Overrule （v.） – Scarlett
OVERRULE (V.):
TO REJECT AN ATTORNEY'S OBJECTION TO A QUESTION TO A WITNESS OR ADMISSION OF EVIDENCE.
SCARLETT
Ido my best to keep my head low as I move through the party.
Thankfully, most of the people my father invited are casual business acquaintances and feel no need to strike up a conversation with me.
Hell, even my brothers have avoided saying anything other than “Hey there, Scar,” to me whenever we’ve crossed paths this weekend. I’m not sure if it’s because they’ve seen my scars and don’t want to ask questions, or if they’re too wrapped up in their own lives to care.
Pushing my way through the kitchen, I stop walking when I spot my mother escorting a group of women toward the pantry.
“I had Lucas make this custom for me.” She smiles at them. “Our other homes had grand walk-ins, but there was never enough space for me to sit down and really take it in, you know?”
“Oh, wonderful!” “I’ll have to tell Brad!” “That is beyond spacious!”
They pay her with her favorite currency of vapid compliments.
Her eyes suddenly meet mine, and her smile falters for a few seconds before her lips curve back into place.
“Oh, come here, Scarlett!” She waves me over.
For a moment, I contemplate walking away like I didn’t hear her, but her friends are already looking in my direction.
I put on a fake smile that rivals hers as I walk over to join them.
“My contact at Dior pulled this vintage dress out for her,” she says, tugging the fabric. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Very!” “It’s vintage!” “Did the shades come with it?”
“Oh, no,” I say, looking at my mom. “She picked these out for me. Would you like to try them on?”
My mother shoots a dagger at me, but a laugh escapes her lips.
“Scarlett had a pretty nasty fall down the dunes yesterday morning,” she says. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes, it was pretty nasty…”
“It’s why she’s wearing those, but I have quite the collection in the guest house if you ladies would like to see?”
My presence is quickly forgotten as she leads them away, and I can only hope that she gets tipsy enough tonight to forget we even spoke.
Continuing my route, I take the servants’ way through the grand rooms and finally make my way upstairs.
I knock on Jameson’s door, but he doesn’t answer.
I knock again.
Nothing.
Twisting the doorknob, I push it open and lock it behind me.
“Hello?” I step inside and move past the living room and into the bedroom.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his suit jacket neatly draped across a chair, and his dress shirt unbuttoned to expose his chest.
“Hey,” I manage. “I had to make sure no one saw me come here, so that’s why it took me longer than ten minutes.”
He says nothing.
He just stares at me.
“Are you staying the entire weekend or leaving early?” I ask.
Nothing.
“Jameson, you’re the one who asked me to come up here.” I cross my arms. “Are you planning to talk to me or just ignore me like everyone else?”
“I was planning to make you feel better like you said…” He stands up and walks over to me. “If talking falls under that, we can do that, too…”
He slides his hand through my hair, gently pulling out the giant clip and letting my hair fall to my shoulders.
He presses a kiss against my forehead before taking off my shades. Running a finger against the small cuts on my left eye, he lets out a sigh.
“She’s only hit me like this a few other times,” I say. “It’s not child abuse, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not.” His eyes meet mine.
“Well, when everything heals, I’ll allow you to kiss me one last time.”
“Come again?”
“I think I’ll insist on some ‘space’ after this party,” I say. “So you can see how much it hurts. And then, I might allow you to have sex with me again, so...”
“So, what?”
“So, you can’t have sex with me right now.”
He lets out a low laugh and presses a kiss against the base of my neck, making me instantly regret saying the words. He slides a hand against the back of my dress and pulls down the zipper.
The fabric shifts and he pushes my straps down, forcing the dress to fall to the floor in a pool of lace.
I’m not wearing a bra, and the slight arch of his brow makes me blush red all over.
He slides his hand against the front of my panties and yanks them off in one smooth motion.
“I know you heard what I said about the sex,” I barely manage as he blows a kiss against my shoulder.
“I heard you, Scarlett…” He sucks my skin between his teeth. “So, we’re not going to have sex.”
“We’re not?”
“No.” He bites down on my skin until I moan, until he’s certain he’s marked his territory. Then he steps back and grabs the back of a chair, pulling it closer.
“I’m going to sit in this chair, and then you’re going to sit on my face while I eat your pussy until you come,” he says, “until you feel better…”
I swallow as he plops down and pulls me between his legs.
Before I can react, he grabs my legs and guides me to climb on him, until I’m literally sitting atop his face.
Without warning, he tightens his grip around my waist and darts his tongue against me, rendering me useless within minutes.
I grabbed his hair to gain a sense of balance, but he owns all the control. His kisses come hard and fast, then slow and sensual, and he sucks my clit into his mouth each time I moan in pleasure.
I come apart with his name on my lips, his hand marks imprinted on my sides.
He gently lets me down, and then positions me on the bed.
Grabbing a condom from his pants, he quickly rolls it on before climbing over me.
He slowly slides into me—letting me feel every inch before he pulls back and returns to me. Staring into my eyes with every stroke, he’s handling me much softer than before, more sensual than before.
“Scarlett…” he says my name, and I struggle to utter his.
I want this again and again, and I only want it with him.
The words “Don’t ever leave me again,” are on my lips, but I know he’ll think I’m too attached, so I bite my tongue.
He suddenly grabs my hands and holds them above my head, burying himself even deeper.
I writhe under him, unable to hold back a scream.
“Shhh…” He sucks a nipple between his teeth, making the pleasure even more intense. “Unless you want everyone to hear what I’m doing to you…”
“I can’t…” I breathe. “I—” His hand covers my mouth, muffling a scream that I’m sure everyone downstairs would’ve heard if he didn’t.
I’m trembling so hard the mattress shakes under me, and Jameson leans closer and whispers into my ear.
“I won’t,” he says. “I fucking won’t…”
“Huh?” I struggle to catch my breath. “You won’t what?”
“Leave you again…” He stiffens seconds later, biting back a groan as he finds his release.
He remains inside me as he comes down, and he runs a hand against my collarbone.
“I hate parties, Scarlett,” he whispers. “Especially weekend ones like this…I’d like to go back to New York City tonight.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I understand.”
“With you,” he says. “You should leave here too, and come home with me.”
“Until you decide you need time and space again?”
“No.” He kisses my shoulder. “We’ll figure ‘us’ out.”
“But you said—”
“Stop talking before I realize what I’m saying.” He slowly pulls out of me. “Get dressed so we can go home.”