to find the right words, but I already see the way her thighs press together. The way she bends toward me, just a little, her body betraying her thoughts. Whatever protest she might form has already slipped away.
Slowly, I lean closer. Her eyes dilate with what looks like a mixture of apprehension and desire. I let my lips hover next to her ear, my breath heating her already flushed skin and I hear the tiniest intake of breath.
She’s waiting.
Wanting.
“Pretty girl,” I say in my gentlest voice. “Move to the center of the bed so I can tie you up.”
Jessica
My breathing picks up when he says that. It’s not just the words, but how he says them, slow and seductive.
I do as he asks, scooting on my behind to where he wants me. The mattress gives slightly under me. It’s perfect. Not too soft and not too hard. I lay on top of the comforter.
My heart stutters as Dr. West crawls in after me. He looks dangerous like this, on his hands and knees. The muscles of his forearms bunch and relax as he prowls closer.
Warm hands tug my shirt off over my head and release my bra. When he pulls down my pants and sees the lacy, black, crotchless underwear I picked out with Monica, he runs his hand over it with approval.
“This is nice.” His fingers trace the swirling pattern of the fabric.
“I got it for you,” I admit, my breathing already speeding up from his touch.
He rewards me with one of his closed-lip half-smiles. “Did you now?”
I nod vigorously.
A thrill runs through me when he says, “Then I think we should leave it on.”
Once all my clothing, except for the panties, have been removed, he ties each wrist and ankle to a different post on the bed.
I can’t move at all. My limbs are pulled taut, and my joints strain. It occurs to me that in this position Dr. West could hurt me if he wanted to. I’m helpless to stop him. I should be afraid right now—most people would be—but somehow, I’m not. Maybe because he’s a doctor or maybe because he’s never hurt me so far, I trust him to keep me safe.
Dr. West pulls the curtains closed all around us and sits back on his heels. He lets his eyes roam over my mostly naked body. “You’re beautiful like this. Spread out. Ready to be used.”
I shiver with anticipation, already aching for him.
With one hand he pulls off his shirt, revealing the most perfect torso and abs I’ve ever seen. Each muscle is sharply defined as if he were sculpted rather than born. He must spend a lot of time in the gym to look like that. Much to my disappointment, he doesn’t take off his pants.
Instead, he positions himself down low on the bed, between my spread legs. “I’ve been wanting to taste you for a long, long time,” he says, which is strange since I just met him, but I don’t have long to ponder that mystery because his tongue is on me, a slow lick that makes my toes curl.
I moan when he suctions onto me. He draws my clit into his mouth, then releases it, then repeats the motion several more times. My chest heaves at the intensity of it. It’s almost too much, but I can’t pull away. Not tied up like I am. Dr. West pulls back and blows breath-warmed air over my pussy, making it clench. He nuzzles it almost tenderly and says, “You’re delicious, Ms. Jones.”
He sets to fucking me with his tongue, thrusting it into my entrance while his hand strokes my swollen clit. It’s wet and warm and feels so good that within minutes my suspended legs tremble as an orgasm slowly builds in my center.
Just when I think I can’t hold on any longer, he stops and sits up. He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock. I gasp at the sight of it, so big and rigid with serpentine veins that run its length. From his back pocket a condom appears. With practiced movements he rolls it on. I almost stop him, wishing I could feel him bare inside me, but don’t.
The truth is that I don’t know him, even though it feels like I do. Even though there’s something familiar about him, almost comforting. No. It’s better to use protection. Given how quickly he did the knots that bind me to the bed, I can safely assume I’m not the first woman he’s done this with.
Once he’s sheathed, his hand comes back to me, fingers slowly stroking. “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“What’s the safe word?”
“Cupcake.”
A hint of a smile, like he can’t help himself.
I brace for him to penetrate me, but that’s not what happens. He’s left his bag on the end of the bed. I thought it was a mistake, that he’d forgotten it, but I was wrong. He put it there on purpose. He leans over my leg and fishes around in it for a minute. I gasp when I see what he’s pulled out.
It’s a speculum.
This one is made of clear plastic. Not cold metal like the one he used in the office. It’s smaller, with a long slim design.
“I’m going to put this in your ass and then fuck you.”
“Wh—what?” I struggle against my bound wrists, trying to sit up so I can see him better.
Dr. West isn’t paying attention to me. He has a small bottle of lube that he’s pulled out of his magic bag and is carefully coating the speculum.
“I’m not sure…” I trail off, alarmed by his plan.
Flat gray eyes meet mine. “It’s like an anal plug. Have you ever used one of those?”
“No.” Although I have heard of them.
He moves closer and separates my cheeks. His finger is still covered in lube, so it slides easily when he runs it along my behind. He localizes my rosebud and swirls his finger around it. “An anal plug goes here so you’ll feel me even more when I’m in you. It presses everything together, so it’s nice and tight. Which is good for you and good for me.”
I never thought being touched back there would feel good, but what he’s doing with his finger combines with the mental image his words paint, and my legs spread wider, giving him better access.
“Mmm,” he hums. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
I whimper at the term of affection and at the possessive undertone in his voice.
My girl.
His.
He picks up the speculum. “Remember the safe word. You can say it anytime,” he reminds me, using his free hand to hold me wide.
Slowly, he inches the speculum into my behind. I clench instinctively, then tell myself to relax. To breathe. Try something new. Surrender to this experience. I want him. Dr. West. I want to show him how far I can go.
