Hard Lessons

by Jasmin Quinn

  He set his glass down and shifted over to her, pinching her chin between his fingers. “Not like that pretty baby. Remember who I am. Remember why you’re here.”

  Mira wanted to bat his hand away, slap his face, rake him with her nails. She didn’t feel afraid of him anymore. In fact, she thought she might own him with her submission. She had a small understanding of why a woman might submit to a man this way. It gave her power she wouldn’t have otherwise. She dropped her eyes with that thought. She’d play his game, and he unknowingly would play hers.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He let her go and moved away, back to his end of the couch. “Before this weekend, when’s the last time you were fucked. Tell me about it, about him.”

  Mira breathed deeply, pulling the wineglass to her and took a big swallow. It settled in her belly and warmed her. Her eyes lingered on a painting across the room; not Modigliani but like him. Then she wondered where that thought had come from? She was no connoisseur of art. She barely had time to read the Saturday morning comics. The last time she’d been fucked?

  “Maybe six months ago…” she said softly. “It was just… a casual relationship.”

  “Six months?” Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Hard to believe,” he murmured to himself, then to Mira he said, “Who was it? Tell me his name, tell me what he looked like.”

  Mira glanced sharply at him. “Why? So you can kneecap him?”

  Jack laughed, hard and genuine. It was incongruent with who he was – dark, serious, menacing. Not someone who might laugh or enjoy a fun game of anything. Not frivolous. “I’ve never kneecapped anyone before in my life. I’m not even sure I know what it means to kneecap someone.”

  Mira flushed. “Then why?”

  “Just his first name if that’ll make you feel better. This is your opportunity to torture me – I won’t like hearing about the other men in your life.”

  Mira realized she wouldn’t like hearing about the other women in Jack’s life either, but she kept that thought to herself. “His name was Raoul.”

  “Mira, you have a tell when you lie, did you know that?”

  “What?”

  “I can tell when you’re lying to me. Besides, even without it, I know his name isn’t Raoul. You wouldn’t fuck a Raoul, or a Chipper, or a Toby, even if they were hot.”

  Mira rolled her eyes a little. “Okay, his name wasn’t Raoul, it was Joey.” Then she grinned, she couldn’t help it. She liked his playful side. She’d never seen it before. He laughed then reached out with his foot and gave her a soft kick in the ass.

  “Mira, shall I start thinking of a new punishment for you?”

  “His name was Nick.” She glanced at him then dropped her eyes. He wasn’t looking at her anyway. He was studying the whiskey in his glass, but he was listening intently. She drew in a breath. “I met him in New York. He’s a prosecutor and I was asked to be his second in court because I had prosecuted the accused before, here in Vegas.”

  She paused and Jack said softly, “Keep talking. Tell me what he looked like. What attracted him to you?”

  She lingered on his question. “I’m not sure I was attracted to him, at least initially, but we worked well together. Really well. It’s rare that happens with prosecutors. They’re either jaded, too eager or too independent. We all want to run the show.”

  She glanced at him. He was staring at her intently. She wasn’t answering his questions. “He was about six feet tall, maybe 40, maybe older. His hair was greying, but he was nice enough looking. Smiled a lot. Was really good in court, dynamic, everyone seemed to warm to him.”

  “Including you.”

  Mira nodded. This was torture. Why was he making her do this? “On the first day of court, I sat beside him, passing him notes, conferring. Watching him as he charmed the judge, the jury, the onlookers. I was learning a lot from him. From his style. After court was adjourned for the day, we went back to his office and worked until 8 or so, then dinner.” She stopped, took a drink of her wine then looked over at Jack. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  Jack nodded and flicked his hand at her to keep talking.

  “After dinner, he drove me back to my hotel. I invited him up to my room for a drink.”

  Jack took a breath. “You made the first move.” His voice was flat, even. Mira didn’t look at his face.

  “Maybe, but it was pretty clear through dinner where it was going.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Have a drink with him.”

