by Katee Robert
He reaches out and idly twines one of my curls around his finger. “You saw Tink today. What did she tell you about The Underworld?”
I notice that he didn’t question that she told me something. I wonder how well he knows Tink, and something hot and ugly flares to life beneath my skin. Jealousy. The realization almost makes me laugh out loud. As if I have any claim on this man.
No, he holds all the cards, all the claim, all the power.
Am I even allowed to protest if he fucks someone else?
The thought leaves me cold.
I swallow hard, trying to focus on the question he asked me. “She didn’t say much. It’s owned by someone called Hades. He makes deals?”
“Mmm.” Jafar releases my hair and sits back, depriving me of even that minimal contact. “Hades is dangerous, Jasmine. You won’t look at him and think it, but he’s the biggest threat in The Underworld.”
“Then why are we going?”
“Aside from the fact that it’s the best dungeon in the state and I want to play with my mouthy little brat?” A flash of his teeth in the shifting shadows, gone almost as soon as they appeared. “Everyone who’s worth killing is in that dungeon. There are rules that no one dares fuck with, but it’s a good place to go and scope out the enemy. Tonight, it’s about cementing my position.”
Understanding dawns, leaving a sour taste on my tongue. “You want everyone to know you staged a coup of my father’s territory.” I lean back, needing more distance between us. “You’re going to show me off, a war prize for your efforts.”
“Yes.”
I haven’t forgotten the reality of this arrangement. Of how it came to be. I look out the window. “Did you kill him?”
“Why do you sound so wretched, Jasmine? He wasn’t a good man. Fuck, he makes me look like a saint with some of the shit he did.” He moves closer, touching my chin to bring my attention back to him. This close, I can almost see his expression clearly, but it gives nothing away. Nothing except the way his gaze bores into me as if trying to impart some vital information. “He hit you.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You would forgive me if I had murdered him?”
It’s still not an answer, but I reach deep for the truth. There’s a curious blankness when I think about my father. A veil I can’t pierce and have no interest in trying. “If you didn’t, you are leaving an enemy at your back.”
A pause, the barest of hesitations like I’ve surprised him.
I smile, though there’s no heart in it. Maybe there’s no heart in me, either. “My father is a terrible person. You worked for him long enough to know the truth.” He would have sold me. He did sell me, despite my protests. I can rail against Jafar until the end of time, but the truth is that I chose our deal, even if I didn’t fully realize the parameters of it. My father didn’t give me a choice. He would have handed me to Ali and never looked back as long as the contract went through.
One less thing for him to worry about.
I lean back in the seat. “He murdered my mother. Did you know that?”
“Yes.”
Of course he did. It was one of the worst kept secrets in that huge house. The official story is that my mother died from a sudden sickness. No one’s cared enough to question it. One day she was there, the next, she was gone, leaving a hole I’m not sure I’ll ever fill. “Did you kill him, Jafar? Answer the question.”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. As you said, he was a threat. If he’d gone quietly, it might have played out a different way.”
My breath leaves me in a whoosh and I can’t quite manage to reclaim it. I press my hand to my chest, my head going light. “Oh.”
He’s there instantly, gripping the back of my neck and guiding my head down to my knees. “Slowly, Jasmine. Inhale. Yes, like that.”
It takes several laborious inhales before I can speak again. “I should feel bad. Angry. Sad. Something.” I give a slightly hysterical giggle. “I don’t feel anything at all.” My father was a monster. At his very best, he was neglectful and absent. His best. “You’re right. I’m a horrible, traitorous daughter.”
I barely hear Jafar’s sigh and then he pulls me onto his lap. I resist at first, but he’s stronger and the truth is I don’t want to resist. I giggle again, the inappropriate sound horrifying me almost as much as my complete lack of grief over the situation. “A traitorous daughter and her father’s murderer. Maybe we really do deserve each other.”
