by Rina Kent
His voice drops in range as he murmurs in my ear, “If you don’t say the words, I’m going to spank your little arse until everyone hears your cries. Is that what you want, wild one?”
“N-no!”
“Then say it.”
“Fine,” I hiss.
“Glad we agree on that.”
More like he coerced me into agreeing. Arsehole.
“Now, what did I say about staying away from Ethan?” He tightens his hold on my wrists. “When we go outside, you’ll tell him you won’t make it to the dinner.”
“No.” The word is barely audible, but it’s there. The most horrifying part is that I didn’t say it because I won’t allow Jonathan to dictate my life.
It’s more like a challenge. At this point, all I want is the lash of his hand and the way he elicits these weird sensations from deep inside me.
If provoking him is what it takes to bring out his true self, then so be it. I’ve become a pro at it in such a short time.
I have no idea why I’m so addicted to this side of Jonathan. Perhaps it’s because this is one of the rarest times he shows what’s actually inside him; I want to be the only one who gets to witness the great Jonathan King at his most raw, truest form.
“Aurora.” The warning in his voice is loud and clear.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He spanks me again, and I get on my tiptoes from the force of it. My thighs are shaking from the amount of clenching my core has been doing since he walked in.
But that’s not all.
With every hit on my arse, it’s like he’s thrusting his fingers deep inside of me and owning me whole with no way out.
“Are you going to refuse Ethan’s invitation?”
“No.”
Slap. Slap. Slap.
I’m gasping for air by the time the multiple lashes are over.
My unsteady legs are splayed wide apart, my wrists are imprisoned behind my back, my arse burns, and my pussy pulses with the need for more.
I don’t know how much more. I seriously don’t know my limits anymore. Not that I’ve been an expert on those since the beginning. All I know is that being with Jonathan has stretched them pretty far, even for me.
“Let’s try this one more time.” He grips my arse threateningly, and although my underwear is still in place, I feel his touch all the way to my bones. “Are you or are you not going to refuse the invitation? This time, say the right words.”
“N-no.”
I brace myself for the onslaught of his hand, but it doesn’t come. I glimpse at him over my shoulder to find one of his eyes narrowed and pointed at me.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, wild one?”
“No.”
“How come I don’t believe that?” He places his fingers at my core and I swallow as they meet my folds over the cloth. “You’re soaked and begging for more.”
He slides the ruined underwear down my legs and I don’t hesitate to step out of them. I watch with bated breath as he bunches the knickers and shoves them in his pocket.
“Why did you do that?” My voice is needy and all sorts of messed up.
“I’ll answer that if you tell me why you won’t refuse Ethan’s invitation.”
Because of his damn son, but I don’t voice that. I meant it when I said that Jonathan doesn’t get to tell me what to do.
“That’s what I thought.” He pushes me so that I’m bent over the table meant for supplies.
My chest touches the hard surface as he holds me down by my wrists. My throbbing nipples turn painful with the mere friction. I hear a belt snapping behind me, but before I can focus on it, the sound of a slap fills the air.
I bite my lower lip, eyes closing to engrave the sensation.
“One final chance.” His words echo around me like a dark promise, and I hate that my first response to it is wanting more.
He’s turned me into a mess who can’t get enough. He was right the other day. I’ve become a glutton for his punishment and rough handling. I’ve become attuned to him on a scary level.
“You want to be fucked here and now?” His voice lowers with lust and something else I can’t put my finger on. “You don’t even care that we’re in a religious setting, or that anyone can walk in. You’re quite the exhibitionist, aren’t you?”
His words should be a turn off, but heat engulfs my body and burns the last of my inhibitions.
Jonathan thrusts into me from behind, his huge cock filling me whole with a slight tinge of pain. The position gives him access to parts of me I didn’t know existed.
“You’re quite the adventurous one.” His raspy voice adds more punch to his callous presence at my back. “Wild. Unstoppable.”
He pounds into me with an urgency that slams my thighs against the edge of the table. With my hands bound behind my back, I can’t do anything.
Not that I want to.
The sense of helplessness adds to the pleasure gripping me by the throat. There’s something so utterly addictive about the way he takes from me, leaving me barren and with no way out but back to him.
The sheer power of Jonathan King turns me helpless, speechless, almost like I’m levitating and living an out-of-body experience.
He slaps my arse, and while the sting may start there, it ends up straight between my legs.
“Oh… Aaaah… J-Jonathan…” My voice shifts into a loud moan as the orgasm brews in the distance. My stomach tenses and my fingers curl, nails sinking into his or my skin — I can’t really tell anymore — in preparation for the impact.
It’s coming. The sensation builds on the horizon, mounting and magnifying, about to hook into me and snatch me into its barbarous clutches.
His hard chest covers my back, fully, entirely, as if he’s about to suffocate me.
He doesn’t.
His lips find my earlobe. They’re hot and firm like a blade. He whispers in a voice filled with raw possessiveness, “My name is the only name you’re allowed to moan. The only name you’re allowed to think about or even dream of.”
I’m too delirious to make sense of his words, let alone form a response.