  Mira thought back to the night. It was heady, something she’d not ever done. Picked up a man, took him back to her hotel room and fucked him. “No,” she admitted. “We didn’t get to the drink.”

  “What happened?”

  She drained her wine glass and looked over at Jack. “I need another.”

  He nodded and handed his glass to her as she brushed by. “Me too.”

  She brought the replenished drinks back, handed Jack his scotch, then settled herself back on the couch. She took a small drink, then another. She didn’t want to tell him about it, but he toed her softly in her thigh to remind her that he was in charge.

  She licked her lips as she looked down at the wine glass cradled between her fingers. “We took our clothes off.”

  “Did he take yours off?”

  Mira shook her head. “No, I took mine off. He took his off. It was a scramble. We were clumsy. I hadn’t been with anyone for a while and I wanted this. Something anonymous, something that would only last a week. I could leave when the trial was over, go home. Forget about it.”

  Jack raised his chin and studied her through half-closed eyes. “And was it forgettable? A whole week of fucking with a man you bonded with?”

  Mira bit her lower lip. “It was just one night. He was married.”

  “Mira, I’m shocked, and maybe even a little disappointed.” But his little grin told her he was teasing. She didn’t find it funny.

  “I didn’t know until after.” She wasn’t a prude, but she wouldn’t have slept with him had she known. “He never told me up-front. Never wore a ring.” It wasn’t until it was over, when he rolled off her to get dressed, when she asked him to stay that he told her he had to go home to his wife.

  “So how was the fucking? Who was on top? Did you suck his dick, did he go down on you? Did he make you come?”

  Mira tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I… it…” she bit her lip and glanced at Jack. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because it’ll piss me off, Mira, that you fucked another man, that you came in his arms. And then it will be playtime again and I’ll feel energized.”

  A sudden realization swept across Mira. She couldn’t beat Jack, she couldn’t win even if she played his game. Because his rules were twisted and she was not. She couldn’t keep up. “Then there’s no point in me telling you, is there? Since you’ll be pissed off either way.”

  Jack grinned ferally and shifted himself next to Mira, taking her wine glass and setting it on the table next to his. He leaned into her. “Let me tell you about the last woman I fucked.” His voice was hard, steely, a sharp edge of anger to it. “She was nothing like you. She was just there for me because I needed a woman in my bed. I chose her and she came to me. She was practically gushing, that’s how wet she was. Jack Creed chose her, this little bimbo. She thought maybe she’d get to stay by my side, sleep in my bed, eat breakfast with me. Poor little cunt. Not a clue that all I wanted was my cock in her pussy.” He said all this as he stared hard into Mira’s eyes.

  “I don’t remember her name, I don’t remember what she looked like. I don’t even know if she came. She did what I told her to and left when I told her to.” He pulled Mira towards him, his hand sliding under her bathrobe, squeezing her breast, fingers pinching her nipple. “That was about six weeks ago and all the while I was fucking her, you know what I was thinking?”

  Mira shuddered. She didn’t want to hear this. She did
n’t want Jack caressing her while talking about the last time he fucked a woman. It made her angry, but when she didn’t respond to his question, he twisted her nipple, hard, making her cry out, causing a dampness between her thighs. “No. I don’t want to know, Jack.”

  “I was thinking of you, baby. I was thinking about you underneath me.” In one swift motion, he swung her around on the sofa, pushed her down on her back and forced his hips between her thighs. He loomed over her, his eyes dark and angry. “You are like a fucking drug for me. From the day I laid eyes on you, a baby lawyer in a grown-up suit, that was it for me. I was hooked.”

  Mira almost cried. She remembered the pain of his desertion, the humiliation. It made her stronger in the long run because her hurt was so deep that she buried herself in her work and her studies. Drove herself relentlessly. No time for friends, no time for men, no time for sex. It made her who she was today, and now the bastard was fucking with her again. “Get off me,” she grunted, heaving herself at him, trying to wriggle out from under him. Throwing her fists at him. “You seduced me, a kid, you made me love you. And then you cut me off at the knees.”

