by Katee Robert
Chapter 4
Jasmine
After twenty-five years in the same few square miles of land, Jafar’s penthouse is a revelation. I barely wait for the elevators doors to whisk shut before I give into my impulse to snoop. Easier to focus on that tiny pleasure than to think too hard about all the ways my life has gone up in flames.
My home is mine no more. If I could forgive my father for selling me in marriage—and I can’t—I still can’t forgive all the years of neglect and threats whenever I stepped too far out of line. Threats to carve away at the tiny list of my freedoms.
Now here I am, my leg in a different kind of trap.
I bypass the main living space and wander down the hall on the opposite side of the penthouse from my room. On the second door, I hit pay dirt.
I stand in the doorway for a long time, studying Jafar’s bedroom. I don’t know what I expected, but it’s just as stark and beautiful as the rest of the house. I would bet good money that he had someone else decorate it. To his specifications, of course, but some of the little details feel off.
Not the paintings, though.
They’re gorgeous.
I move on silent feet to stand before them. A trio, each in a deep red that sets something racing in my chest. Or maybe it’s the content of the paintings. Each is a close-up of a woman’s body. The first, the curve of her back. The second, a hip. The third, her breasts. The artist’s name is a tiny scrawl near the bottom of each. Death.
Interesting.
I force myself to abandon the paintings in favor of finding juicier information. His nightstand is a bust. It’s basically a small bookshelf. I peruse the titles but give it up for a lost cause. Jafar has a thing for nonfiction war stories. Of course he does. He probably reads them and takes notes before he goes into battle with his current-day enemies.
The bathroom is twin to mine, though his tile is black, rather than white. I snort. “Playing to type as always.” The walk-in closet is filled with expensive suits, all arranged in a grayscale line from black to pale gray. It’s the same with the shirts.
I briefly consider going back to the kitchen and taking a knife to every single one of them, but doing that now may be overplaying my hand. Best to save the true rebellion for later, when he’ll undoubtedly do something to deserve it.
“Trust Jafar not to have anything remotely interesting in his room.” I shake my head and walk back into the hall. Two more doors, and absolutely no reason not to explore them. The first leads to a powder room, also missing anything worth snooping in. The second is his home office.
“Pay dirt,” I whisper. This is the room I need, not his bedroom. I should have realized that from the first. I glance down the hall toward the front door. He wants me naked and kneeling, a good little pet who obeys his every whim.
Worst of all, part of me wants to give him exactly that.
My body still aches from what he did to me, what we did together. I can play pretend that I didn’t want everything he gave and more, but it’s not the truth. I could have said no. Truly said no. I didn’t.
I didn’t want to.
I still don’t want to.
I smile slowly. What will he do when I flout his order? Throw me to the ground and fuck me breathless again? Spank me? Maybe he’ll force me to my knees, unzip his pants, and pound into my mouth until tears spring from my eyes and I can only submit or choke. I shiver, my skin feeling too tight, too sensitive.
Wanting the man who overthrew my father is a mistake. I know that even as I drop into his chair, the leather cool against my naked skin. A tap against the keyboard has the screen flaring to life. I’m not even a little surprised to discover Jafar has his computer password locked, even though it sits in a penthouse that is presumably inaccessible to anyone except for him.
Him, and now me.
I idly tap in a password, the most often used one according to things I’ve read. I don’t actually expect it to work, but I’ve been surprised before. Password1234. The computer thinks for half a second before spitting out an Incorrect Password notification.
A little light appears at the top of the screen. Green, and then red. “Naughty Jafar,” I murmur. Computers are something I enjoy, one of the few freedoms I was able to sneak past my father. I’m skilled enough to bypass my father’s firewalls to order the books and things I want without his knowledge, but I’m mostly self-taught when it comes to anything resembling hacking. As such, I recognize what this is. An extra layer of protection. When the incorrect password is inputted, it either snaps a picture of the person at the computer or perhaps a video.
The fact that the light hasn’t gone away suggests a video.
I stare directly into the camera. Caught. “If you didn’t want me to snoop, you should have locked the door.” I lean forward. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t have brought me here in the first place.” Talking to a camera that may or may not be recording feels foolish, but I’m still angry and hot and all tangled up from the events of this night.
The thought of Jafar seeing this video and rushing home to punish me … I lean back in the chair and spread my legs. “It’s going to be a real shame if you can’t actually see this.” I could scoot the chair back to give the camera a better view, but I’m not in the mood to be even that good. He dumped me here as if I’m a sure thing.
I am a sure thing, and that only makes me angrier.
The phone at the desk rings and I jump. A quick glance at the computer tells me it’s still recording. I use my free hand to pick up. “Yes?”
“That’s not the proper way to answer a phone, Jasmine.”
Oh yes, he knows I tried to get into his computer. “Mmm. Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” I put some sugary sweet contriteness into my tone. “I’ll be sure to take that criticism into account the next time I’m playing secretary.”
Silent for a beat, as if I’ve surprised him. Surely he must know by now that even furious and scraping rock bottom, I can’t help but come back swinging. No matter how unlikely my chances of victory.