He thrusts harder, hitting my hip bone against the table with the force of it. There’s nothing normal or ordinary about the way Jonathan powers into me.
He doesn’t just fuck, he owns. He stakes his claim with each long thrust. His fingers wrap around my throat and he squeezes until he’s all what remains in my conscious.
“Show me how you come for me, wild one.”
The explosion of an orgasm takes me under in a fraction of a second.
I don’t have a choice in it.
The softness of my body is attuned to the power in his, to the way his hips jerk forward with dominant resonance. To the way he grips my wrists, to how my arse stings from the feel of his hand on my flesh.
I’m panting, fighting and scrambling for breath by the time I fall down that cliff. I’m rolling in the dirt with no landing in sight.
And honestly, screw landing. I can stay suspended in this alternative reality all day.
“That’s it. Good girl.”
Jonathan follows soon after, this time, spilling inside me. I don’t tense or think about it. That possibility doesn’t scare me.
Everything ended before it even started in that regard.
“Fuck.” Jonathan pulls out, his hot cum streaking down my thighs. “Are you on birth control?”
I pull up to a standing position, even though my legs hardly hold me upright.
Jonathan releases my throat and my hands to tuck himself in. My wrists feel sore, empty almost, at the loss of his grip.
“You should’ve thought of that before, don’t you think?” I smooth down my dress.
“Answer the question, Aurora.” His face carries the same mask of unemotional blankness, but there’s a tic in his jaw.
Jonathan lost control by coming inside me, and he doesn’t like losing control. However, that’s not
the only reason he’s ticked off. He doesn’t want any type of accident — a child. Which is understandable, considering he has Aiden, who is nineteen going on twenty, and his nephew, Levi, who’s a year older than his son.
That doesn’t mean I’m not pissed off myself, though. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
“If you don’t quit provoking me, I’m going to spank your arse until you can’t sit straight.”
“Already done.” I extend my palm. “Give me my underwear back.”
“How about no?”
“Jonathan!”
“You can’t give me attitude and expect to get things from me.” He tilts his head to the side. “You’ll go back in there with nothing underneath your dress, and you’ll think of me every time you squirm in your seat.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Consider it already done.” He reaches a hand and wipes something at the corner of my mouth, a sadistic smirk grazing his sinful lips. “Also, you might want to freshen up. I don’t mind dragging you outside looking like this, but you might.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You look thoroughly fucked, wild one.”
I push his hand away, a flush of heat ascending to cover my already flaming cheeks.
Jonathan chuckles as he steps out the door. The sound of his rare laughter resides in the room long after he’s gone.
Why did he have to laugh, damn him?
I use some tissues to clean up and then sneak behind everyone’s back to get to the bathroom. He’s right, my hair is in a state of disarray and my eyes are puffy and watery. My lipstick has smeared a little from how I bit my lips.
It takes me a good ten minutes to make myself appear somewhat presentable.
When I go back, Kenza has already found her phone. She jokingly tells me she thought I was the one lost.
If only she knew how true that statement is.
We sit in tables of five for dinner. The dick, Layla, puts me with Jonathan, Ethan, Elsa, and Agnus. And Jonathan is right beside me.
“What?” Layla said when I almost strangled her. “I can’t deny requests made by those who write large cheques. Think of the cause, mate.”
She’s now waving at me from her table, where she’s seated with her parents and two old ladies from their community. Layla’s doctor brother is in Africa, her two British Army brothers are captains in Afghanistan, and her fourth brother couldn’t make it tonight.
While she gets to sit in a familial atmosphere, I’m stuck here. To say the atmosphere is tense at my table would be like saying my life is normal.
It doesn’t help that — true to Jonathan’s words — I can’t sit straight. My arse stings and the lack of underwear makes the friction at my core unbearable.
Usually, after one of Jonathan’s sessions, I sleep on my side or on my stomach until the burn goes away. Not now.
Agnus focuses on his mobile phone, seeming oblivious to the war of gazes going on between Ethan and Jonathan. If this were a few centuries ago, they would’ve gotten their swords out and gone at it right here, right now.
Elsa seems as bothered by the tension as I am. She digs into the couscous Kenza cooked and plasters on a smile. “This is so delicious. How do they make it?”
“Kenza says it’s a family secret. She won’t give away her special recipe.” I pick up my spoon and pretend I’m a functioning human and that Jonathan isn’t sitting beside me like a gloomy shadow straight out of a horror film.
“Do you like cooking?” Elsa asks me.
“Not really,” I tense as I say the words.
Jonathan leans over to whisper so only I can hear him, “One of the habits you gave up for your rebirth?”
“Shut up,” I hiss, then smile at Elsa.
Ethan takes a spoonful of the food and chews leisurely. “Alicia used to love these types of exotic dishes, too. Didn’t she, Jonathan?”
My tyrant remains unaffected, as if he were expecting the blow.
It’s Elsa who gasps, “Dad!”
“Was he supposed to ignore the elephant in the room?” Agnus speaks for the first time in the last hour, but he still doesn’t lift his head up from his screen.