  He caught her hands and stretched them over her head, holding her wrists with one hand, the weight of his body pressing on her, limiting her ability to struggle. “Until this weekend, I haven’t had a good fuck in five years. Every woman I’ve been with, Mira, I’ve thought of you. Every goddamned time. There’s been no peace, no respite. No woman I’ve known could come close to being you.”

  He kissed her savagely as he fumbled at his pants with his other hand, pulling his cock free, settling between her legs and then entering her hard and swift.

  She was wet, she knew she was. Anger and shame at how her body still wanted him flooded her. After all he’d done to her, said to her, she still wanted him. “Go to hell, Jack. It was your fucking decision!”

  “You think it was easy for me?” His voice was raised, terrifying, as his granite eyes punched her, his fingers unknotting her sash and forcing her robe open even as he thrust inside her. “You think that I wanted it to end the way it did?”

  Mira brought her knees up, wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him deeper into her. “Then why did you?” she shouted back at him. “Why the fuck did you marry someone else and tell me about it in the papers!”

  He let her wrists loose as he gripped her head and savaged her mouth, his lips bruising hers, his tongue sweeping her mouth, fucking it like his cock was fucking her pussy. Her body was quaking and her orgasm rocked through her, legs locked around Jack’s back, rigid with the tension of it. She cried out as she yanked his hair, holding him to her while she plummeted. Jack’s breathing was raspy, erratic, his fingers digging into her shoulders as he fell on her. He shouted his orgasm, shouted her name, and then groaned as he stilled, laying on her, their heartbeats fusing. Then he said, his voice still hard, still angry, “Because… because… it was the only way. You were too innocent. I would have ruined you.”

  Eleven

  Mira wanted to go home. She wanted to be in her bathroom, in her tub, not his. She felt ripped apart, raw, bleeding on the inside. She was that 23-year-old girl again. The one who let a dark, dangerous man seduce her, the one who believed in love and happy ever after. The one that was so deeply hurt by his sudden and public desertion of her that she never found room in her heart for another man. Her world shredded back then; it was shredding now. Five years later, he still had a hold over her and now, he was taking her back.

  Or was he?

  It didn’t matter that her body was responding to him, to everything he was doing to her. She was here at his whim. Five years ago, she was there at his whim, and then at his whim, she wasn’t. She was replaced with someone who, if she believed what Jack told her, was harder, better in his world. And he did it to break the ties with her. Brutally. The only way he knew how to do business.

  Now she was here, being seduced by him again. Older, wiser, more jaded. But he wanted something from her this time. Not just her body, he also wanted a way out for his brother. He was using her, manipulating her. He had her emotions knotted up, her body on fire. Only her mind, confused, illogical, was protesting. She hated him, fucking hated him! But she also didn’t. If he came to her now, told her to get out of his tub and crawl to him, she would. She was losing this battle. She wanted to go home.

  Twelve

  At the end of the day, Jack put Mira back into the playroom. He tucked her into the four-poster bed, under the black duvet, passionately kissed her goodnight and left. He’d barely spoken to her after they’d fucked on the couch. He couldn’t. He was feeling out of control and so was she. He hadn’t anticipated this. Hadn’t thought that she was going to rock his world the same way he planned to rock hers.

  He hadn’t intended to reveal his vulnerabilities to her, but it was his own fucking fault. Thinking that he could just sit there and listen while she told him about fucking another man. It outraged him, he felt betrayed, bitter, which was unexpected and stupid. He’d dumped her in one of the cruelest ways a man could dump a woman. Publicly and without warning. He wasn’t lying to her when he said he would have ruined her. She was so young back then, idealistic, a rising star. Her talent overshadowed her lack of experience. He could see it, the partners in his law firm could see it. They wanted her too. In the end, neither of them got her.

