Chapter Eight
Sarah
Olive is acting weird, which honestly wouldn't be that abnormal because weird is her permanent state of existence, except she hasn't asked me about my date a single time.
I'm not sure if that means she knows what happened with Alex, if it means she knows what's happening between me and Jasper, or if she's simply busy plotting the next disaster she's going to drag me into. Either way, I'm nervous.
By the time Dirty Book Club starts, I'm sweating bullets.
"We're gathered here today," Jazz says, stepping into the middle of the reading area with a wicked smirk, "to discuss Spankotron 3000."
"Where does she find these?" Loralei, the town librarian, groans beside me, shaking her head.
"Don't ask," I whisper. "Her greatest joy in life is finding the most unhinged smut she can and spreading it through town like a porn fairy."
Loralei giggles, clamping a hand over her mouth when Jazz whips around to look at her.
"Does anyone want to get us started?"
Loralei frantically shakes her head, trying to hide behind me.
"I will," Mrs. Dixon says, primly adjusting her skirt. "I'd like to know where to get me one of these Spankotron machines."
A chorus of agreement goes up from several of the other members of the club, earning a hysterical giggle from Loralei.
"I bet I could make one," Olive says, skimming through the book. "I mean, I don't know how to turn it into a man, but I could make one that does the spanking parts."
"Really?" Mrs. Dixon looks intrigued by the idea. "And you think it could do…all of that?" She fans the book for emphasis.
"I mean…yeah?" Olive shrugs. "They make all kinds of sex machines. Why not one that spanks your ass and pulls your hair while you ride it off into the sunset?"
"Jesus Christ," Loralei hides her face in her hands, her body shaking with laughter. "We're never meeting at the library. I'll be fired on the spot."
"You should give it a try, dear," Mrs. Braithewaite encourages Olive, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Women ought to have options, you know."
"I agree!" Jazz cries, shooting a triumphant look at Lilah, who pretends not to see it.
"Maybe I will," my best friend says, grinning at the elderly lady who absolutely has no business trying to talk her into this. She's seventy!
Mrs. Braithewaite actually winks at her before Loralei claps her hands, getting everyone back on track. At least, she tries. But let's be honest. We're discussing a book about a woman falling in love with a spanking machine. There is only one track here. It leads straight to hell.
At least the place will be full of readers just like us, though.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, smiling when I see Jasper's name.
Jasper: I hope you're having fun at Dirty Book Club, baby girl. Don't forget to call when it's over so I can start dinner for you.
My heart flutters. God, he's so damn good to me. Even before we slept together, he was good to me. Maybe I'm an idiot because I always just assumed it was because I was Olive's friend. I never, ever let myself dream that it was for any other reason.
But I fell for him, partly because of the way he's always treated me. Even when I froze up and didn't speak, even when I stuttered through every sentence or fled the room, he was good to me.
When you've never had that, and suddenly you do, all you want to do is glut yourself on it.
Me: Book Club is interesting. I promise I won't forget. I think we're almost done.
Jasper: What book are you discussing tonight?
Me: Spankotron 3000.
Jasper: … Do I even want to know?
I bite my lip, laughing to myself.
Me: Probably not. It's about a woman who falls for a spanking machine she buys from a sex shop.
Jasper. JFC. This is a book?
Me: Blame Jazz. She picks what we read.
Jasper: Did you like it?
Me: It was interesting.
Jasper: Yeah? What parts?
I squirm a little, not sure I want to answer that. I think he knows it because three little dots appear before I can even decide what to say.
Jasper: Was it thought of being pleasured and punished at the same time?
Me: Yes.
Jasper: You want to feel Daddy's hand on your ass while he's making you come, baby girl?
I bite my lip, my whole body clenching with desire.
Me: Yes.
Jasper: Good girl.
"Who has you smiling like that, dear?" Mrs. Braithewaite asks, her voice popping my little bubble of bliss.
I startle, glancing up to find everyone staring at me. My face catches fire. I quickly shove my phone back into my pocket, my gaze darting to Olive.
She's watching me intently, this terrifying little smile on her face.
"Um…I…wrong number," I squeak.
"She's a dirty liar," Jazz says with a laugh. "She had a date last night, and she's going to see him again."
"Good for you!" Mrs. Braithewaite cries softly. "You're young and beautiful. You should be out there dating. Let Olive build these dirty machines for old ladies like me."
"You aren't old, Mrs. Braithewaite," Jazz says. "You're experienced."
"Child, please," Mrs. Braithewaite cackles. "I earned every year, every wrinkle, every scar, and every memory that goes with them." Her gaze lands on me, burning through me. "Go earn yours, sweet girl."
Go earn mine.
I don't think I've ever done that. Not even once. But…I want to do it. I want it so damn bad.
My gaze flickers to Olive, guilt whispering through me.
"Yes, ma'am," I whisper anyway.
"Damn, you look good, baby girl," Jasper growls, wrenching my door open as soon as I pull up in his driveway. He unlatches my belt, hauling me out into his arms.
"Hi," I whisper, looping my arms around his neck.
His lips come down on mine, a bite to his kiss that sets my soul on fire. I whimper into his mouth, wrapping my body around his.
He slams my door, planting one hand on my ass to anchor me to his hard body before he turns, storming toward the front door.
"Missed you today," he growls, kissing me again before we're even over the threshold.