“You’re not following instructions.”
I let the warning in his tone roll over me. Had I thought I was turned on before? It’s nothing compared to now, to having him on the phone and knowing he can’t touch me. I idly slide my finger through my wetness and up to circle my clit. “You’re not back yet, Jafar.”
A pause. There are men’s voices in the background, but I can’t quite make out the words. The noise dims as if he’s moved into another room. “Tell me what I’ll see when I review the recording.”
So he can’t see me right now.
Oh, this is just too delicious.
I use my foot against the desk to scoot the chair back farther. This should give him quite the show. “I’m sitting in your chair.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Naked.” I barely sound like myself. What am I doing, playing this game with him? I should be fighting him every step of the way, should be demanding answers about what he’s done with my father, and what he intends for the future.
Instead, I’m sitting here at his desk, fingering myself like the dirty little slut I can’t help but be.
I slip two more fingers into my pussy, and I exhale harshly. “I’m fucking myself with my fingers.”
Now it’s his turn to exhale. “Naughty girl, aren’t you? You’re going to ruin my leather chair when you come all over it.”
“Most likely.” I bite my bottom lip to keep a moan inside.
“You know what happens to naughty girls?” He barely waits a beat. “They get punished.”
My orgasm spirals closer. How many times have I laid in bed and touched myself just like this, imagining it’s his blunt fingers shoving into me, spreading my pussy in preparation for his cock? Too many to count.
Having him on the phone, his voice growling in my ear?
It makes everything ten thousand times hotter. I let my head fall back against the seat, barely able to keep the phone to my ear. “I’m going to finger myself in
here every time you leave me with idiotic orders like that last one.” I slide my fingers up to pinch my clit and can’t keep a gasp inside. “Maybe I’ll do it on your bed next.”
“Jasmine.” His voice snaps like a whip. “Stop.”
My hand lifts without my having any intention of obeying. I grit my teeth. “No.” I force myself to ignore the command, to stroke my clit once, twice, a third time, until I’m coming with a moan I can’t keep inside. It feels even better because he told me not to and I did it anyway.
I never have been good at following orders.
“Oops,” I whisper.
Silence for several beats. When he speaks again, his voice is downright icy. “Remember, brat—naked and kneeling.”
“Fuck off.” I hang up, fear and need all twisted up in my head and heart and pussy. The light on the computer screen blips off, which is just as well, and exhaustion rolls over me. Too many things happened in the last few hours, too many changes. It saps my strength and leaves me confused.
I shouldn’t want Jafar.
I know that. Of course I know that.
He’s the snake tempting me out of Eden, except he barely has to crook his finger and I trip over my own feet in my eagerness to prove what a treacherous daughter I am. My father doesn’t deserve my loyalty, but other people won’t see it that way. Not after I’ve spent twenty-five years playing the dutiful daughter. And for what? So he can bargain me away to that bastard Ali?
Oh, Ali looks good, as long as no one examines beneath the surface. Handsome and possessing a smile that has charmed countless women out of their panties. He’s also a liar and a thief and, most unforgivable of all, self-righteous enough to think he’s better than the rest of us who move through the shadows.
To him, I’m a possession, a mark of his meteoric rise in this world. Balthazar’s daughter, a jewel meant for a position in a crown. He doesn’t see me as a person, and likely never will.
It’s all over now. Jafar made sure of that.
Didn’t he?
Surely Ali will bow out now, knowing this is a fight he can’t win. He missed his chance with me, and moving on to easier pickings is the only thing that makes sense.
I wish I believe that.
I leave Jafar’s office. There’s nothing for me to find here, not until I know him well enough to figure out his password. Even then, I have no plan. Find information and blackmail him into releasing my trust fund? I have nowhere to go. No desperately needed knowledge of simply day-to-day things. I’m not even one hundred percent sure how to access the money even if the trust is still mine. How to get a job. How to use public transportation. I’ve never even been to a grocery store to shop for my own food. So many life experiences, and all beyond reach.
All still beyond reach.
The front door looms in front of me. It would be the easiest thing in the world to obey. It will feel good. I know that down to my very soul. It’s different than my obedience to my father. That was given under duress, and I had no choice in the matter. This … Jafar gave me a choice. It was a shitty choice, but a choice nonetheless.
I gambled.
I’m still not sure if I lost or won.
I close my eyes and imagine it. The cold marble against my already-bruised knees. The air conditioning drawing goosebumps along my skin as adrenaline fades and takes its heat with it. Of the door opening and Jafar walking through. Of …
I’m not sure what comes next.
Will he fuck me right there on the floor again?
I shiver, and I can’t pretend it’s from anything but undiluted lust. Good girls aren’t supposed to want down and dirty fucking like that. They aren’t supposed to want to play on the dark side of desire, to push back until their partner forces submission, to love every second of the struggle.
I suppose I never was that good when it comes down to it.
Maybe that’s why I turn on my heel and walk down the hall to my new room. Jafar wants obedience? He’ll have to earn it. A single bargain does not a lifetime of servitude make.