  Marrying Isabelle was a cruel alternative. The thief was beautiful, breathtaking. He had no trouble taking her to his bed, making her his wife. Isabelle was not much older than Mira, but she had lived so much more. She understood his world and bent to it easily. She understood Jack and who he was, at least for a while. But like any marriage of convenience, and he knew that’s what it was for both of them, it tarnished quickly. The sex was just sex, no tenderness, no love, no lingering afterward. And when they weren’t in bed, they hardly spoke, unless he needed her, either on his arm or on a job.

  But Isabelle still had a piece of his heart. He thought it was because they were a lot alike and she could give as good as she got, in bed and when they were battling it out. But Mira, yesterday and today, beautifully submissive, responding to him the way she did, made his knees weak. She was everything, and she proved that when they came together on the couch. When she snarled at him even as they fucked, the angry sex thrilling because it had meaning. She was furious at him for his betrayal, hurt, afraid to give him a second chance.

  Jack walked to his room, stood by his bed, staring at it as he undid the buttons on his shirt. Big, empty, lonely. She was right to be afraid. He was going to betray her again.

  Thirteen

  Sunday – Day Three

  Mira opened her eyes slowly. She didn’t know the time, whether it was morning or night. She didn’t feel rested, but more sleep was not going to make a difference. All she’d done during the night was toss and turn. She was too tense, too unsettled. She was in the playroom again, alone in the king-sized bed. After Jack fucked her on the couch, after he confessed to her, he left her alone. He’d showed his vulnerability and that made him angry. He didn’t like losing control, didn’t like giving up his weaknesses to anyone, especially not her. She didn’t know if she could believe him. Not now anyway. She felt like she was losing herself. She needed to go home, needed her space from him. She couldn’t think when he was near.

  He didn’t take her to his bed. She thought he might, but the fuck on the couch, the angry sex left them both raw. After, she drank red wine, he drank more scotch. They had muted conversation over dinner, then he gave her access to the main bathroom to soak in the tub, do what she wished. Later he kissed her hard on her mouth, tucked her into the bed she was laying in and left.

  That was painful too. Him leaving her. She hated him for it, hated herself for wanting him to stay. She cried herself to sleep, woke up with a nightmare too elusive to chase, fell into another fitful doze. And now, well now she was awake, alone and locked in. She sat up in the bed and swung her feet to the floor, flicking on the little lamp on th
e night table. Her body felt the tug of Jack’s use of her yesterday and she winced. Sunday today, she thought. One day left. What would happen today?

  She had another shower. Two, maybe three yesterday, two baths. She was losing count. She didn’t need to shower this morning, but it was automatic. It’s what she did. Shower, brush her teeth, put on her make-up, get dressed. Two out of four wasn’t bad, she thought as she left the bathroom bare-faced, kimono wrapped around her.

  She walked across the floor of the playroom, the hardwood cool on the bottoms of her feet. Her fear of this room was fading and yet, her mind still rebelled against the desire to have such a room. But she kept her eyes to the door, didn’t linger on the bench he used to fuck her that first night, the small mattress he chained her to. If she did, the heat would rise in her, and she didn’t want that right now. She wanted to be clear-headed and not distracted when she used her hour with Jack this morning. As she reached the door, she tried the handle. It turned easily. Her hand shot back like it had been burned and her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t expected it to be unlocked. She wondered if Jack forgot. It was a hard evening for both of them, because he wasn’t talking to her and she didn’t know what to do about it.

  She twisted the knob and pulled the door open gingerly. Some light filtered through the apartment, enough to tell her it was early morning. Very early. The apartment was eerily quiet. She peered through the small opening, listened until she was sure no one was moving, slipped through and shut the door softly behind her. Her footsteps were whispers on the hardwood, but even so, they sounded thunderous. As she approached the living room, the couch where they’d fucked yesterday, she hesitated. What was she doing? What was she going to do?