I smell food cooking, but it's his scent intoxicating me. He's everywhere, seeping into every pore. I bury my face in his throat, my tongue flicking out to taste his skin.
"Fuck," he groans, pressing me up against the door. His hand on my ass grips me tighter, squeezing. "You're playing with fire, baby girl."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, but I can't stop tasting him. I tilt my head up, skimming my lips along his throat. My tongue flicks over the pulse pounding like a drum beneath his ear.
His hand slides into my hair, craning my head back further. His gray eyes are dark, his expression searing with intensity.
"Don't you ever apologize for making my cock this hard," he rasps, his forehead touching mine. "You take what you need from me, whenever you need it. It's yours."
"Daddy," I whimper, the only thing I can think to say. It's the only word I know that comes close to encompassing the way I feel right now—on fire, desperate, safe, and so wanted I think I might crawl out of my own skin. There is no other word that holds all of that. There's just him, just…Daddy.
That word means feeling safe enough in his arms to let myself want like this.
It means trusting him enough to let myself fall into it.
And it means believing that I can be strong enough to hold onto it with both hands, regardless of my fears, regardless of my anxieties, regardless of anything. I can be strong enough.
The way he looks at me—like I'm his whole world—tells me that it was the right word. He lifts me away from the door, carrying me the five steps to the couch.
I think he's going to lay me down, but he doesn't. Instead, he slides me to my feet, then spins me.
"Bend over the arm, baby girl," he croons against my ear, his body plastered to mine from behind. "Lift your ass high in the air for Daddy."
My body trembles as I obey, my hands digging into the cushions as I fall forward, stretching over the plush arm of the couch. I arch, lifting my ass high.
"Good girl," he murmurs, running his hand down my back, all the way to my ass. "Stay just like that for me. Don't move."
I don't. I'm not even sure I breathe as he tugs my skirt and panties down, letting them pool at my feet. I know he can tell how wet I am. The evidence is right there in front of him, soaking through my panties, making a mess of my thighs.
One hand slips between my legs, his calloused fingertips dancing upward.
"Spread wider for me, baby girl," he says, his voice soft.
I love the way he speaks to me. I know he's used to barking commands, but he never does that with me, not really.
Even when he's telling me what to do, he's sweet about it, patient.
I inch my legs apart, wider and then wider.
"Right there," he groans. "Stay just like that."
"Yes, Daddy."
His free hand runs down the small of my back onto my ass, and I shiver. The weight of it feels so good right there.
"Jasper!" I shout, bucking against him when he moves all at once, annihilating me with one hard smack to my cheek and his hand pressing between my legs at the same time.
The pleasure is intense and immediate, like my body doesn't know which sensation to focus on. They bleed together, creating a harmony that only grows when he smacks me again, two fingers thrusting inside me.
"Good girl. Let me hear you, baby," he grits out. "Give me that sweet voice."
I sob his name—both of them—trying like hell to stay still.
It's impossible, though. There's no stopping the way I rock back against him, eager for the pleasure ripping through me every time his big hand lands against my ass or his fingers curl inside me.
There's no stopping the way I cry out for him, either, begging for more.
My knees shake, my body falling forward until my face is pressed to the cushions. I'm helpless then, unable to push against him. All I can do is take it—every hard smack, every wicked press of his fingers, every gritty word of praise he breathes for me.
"Daddy!" I wail, shattering so completely, the whole world goes black for a moment. There's nothing left but euphoria, coursing through my veins in place of blood.
When I come back to myself, I'm on his lap with his arms around me. His hands drift across my ass, rubbing away the way they sting.
"There you are," he breathes, his lips at my temple. "You look beautiful when you're crying for your daddy, baby girl."
I choke on his name, burying my face in his throat. It's only then that I realize what he means. My face is wet with tears. Not the sad kind or the ugly kind, but a kind that feels brand new and life-sustaining.
"You did so good for me." He tips my head back, kissing all over my face. "I'm so proud of you."
I just whimper and cling to him, letting him wreck me this way, too. It feels even more perfect than any other way he's wrecked me, like he's stealing entire tracts of my soul with every word he says and every soft touch.
I don't think he knows that they've been his all along. I don't even know how to tell him that.
Eventually, he pulls back, searching my face. "Are you okay?"
"Yes."
He cups my cheek, smiling at me. "Did you like it?"
I nod, blushing.
"Use your words, baby girl," he murmurs, brushing my bottom lip with his thumb. "You know how much I love hearing your secrets."
"Why?" I blurt and then cringe. "I mean…why do you like to hear them?"
"Because I see them in your eyes, baby girl. I know how much you're carrying, and I want to help you do it," he says. "And, selfishly, because I spent a long time thinking you were afraid to speak to me. I thought you were afraid of me. I fucking hated it. But it was never that, was it?"
"No," I whisper, feeling like I might shake apart. "I n-never hated you. I just…" I bite my lip, peeking up at him. "I was scared to let you see."
"See what?"
How much I've always loved you.
"Me," I say instead.
"I've always seen you, Sarah. It just took me a while to realize that I wasn't seeing you through my own dreams but through yours." His lips brush my forehead again. "It was right there in front of me the whole time, but when you're afraid to hope, sometimes, it makes you blind."
"I think I know how that feels."
His lips curve into a smile, and I know I'm not going to survive him. There's not a chance that's going to happen. He's going to own every single piece of my soul.