“We do.” The way he says it, as if it’s fact and not words meant to comfort. But then, Jafar has proven himself to be shit at comforting.
That’s okay. It’s hardly in my skillset either. Who would I comfort? I have no friends. No family. The only human contact I’ve had are my father’s men and Jafar.
I shiver and he wraps his arms around me tighter. “I hate my life.”
“Shh.” His lips at my temple, the steady beat of his heart against my back, the strength of him forcing my body into stillness. “Tell me what you need.”
“A friend.” The silly request pops out before I can think better of it. I shake my head. “I really am pathetic.”
“Not that, Jasmine. Never that.”
Strangely, his attempt to comfort me only makes it worse. “I’m not free, Jafar. What am I supposed to do? Ask you to set up playdates?”
His lips curve against my temple. “It can be arranged. Play by the rules and I’ll reward you.”
I shift, belatedly realizing that his cock is hard against my ass. Heat rolls through me, and I welcome it with open arms. Easier to focus on sex than the reality that I can’t escape.
That I’ll never escape.
I roll my hips. “What are your rules?”
“They’re simple enough. In fact, there’s only one. Obey.”
Obey.
His grip on me shifts, one hand falling to where the slit in my dress has bared my hip, the other cupping my breast through the silky fabric. “Tonight, you’ll be silent and obedient.” His fingers find my nipple and pinch, drawing a gasp from my lips. “Keep your head down, regardless of what you hear, and obey my commands.”
“What do I get if I do?”
His chuckle makes my whole body go tight. Jafar slips his hand beneath my dress and palms my pussy. He pushes two fingers inside, possessing me completely. “I’ll take care of this pretty pussy tonight.”
I can’t breathe. “And if I don’t?”
Just like that, his hand is gone, leaving me empty and wanting. “Then you’ll get a punishment.” His voice goes dark, any hint of amusement drifting away like smoke. “You like to be punished, but I don’t reward bad behavior. If you disobey, the punishment won’t be one you’ll enjoy.”
Even though I know he’s serious, his words still fan the flame of desire heating my blood. “How do you know what punishment I will or won’t like?”
“You’re going to tell me.”
I blink. “What?”
“Choose your reward tonight.”
That wasn’t what I asked. My mind goes in a thousand different directions, scrambling over itself to provide the best answer. “I want …” I swallow hard and try again. “I want it like it was before. I want you to force me.”
“Chase you.” His thumb circles my nipple. “Pin you down and shove the dress up around your hips.” He moves his other hand back to my pussy, but instead of fucking me with his fingers, he keeps his touch light. A single finger circling my clit the same way his thumb circles my nipple. Again and again, a tortuously slow circuit.
“Yes, Daddy,” I gasp.
“Good girl.” He sounds completely unaffected by what he’s doing to me, and somehow that only makes it hotter. I can feel how much he wants me, but his voice and his touch are both so distant and casual that this whole situation becomes a thousand times dirtier.
As if I’m just a toy for him to play with.
I’m panting now. I can’t seem to stop. “Please.”
“Please?” He nips my earlobe. “Do better. You have more than enough words when you’re pissed. Tell me what you want.”
“Your mouth.” What’s supposed to be a demand comes out like a plea. It’s as if a dam breaks and suddenly all I have are words. “Lick my pussy, Daddy. Please make me come.”
“You want your reward before you earn it.”
I strain my hips, but I can’t get him where I need him. I’m so close, and yet so far from what I need. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.” He drops me on the seat and shoves me back against the door. “Lift your dress and spread your legs.”
I scramble to obey, lust making it impossible to think about fighting him on this. He wrenches my legs wider yet and I have to reach overhead to the handle above the door to keep from sliding down the seat.
Jafar dips down and I can feel his breath against my clit. “Ask me again, baby girl.”
Baby girl.
God, it feels downright wicked to play like this. Wicked and a little wrong, but so incredibly right. I gulp down a breath, trying to hold still. “Lick my pussy, Daddy. Please make me feel good.”
