Chapter 28 Jasmine
Kane never returned from the realm and, although I will never admit it to him, I’m furious.
Was he punishing me for not agreeing immediately to a ‘double bond sleepover’? Is this what he’ll do every time he doesn’t get his way? Just up and vanish?
But the bubbling irritation fades when Ezekial arrives behind that damn wall. His comforting warmth rolls over me like a late-night summer tide, steady, grounding, soft.
And with no one physically here, no studious eyes watching my every move, I let myself feel it. Let myself feel him.
And if I could feel him… Not for the first time, I wonder what I feel like.
I could ask. He’d have to answer, none of them are allowed to lie. But it would be a mistake, it would drag us further into whatever fragile, blurred mess we’re tangled in now.
I nibble on the drawstring of Kane’s hoodie, a gift. The first one I’ve accepted from Kane… Actually, the first gift he ever gave me was a pair of freshly severed kneecaps. Back then, I thought that was a grand gesture.
But this hoodie? This soft, lived-in thing drenched in his darkness? Somehow feels like more.
And this isn’t the only thing they’ve given me. Not even close. Clothing, food… opening my eyes to hidden truths. And if this is supposed to be a friendship—something real—then it has to be equal. I can’t owe them. I won’t owe them.
Me: I was just wondering…
I pause over the message, tapping the edge of my phone, another gift, and think about how to word this without sounding ungrateful.
Me: I was just wondering, can I keep working with Kacey? Just until the lockdown ends?
Ezekial: Of course.
Me: Great. So do I get a contract or…?
Ezekial: You want an official employee contract?
Me: Well yeah. If I’m going to keep working there, don’t I need one?
Ezekial: Sure. I can get you a contract. But why do I feel like you’re going the long way around something instead of just saying what you want?
Fucker.
Ezekial: We already told you, Jasmine. We’ll give you anything. Just name it.
Me: I just want to be more… independent.
I feel a flicker of anxiety through the bond—barely a spike—but there. I quickly type.
Me: I’ve never even had a bank account, Ezekial. I’d like something that’s mine. Something I own. Something with my name on it.
Ezekial: If you want money, we can give it to you.
Me: NO. No more giving, please. Just let me—
His name flashes on my screen.
Why does the idea of talking to him about this make me feel so nervous? Why can’t we just continue texting? I stare at his name, refusing to accept. I don’t have to answer. I’m still in control.
When his name disappears, I really believe that.
For a second.
Ezekial: You ignore me again and I’ll take that as an invitation to come over.
I should be mad at the threat.
Absolutely.
Am I?
No.
Instead, a heated flush crawls up my neck. I imagine the dark look on his face as he says it, how he’d stand just on the other side of the wall, eyes flashing silver, voice low.
The very opposite of mad is what I am.
When his name reappears, I answer instantly.
“Look—”
“I was hoping you’d ignore me again.” His raspy interruption makes my mouth drop open.
I swallow, trying to give my racing heart a chance to compose itself. “I—well. Yeah. I...” What were we talking about?
I chew the cuffed sleeve of the hoodie, and it centres me, reminds me. Money. Gifts. Independence.
“I really appreciate everything you’ve done. All of you. Well, except for the whole lying-to-me-about-our-bond thing...” I decide that sentence is best ended there. “But if I’m working with Kacey, I think I should be treated the same.”
He’s clearly not impressed by that sentence because there’s a long pause.
I clear my throat. “What if I wanted to buy something and—”
“We’d buy it for you.”
I roll my eyes, cheeks flushing. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend that having someone spending all their money on me isn’t a dream.”
“Not someone. Us.” His growl on that word fans the heat filling my body.
“I’ll admit, there’s a part of me that likes it. I don’t know which part, probably the one that wanted this hoodie—”
“What hoodie?”
Shit. I didn’t realise that was a secret.
“It’s just one Kane gave me,” I say quickly.
He laughs softly and I pull at the baggy fabric, suddenly feeling overheated.