He murmurs encouragingly as he advances the speculum, going deeper and deeper. He doesn’t put it all the way in, just an inch or so, but it fills me up completely. I have to concentrate not to bear down and push it out. A few clicks and it widens until it stays in place without him holding it. He adjusts it some more, giving it one last click.
Once he’s satisfied, he notches his dick at my entrance. He slips into me with agonizing slowness. His eyes never leave my face. His legs are spread wide as he kneels below me to accommodate the portion of the speculum that still sticks out. This wide-legged stance allows him to piston his hips back and forth with exaggerated movements as he begins to fuck me slowly. Each stroke of his cock combines with the fullness in my behind to create a warm, buzzing sensation over my entire pelvis. Everything down there feels alive, like it’s tingling and tightening with pleasure.
He picks up the pace, watching me carefully. “Do you want to use the safe word?”
I shake my head no, all my concentration on the fire that’s building in between my legs. I don’t want him to stop. This feels too good, better than anything I’ve felt before.
He must have been waiting to see how I would respond because when I tell him no, he unleashes his own pleasure. He moves faster and faster, closing his eyes and tilting his head to the ceiling. A low, guttural groan leaves his throat, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. “Fuck,” he grits out. “You’re so tight. It’s incredible.”
His hands land on my knees, which he pushes out, spreading me so wide that the rope bites into the tender flesh of my ankles. I barely notice the pain, though. I’m too busy focusing on the licks of heat from everywhere that our bodies connect. An orgasm winds tighter in my core with each touch, each thrust.
Another of those low groans from him. I slit my eyes open to see how his face is flushed and the muscles of his neck strain.
He’s close and so am I.
He’s pounding into me now as we get closer to release. My arms and legs stretch against my binding. I want to move my hips to his rhythm but can’t. All I can do is lay there and react to the way his body teases mine. A pulsating sensation grows in me as I tense around him. Like my heartbeat has moved down into my core. With one last thrust, he buries himself in me and we cry out in unison, climaxing together.
Waves of pleasure wash over me, on and on as the orgasm undulates through my body.
“Fuck,” he rasps out. “You feel so fucking good. I can feel you coming.” He squeezes my knee and continues to move even as he softens. “Keep going,” he encourages me. “Keep coming.”
I do.
The orgasm stretches out longer than any I’ve had before. By the time it ends, I’m twitching and shivering like I touched a live wire. I barely notice when he pulls out and then removes the speculum.
Dr. West unties me. My legs and arms drop to the bed as if they weigh one hundred pounds. He draws back the blankets and tucks me under them, then lays down next to me. He’s on his side facing me, with his head at the same level as mine. At this distance, I can see a thin rim of navy blue outlining the gray of his irises. His breath is warm as it mixes with mine. We stare at each other as our breathing slowly quiets.
“You did good,” he whispers. Pride expands my chest.
Hesitantly, I stretch out my hand and brush it along his stubbled cheek. His eyes flutter shut, and he leans into my caress with a sigh.
In that moment, with the curtains pulled tight around the bed, it’s like we’re the only two people in the world. Like we’re butterflies, trapped in a cocoon.
I lean forward and kiss him.
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Adam
Decades.
That’s how long I’ve wanted her. Years of pent-up longing released in a single soul-shuddering orgasm. Muscles lose, every nerve satiated, I sink into the mattress, letting the rare sensation of contentment settle over me. A warm, unfamiliar weight.
After years of sex that blurred the lines of control and pleasure, I didn’t think anything could truly surprise me anymore. But she has.
Jessica .
What we just did together exceeded my expectations. She fit like a glove, and when I was inside her the world for one fucking second made sense.
Usually after I have sex, I leave or my partner leaves. The women I fuck understand what this is—transactional, mutual gratification, nothing more. I make sure they’re satisfied, and then we go our separate ways.
But this time, I don’t go. I don’t even reach for my clothes.
Instead, I climb into bed with Jessica and pull the blanket over both of us. It’s not calculated. Definitely not part of my plan. It’s just that I don’t want this to end. I want to linger. To live with this sense of peace for a little while longer.
Peace that’s shattered when she kisses me.
Soft lips touch mine, and my eyes fly open in shock. I rocket up in bed and scramble backward, my heart racing violently. My feet hit the floor.
She sits up too, her hand covering her gaping mouth. Stunned, wide-green eyes look at me. “I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Why’d you do that?” I lash out, backing away from her. My voice is sharp, the bite of it only barely masking the raw edge of panic clawing up my throat.
Jessica clutches the blankets to her still-naked chest. “I’m sorry. I just—you were there and I—I wanted to kiss you.”
“Well, don’t. Don’t do that. I don’t kiss.” I snatch my shirt from the floor and yank it over my head, then pull on my pants and grab my satchel. I’m moving on autopilot. My only thought is get out, get out, get out.
“What do you mean you don’t kiss?” She blinks, trying to process, then shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me. “Who are you? Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman or something? Everyone kisses.”
“Not me,” I spit out and spin around. Panic has hijacked my brain. I need to run, to escape.
“Wait!” she calls out as I dash down the narrow hallway. The tiny apartment closes in on me, claustrophobic.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, momentarily distracted by the small table in the corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in. It’s set for two. Plates, silverware, cloth napkins folded neatly. Long tapered candles glow, flickering in the center next to a small vase of sunflowers. A single twinge of guilt before I jerk the door open and stumble out into the chilly night air, gulping it down.
I wipe the back of my hand across my lips, which burn from the phantom of Jessica’s kiss.
No one’s kissed me since my mother, and her kisses only came after the stinging slap of her hand.
“A kiss to make it feel better,” she used to say.
That’s when I learned that nothing ever made me feel better.