He wedges his hands beneath my ass and lifts me to his mouth. The first swipe of his tongue leaves me weightless and giddy with relief. Back in the shower, Jafar was only playing with me. Teasing.
He’s not teasing right now. He spreads me wide and tongues my clit as if he knows exactly the touch I need to get me to the edge. Pleasure rises in a wave I try to fight, try to resist. I don’t want it over yet. I want this moment to last, to draw out this wickedness, to keep feeling dirty in the best way possible. Jafar is tonguing my pussy in the backseat of a town car because I called him Daddy and asked really nicely.
If this is his idea of a reward, maybe I should have been playing by his rules all along.
I can’t hold out any longer. I come with a gasping cry. “Oh god.” He keeps tonguing me for several long moments, gentling his touch until it’s the lightest of kisses.
Jafar sits back and pulls me to straddle his lap. When I go to grind down against his cock, he stops me. “You’ll make a mess.” His lips quirk. “You already have.”
“Sorry, Daddy.” The title falls easier from my lips. Naturally.
“No, you’re not.” He swipes a thumb across his bottom lip, where I can still see evidence of my orgasm there. He presses his thumb into my mouth, and I suck him eagerly. I’ve tasted myself in the past before. Of course I have. It was never this sexy before.
Before I can think better of it, I dip down and lick along his bottom lip. And then his top. Jafar holds perfectly still as I clean myself from his face, the only evidence of how affected he is in the bruising grip he keeps on my hips.
When I finally lean back, he gives a rasping chuckle that goes straight to my clit. “Fuck, baby girl, you better be good tonight, because I’m as eager for that reward as you are.”
“I’ll be good, Daddy. I promise.” I want his cock. I want him to force me down and drive into me. I want so many things. Things I’ve barely allowed myself to fantasize about. It felt too cruel to do it before, to want something I was never going to be allowed to have.
With Jafar, I might just earn it.
He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and finishes cleaning his face, his beard. It’s only then that I realize the car has stopped, has been still for quite some time. Jafar sets me aside and arranges my dress. “Remember. Eyes down. Obey.”
“Okay,” I whisper. An orgasm is a release, a little death. Coming hard enough to make my limbs loose and my head spin should take the edge off my desire, should draw me back to earth where I belong.
It doesn’t.
I want him more now than I ever have. It’s a sickness in my blood, making me woozy and almost drunk. “Jafar?”
He pauses, his hand on the door. “Yes?”
“How can this possibly work?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens the door and steps out, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Leaving me with no answers at all.
Chapter 8
Jasmine
From the little I know of The Underworld, I half expect to climb out of the car and find myself in front of an old Victorian mansion. Something that hints at the inner goings on within its walls.
It’s nothing of the sort.
I look up, craning my neck to take in the sleek building that climbs to touch the sky. It’s almost as if this Hades takes his mythology more serious than most. He may rule The Underworld, but he’s built his very own Mount Olympus. Tink’s words from earlier come back to me. If I truly want out of this trap with Jafar, Hades may be my only option.
I close my eyes for the space of a breath, striving for clarity, striving to think. But Jafar presses his hand to the small of my back and any hope of rational thought flits away into the night. He guides me to the front door. I see no one, but it clicks unlocked the moment his hand touches it.
We enter a small lobby with a desk and two rows of elevators. It’s all pale gray walls, darker gray marble floors, and stainless steel of the desk. Stark. A little cold. I shiver. “This whole place is The Underworld?”
“No.”
The touch of his hand moves me to the left bank of elevators. We ride up to the thirtieth floor and step out. The color scheme is more of the same here. Gray walls, black floor, a white desk that holds one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. He wears a white button-down shirt that sets off his dark skin and his black hair is cut close to his head. He looks up and his eyes warm at the sight of Jafar. “Welcome back. Is there anything particular you’re looking for tonight?”