“Employ me, give me a contract, pay me. Please. That’s all I want—”
“Jasmine, please can you be honest with me.” His voice switches into something firmer, more controlling, and my spine straightens. “Tell me why this is important to you. Just, help me understand.”
I chew my lip, but without him physically here, it’s easier to speak. “I want something that’s mine. Something with my name on it. Something that’ll give me freedom and make me feel more—”
“In control.”
I scowl. “Can you stop cutting off my sentences?”
“Why? Annoyed that I’m ending them correctly?”
I hear the smile in his voice, that little curl at the end of his words. And I picture him, glasses crooked, tattooed fingers adjusting them, mouth quirking into something infuriatingly attractive.
“Thank you, for being honest.” The thrill that praise gives me is dangerous. “I’ll get you a contract, Jasmine, and a bank account. It’ll be done by tomorrow.”
I let out a long breath and lean back against the wall between us. Somehow, I know he’s closer.
“Thank you.”
“We said anything, Jasmine. I suggest, next time, you think bigger.”
I smirk. “What would you suggest, hmm?”
“Anything, anything you desire.”
“A castle.”
“Done.”
I scoff-laugh. “A district.”
“Which one?”
“Stop.” I laugh again. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“The Shifter District? Arcane? Elemental? You want the entire Entertainment District? I can have it by morning. Tonight, if you’re so inclined.”
I sit up straighter, brows pulling together. His voice, his tone, it’s not teasing anymore. Not entirely.
“Or somewhere new?” he continues. “Somewhere untouched where we could start again, make our mark, build something just for us.”
My heart races at the earnest tone of his elaborate suggestions, all sinking through the wall and into me.
“Is that what you desire, Ezekial?” My voice is quieter, my skin buzzing with heat as I stare into the darkness of my room, and imagine the way his fingers would feel tracing over my spine.
“You know what I desire, ana mea.”
My breath stutters.
I’m suddenly sweltering, squirming on the bed as I pull up the hoodie, my fingers brushing the inside of my bare thigh.
“What do those words mean?” I whisper.
“There’s no direct translation.”
My fingertips trail higher. “Tell me the closest.”
“All there is,” he murmurs, like he’s beside me, like his lips are touching my ear. “Everything that matters.” My fingers reach my underwear, stroking the edge. “All I’ll ever want or need. You’re everything I desire.”
I slip my fingers underneath the damp fabric, teasing myself.
“You hardly know me,” I breathe, parting my legs, slowly pushing one finger inside.
“But every day, I learn more. I want you more. I’ll never get enough.” Is his breathing heavier?
I might be imagining it, like how I’m imagining it’s his fingers tediously moving in and out, his thumb circling my clit.
“Tell me what you’ve learnt.” I can barely speak, losing myself to the sensation as I increase my speed and add a second finger.
“You’re selfless, almost to a fault, because you tend to think of others before yourself.” I imagine his lips kissing my neck while speaking in soft rumbles. “You’re fiercely independent, strong-headed, some might say stubborn.” He chuckles softly, and that sound sends goosebumps all over.
Shivering, I keep touching myself, knees parted and hitting the bed as I prop the phone between my shoulder and ear. I use my other hand to grasp my breast, all the while imagining it’s his.
“You’re sharp, quick-witted, so damn evasive when you want to be, and your manipulation skills… they’re unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. Before I even understood what you were to me, you could have bent me to your will without a second thought.”
Even in the middle of bringing myself to a climax, I laugh. It’s breathless, hardly there, but it increases the warmth permeating through the wall.
I’m picturing his fingers going deeper, his lips dragging over my jaw, my nipple being brushed by him as I moan—
Fuck.
“Jasmine…”
Fuck!
I stop moving, stop breathing, fingers still inside me.
“Jasmine,” he says again, but sterner, darker—demanding.
But I can’t speak. Won’t.
I pull my hand away from my breast, out from beneath my hoodie, ready to end—
“Don’t you dare hang up.”
His threat rolls through me, sending more heat everywhere. But I still consider it. I could end the call now, pretend this never happened—
“Do. Not. Hang. Up.”