Elsa glares at him from across the table like she wants to jump or punch him. Or both.
“It’s okay,” I try to calm the atmosphere. “I know I look so much like her.”
Ethan continues chewing, his attention never straying from Jonathan. “Is that why? You do know she’s not her, right?”
My grip tightens around the spoon as Ethan’s hostility rolls off my skin. It’s not that he’s attacking me directly. He’s saying those words to provoke Jonathan, and yet, I’m the one who’s stung by them with no warning.
But why?
I’m not Alicia. I don’t want to be Alicia.
Why can’t everyone stop comparing me to her? Or is this perhaps the karma I have to endure for abandoning Aiden when he was a young boy?
I was only sixteen at the time. I didn’t understand anything past the need to run, to shed my armour, and get the fuck out of Clarissa Griffin’s skin.
If I had the chance to do it all over again, I’d be there for Aiden. However, that means being in Jonathan’s entourage from such a young age. So thinking about it again…no, thanks.
I can barely handle him now. If at all.
A strong hand wraps around my thigh under the table and I jolt as I recognise the warmth of his firm grip.
Jonathan’s face has the usual coolness of a mountain so high, it’s toying with the clouds and reaching for the sky. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”
“Inquiring minds want to know, Jonathan. After all, Alicia left too soon.”
“Dad…” Elsa pleads.
Jonathan’s hold on my thigh tightens, his fingers digging into the skin. I wince, placing my spoon next to my plate. I’m in no mood to eat.
I stare behind me in a helpless attempt to have Layla get me out of here.
My attention is stolen by a petite girl in a dirty hoodie and torn shoes, who’s carrying a crying baby in her arms.
Sarah.
My fingers shake as the recognition settles in the pit of my stomach. She’s eleven years older now. Back then, she was around ten, her blonde hair cut to beneath her chin and her huge green eyes filled with tears as she held the sign.
‘JUSTICE’.
Everyone else hit me with eggs, food, and even used condoms. They called me names. They pulled on my hair and scratched my skin.
They called me an accomplice.
She didn’t.
She held on to my sleeve and whispered the words that broke me to pieces, “Please, can I have my mum back? I have no one but her. Please, I’ll give you everything I have.”
Then she was pushed away by someone who threw a bucket of black dirt on my face.
It’s been eleven years, but I’ve never forgotten that girl. I dream of her sometimes, of her green eyes and her silent pleas. Of the desperation in them, of the innocence that Dad killed along with her mum.
Even now, as I recall that scene, my skin prickles and my ears start buzzing with a shrill beeping sound.
They’re coming after me.
They’ll kill me.
‘Do you blame them, though?’
The words I heard from the officers who were supposed to protect me rush to the forefront of my brain. Even they thought I didn’t need protection. If it had been up to them, they would’ve thrown me out of the car into the hands of the protestors.
A harsh grip on my thigh brings me back to reality. I’ve been clutching my watch, hands fisted in my lap.
Jonathan throws a quizzical glance in my direction. That says something, considering how engrossed he was in his verbal war with Ethan.
“I…” I stand abruptly, forcing Jonathan to release me. “I need to go.”
I don’t wait for their reply as I rush from there. My eyes meet Sarah’s before I duck down, then practically jog towards the back entrance
. That girl can’t find me. None of them can.
My steps are a frantic, jumbled mess. I trip and nearly fall, but I hold myself up and continue my escape out of here.
My car is nowhere in sight. My vision is blurry. I didn’t even bring my bag or my keys.
They’re coming for you.
Run.
Run.
Instead of doing just that, my legs lock and I couldn’t move even if I tried. I spot Moses, Jonathan’s driver, smoking in front of his car.
I don’t think about it as I half-jog in the direction of the Mercedes, open the back door, and slide in.
A breath heaves out of me the minute I’m out of the open. She can’t find me in here.
They can’t find me.
Despite that, I stare out of the tinted windows, making sure no one followed me.
“Good evening, Ms Harper.”
I yelp, my hand clutching my heart at the voice coming from my right.
Harris sits beside me, his tablet in hand as usual. He’s wearing a shirt tucked into his trousers with his jacket lying beside him.
He adjusts his glasses with his index and middle finger. “I apologise for startling you.”
“What…” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“I meant, what are you doing outside of the charity event? And since you’re here, shouldn’t you go inside?”
“No. This event wasn’t on the schedule. I’m preparing a draft for a meeting that we’re going to have with our Chinese partners in a few hours.”
I frown. “Then why isn’t Jonathan with you?”
“That’s my question, Ms Harper. He insisted to come here instead of preparing for the meeting.”
Oh.
Is it because Ethan is attending? Or maybe it’s because of me?
Don’t even think about it, Aurora.
An awkward silence falls over the car as Harris focuses back on his tablet. I squirm and wince when my arse burns, remembering my lack of underwear since the tyrant, Jonathan, confiscated it.
Instead of thinking about that, I tilt my head to study Harris. He must be somewhere in his thirties. Always clean-shaven, prim, proper, and with a snobbish nose that he uses to judge everyone.
“How long have you been working with Jonathan?”