It’s all excuses. I smile and shut my door, taking the time to flip the lock. Jafar won’t let this defiance stand, and he will more assuredly punish me, just like he threatened over the phone.
I can’t wait.
The sound of the door being slammed open jerks me into awareness. I never meant to fall asleep. Waiting for Jafar with a quip and a mocking smile is much preferable to this. I shove my hair out of my face and start to sit up, but he’s already there, bracketing my throat and forcing me back down.
“I gave you an order, Jasmine.”
He’s not hurting me. Not yet.
I push against his hold, my heartbeat picking up at the pressure of his rough palm against my neck, of knowing how easily he could crush me. “I didn’t feel like kneeling.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He doesn’t sound angry or out of control. No, he sounds just as coolly mocking as ever. It’s disconcerting when compared to the rough way he rips the covers from my body. Even pinned down as I am, I can feel his gaze rake over my nakedness. How can a man make me so hot from a single look? It defies explanation.
He trails a single finger down my chest between my breasts and stops just short of my belly button. “You aren’t in control, Jasmine. You want me to come here in a rage and take it out on that tight little pussy of yours while you scream that you hate me and yet pull me closer all the while.”
Yes, that’s exactly what I want.
I press harder against his hand, needing the roughness, needing him to touch me. “It’s not like I can stop you.”
“No.” For a moment I think he’s agreeing with me, but he releases me instead. “That’s not how this works.”
I scramble up against the headboard, lust giving way to shame and embarrassment. He doesn’t want me? The wild seesaw of emotions hasn’t slowed down once since he walked into my room earlier this evening—or is it technically last night now?—and it doesn’t show any evidence of doing so anytime soon. “What game are you playing?”
“One that requires clear rules.” He gives me a contemplative look. “You’re just a baby, Jasmine. You think you can throw a fit and flout the rules and still get what you want, to pretend I’m forcing you.” Jafar shakes his head slowly. “Fuck that.”
“Excuse me?”
“That play may have worked with your father, but it won’t work now.”
Frustration overrides my caution. “What is it you want from me, Jafar? Is it to have Balthazar’s daughter waiting on you hand and foot? Is it to fuck me whenever you please and know each time I come for you that you’ve beat him?”
His slow smile does nothing to comfort me, but I doubt it’s meant to. Jafar is hardly the comforting type. “What do I want from you?” He leans down until we’re eye level. “Everything.”
Everything.
“No,” I whisper. I have so little that’s mine and mine alone. I won’t share it. I refuse to. How dare he ask me to crack myself open for his pleasure? Sex is one thing, even unconventional sex. This is something more and I want no part of it.
He glances at his watch as if he has somewhere to be. “Sleep for now. This afternoon, I’ll have clothes brought in. Tonight, we’re going out.”
Under different circumstances, the possibility of going out might leave me breathless. Not now. Not like this. “I don’t feel like going out.”
“It wasn’t a request.” He turns and walks toward my door, which is when I notice it hangs at an angle from its hinges. It won’t shut now, even if I try to force it. How he could display such violence and then switch gears to be calm and collected?
But then, Jafar has always had better self-control than I have.
He kicked down my door to prove a point. The same point he made by refusing to fuck me in punishment. Disobedience will not be tolerated or rewarded.
He pauses in the doorway. “Fight me if you need to, but I require nothing less than honesty.”
“I honestly don’t w
ant you.”
“Liar.” He says it without heat. “We can keep playing the non-consent game if you like—after you earn it.”
I climb off the bed. I can’t have this conversation while I cower and he stands tall. Even across the room he towers over me, and I hate the thrill it sends through me. I point a shaking finger at him. “I’m not a dog you can reward with treats when I do a trick you like.”
“No.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as I stalk toward him. If it wasn’t for the heat in those dark eyes, I’d think him completely unaffected. “Not a dog. A spoiled brat of a baby girl. Someone needs to bring you to heel, and I’ll take great pleasure in doing exactly that.”
Bring me to heel.
Red washes over my vision and I clench my hands into fists. Hitting him right now might feel very, very good, but one glance tells me that he’ll never allow the blow to fall. I drag my hands through my hair and curse. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You hate being trapped. It’s hardly the same thing.”
He has a point, but I’m not about to admit it. I prop my hands on my hips. “I have an easy solution. Give me my trust fund and release me, and we’ll happily go our separate ways.”
He shakes his head. “You agreed to the terms when you played our game. You lost, and now you’re mine.”
“You can’t own a person!” No matter how hot the idea of being owned by Jafar makes me, I can’t submit. I can’t. He’s upended my entire life. It may not have been the best life to begin with, but it was mine. Eventually I would have found a chance to fight my way out and leave all of it behind me.
To be free.
Something must show on my face because he slips his hand along the nape of my neck and tows me forward until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Poor Jasmine,” he murmurs. “Your dueling desires will tear you apart if you don’t find a balance.”
“Let me go.”
He studies my expression. “Is that really what you want?”
Of course it is. Freedom is the only god I worship. “Yes.”