There’s darkness in the command now, so thick and infectious it curls into the room and the shadows flicker.
“We’re not finished,” he growls, “and until we are, you’re going to keep talking.”
Holy fuck.
I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can even formulate words.
“You can do it,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, so deep and deliciously dirty that I know he’s aware of what’s happening on this side of the wall. “Tell me… what have you learnt about me?”
About him? That I want to smash through the wall and drag him down to my—
“Come on,” he breathes. “Be good for me. Tell me.”
Fucking hell.
He’s no idea what those words are doing to me. Dirty, soft praise mixed with commands, while we pretend I’m not fingering myself to his voice.
“You’re bossy,” I whisper, my fingers already moving.
He chuckles, the sound rushing all over me, encouraging me to circle my clit. “That’s it. What else, huh?”
“You’re selfless too, and brave. You feel a lot, all the time, but that’s what makes you so kind.” I could be speaking another language at this point, words barely passing my lips as they tumble out. “You’re a protector, a fighter, but you’re also possessive.”
A soft growl rumbles through the phone, and I nearly come on the spot. I’m so close and, somehow, he knows, and knows exactly what I need to get me there.
“Yeah? You think I’m possessive, ana mea?” His voice a sharp whisper. “You’ve no fucking idea.”
I go from imagining his hands to… feeling them. I can feel him—
“Let go for me.”
He’s in my head.
When did I drop my mental wall? Probably after the first whimper… And all my lewd imaginings suddenly feel incredibly real.
These are my hands touching me, my fingers, but I feel him.
“That’s it, let me help.”
I moan, I don’t even try to hide it, because I somehow feel his lips beside my ear, his hard, warm chest against my back instead of this wall.
“You need something more, don’t you?”
Without words, without prompt, there’s someone else here. In my room? My mind? I don’t fucking care anymore.
So when the shadowy version of Kane appears in the corner, I know it isn’t really him… but the sight of this dark apparition watching me, those cat-like eyes flickering over my flushed face, down between my legs.
“You… asshole,” I gasp.
Ezekial’s laughter is even deadlier in my mind, and to punish me further, two more figures appear.
I whimper, I can’t help it, and he hisses. “Atta girl, that’s it, let me hear you. Let me hear every little noise.”
Slamming a hand over my mouth, I try to muffle the half-moan, half-shriek that escapes when I come, but then I’m lost to the sensation. Trembling around my fingers, eyes falling shut, the soft sounds tumble out—just like he asked.
Until all that remains are our breaths.
When I open my eyes again, the shadowy apparitions are gone. So is his imaginary touch.
“You’ll have your contract by the end of tomorrow.” Not in my mind, but the words are still a wicked rasp.
And as I come down from my orgasm, I realise there’s spikes of arousal lingering. Was he… did he…?
“Good night, ana mea,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”
The call ends, and I’m immediately flooded with embarrassment.
I just fingered myself while on the phone to Ezekial. Lord Ezekial. While he went into my mind, made me feel him, made me see…
Fucking hell.
But why was it so… liberating? Knowing I could hide behind our little charade? When I see him tomorrow, the idea of imagining all the things he’ll want to say, while I deny and pretend it never happened… until he tries to coerce me into admitting it, and the ways he’ll coerce me...
I’m getting wet again, when I’ve literally just finished. I need a shower. A freezing cold, ‘get your head straight’ shower and a good old-fashioned mirror-talk.
But first, I grab my phone again.
Me: Our conversation stays between us. Got it?
Ezekial: Yes, ana mea. Anything you need.
I should never have texted him. His warmth seeps through the words, the wall, curling around me, coaxing my fingers back to my thighs…
Ezekial: One word and I’ll be there. You won’t even have time to regret it.
My eyes go wide. How the hell did he know…
Ezekial: I can make that ache go away.
Ezekial: No one will know.
I toss the phone onto the bed and shoot to my feet, glaring at the wall like that’s the problem, before rushing to the bathroom. The much safer, and colder room.
But when I’m in the shower, steam clouding the glass, I swear I hear a low, satisfied groan…