I remember myself at last moment and drop my gaze to the floor. Jafar’s thumb rubs a small circle again my back, as if he sees and acknowledges that I’m obeying. Or perhaps I’m looking too far into things. His voice is certainly unaffected when he speaks to this man.
“A drink, a show. Maybe a room later.”
“Perfect.” I watch him type something into his tablet. “Enjoy your stay.”
“I always do.” Charm emanates from him, and the man smiles in a dazed sort of way that I sympathize with. Jafar doesn’t bother to charm me. Or maybe he knows I have no interest in the smooth lie he can create with his voice and smile.
I’ve had more than enough lies to last me a lifetime.
We walk through the large black door and into another world.
Oh, it doesn’t overtly look like another world at first. A circular bar surrounds a sculpture I can’t quite wrap my mind around. Deep booths line both walls, bathed in shadows from the intimate lighting of the room. It seems rather mundane, until I finally get a good look at the sculpture and stop short.
It’s an orgy.
I frown, trying to count limbs, to match them to people, but I give up at seven. I want to move closer, to see it in all its glorious detail, but Jafar makes a low noise before I take my first step. Right. Obedience. I am not allowed to wander about with wide eyes. It’s not wise, even if there weren’t his rules to consider. A lamb in the woods is as good as dead, and if this place is populated with people like Jafar, then that’s exactly what I am.
Prey.
Jafar steers me toward the bar. There are other people around, but with my eyes down I only get the impression of suits and a few flashes of bold color in the dresses. No one is wearing red, and I feel like a drop of blood in a pool of sharks with the way attention shifts to me and narrows. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but the feeling of so many eyes watching my every breath has me shivering.
“Sit.”
I carefully perch on the chair next to the bar. Jafar remains standing and drapes his arm over the back of my chair. Casually possessive in a way that might irk me if we were alone, but that I appreciate in this room.
I crave experience. I want to throw myself into the world with delight and fury and grasp all the things denied to me up to this point. Why am I sitting here, shaking like a leaf before t
he summer storms? I close my eyes and try to breathe through it, but the fluttering feeling in my chest morphs into fear. True fear.
Jafar’s hand closes around the back of my neck. Not harsh this time, but a grip tight enough to hold me in this moment. “Breathe, baby girl. They’re just looking.”
I shiver again. I can’t help it. Even though it’s wiser to stay silent, to cling to the few cards I have left, words spill from my lips. “I don’t understand this.”
“You were locked up a long time.”
I open my eyes to glare. “I’m still locked up.”
“Yes,” he answers simply, without the least bit of shame.
“What can I get you?”
He glances at the bartender, a Hispanic woman with her hair in a high ponytail who wears what seems to be the uniform in this place—a white button-up and perfectly tailored slacks. “Scotch for me. Whiskey for her.”
He knows my drink. How could he possibly know my drink? One of the many restrictions my father put on me was limiting my access to any kind of food or drink he deemed unhealthy. Alcohol and fried food topped the list. I couldn’t get access to the kitchen without someone reporting on me, but over the years, I would pocket different bottles to try out. Whiskey became a personal favorite.
I look at him, searching for something I already know he won’t give freely. Jafar remains an enigma to me, but I can’t help grasping at these little details he drops. Proof that he wants me as more than a simple trophy of war.
Or perhaps I’m reaching because I crave companionship so desperately, I’m willing to bend over backwards to paint him in a flattering light.
The bartender deposits our drinks and moves around the corner. Jafar still has his hand on the back of my neck, but I don’t have the strength to tell him to release me. Not when his touch is the only thing holding the panic at bay. I can feel it there, bleating in terror just out of reach.
“Drink.” He watches me lift the glass with shaking hands and drain half of it. The whiskey burns my throat, but I welcome the fuzzy warmth it will bring. I go for another drink, but he touches the top of the glass, stopping the movement. It’s a gentle touch. I could ignore his clear order and drink more.
