Chapter 33 #2
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.”