8. Jasmine

Chapter eight

Jasmine

Z ane leaves me to ‘make myself at home' while he deals with some work in his office. Humming to myself, I amuse myself in his home until he finishes on the phone. The smell of coffee brewing draws me back to the kitchen, where he greets me with a weary smile.

"Come with me." Zane hands me my refilled coffee cup and heads out of the room. I found his office while I was exploring; this man clearly does a lot of work from home, but no obvious secrets were lying around.

"Sit here." Zane directs me to a small sofa, and I sit much closer than I had last night. "I need you to understand this isn't a game."

I'm well aware of that. No one walks away from everything they have without a good reason. I have a very good reason to run, but could he really be offering a reason to stay? I've been running for too long now. Coming here was me running from my previous life when I turned my back on my parents and my name.

"Don't ask me what my motives are for helping you. I don't know myself, but I want nothing from you."

"Oh." I can't hide my disappointment there.

"You think I'd save you from an inappropriate sexual situation just to put you in one myself?"

"No. I'm sorry." I turn away to hide my stupidity.

"Tell me what it is, please." His hand lightly touches my jaw, lifting my gaze to meet his green eyes.

"I'm a virgin," I warn him. It's a confession of weakness, admitting that I'm only half a woman because of it. But I've never been in a situation where I've been able to lose it, surrounded by men like Des-Gray and Andrew Green. I chuckle at the ridiculousness of my statement. I lie in bed at night wishing I've known the touch of a man, but I'm disgusted at the thought of crossing that line with any of the men I've met or known… until now. "It's not because… Men like Andrew disgust me."

Keep on digging that hole, Jasmine.

"But you don't. Disgust me, that is." I should really stop talking now.

"I'm glad I don't disgust you." Zane encourages me with a wink.

"I wanted to give myself to someone who was in love with me as much as I was with him. Most of the other dancers settled for someone with his own teeth."

"I have most of my own teeth." Zane catches on to what I'm asking him for. I need him to be a name I can remember as my first. He may be old enough to be my father, but he ticks the childhood boxes of being kind and caring, and my more recent requirement of having his own teeth, mostly. Whichever teeth are missing, all I see when he smiles is a perfect set of gnashers.

"Your experience can make up for my lack," I encourage, trying to salvage this disaster of a conversation.

"Well, there I have to disappoint you. I am a one-woman man."

I stare at him until he has no choice but to elaborate.

"I married my childhood sweetheart, and even though she has been gone for twenty years, I remained faithful."

"So I am asking you to give up something you're not ready to give?"

"Yes and no. I wasn't ready until I saw you dancing last night." He turns to the window and the beautifully manicured view outside.

"I'm scared, so if you don't want to, it will be easier for me to chicken out." I can't push him to kiss me after that soulful confession about his late wife.

I wrap my arms around him and just hold him, my head resting on his shoulder with no expectations beyond the arm he snakes around my waist. I could stand here forever, but eventually, I lift my head to smile at him.

"There is nothing to be afraid of, beautiful girl." He leans towards me, and our lips meet.

I've kissed before, but not like this.

This isn't warm, soft, loving, and magical, but firm and demanding. His hand slides through my hair, gripping it at its roots to pin me in his embrace.

"I need more," I moan into his mouth.

"You need me to take what you're afraid to give?"

"Yes." He's hit the proverbial nail on the head.

"Come here." He rises, guiding me to his desk. I want him so badly, but my fears always take over and I get hit with the urge to run.

He grips my wrist, stopping me from running.

He needs just one hand to hold both mine, and I'm helpless. His free hand enters a desk drawer, returning with a set of thick leather wrist cuffs.

"I will give you a safe word so you can stop this at any time."

"What word?"

"Your choice, kitten."

"Bananas," I decide with a firm nod.

"Ready?"

"No," I whimper. "But you'll keep going unless I say the yellow fruit, right?"

"That's right, gorgeous." He turns me, bending my torso over the desk. My breath catches in my throat at the thought of Zane pinning me here and taking what he wants from me. The thought alone does more for me than any dildo or vibrator I've tried over the years.

I never considered myself weak and pathetic before now, but I've let this reluctance hold me back for too long. I was confident I could handle myself with Desmond and the club punters. Stupid, na?ve, little me. When it comes down to it, I'm barely a hindrance to the man binding my wrists behind my back.

"There. That's more comfortable, isn't it."

I won't agree with him, it's all about perspective. Comfortable isn't the right word; pleasurable is more accurate. I want to be his prisoner, I've been a prisoner to my virginity for long enough now.

He lifts me from the desk and stands there, his eyes admiring how pert my breasts are with my arms pulled back. I've dreamt of letting a man touch them before. Imagining my hands are someone else's helps my lap dances get steamy, but I could never let any man touch me. That thought should be twice as strong now, the danger is twice as real. But I want this.

I shouldn't want this, but I do.

He wants it too.

Zane moves around behind me, his hand gripping my throat, tight enough to warrant a gasp.

"Well, well. Looks like my kitten is hiding a little slut behind those curls." Zane gives a chuckle, his fingers tracing across my abdomen. "You have the body for it."

"So what if I do?" I huff.

"You are an enigma, kitten." The grip on my throat becomes more meaningful, his lips nibble across my jawline. "It's a valuable asset but if you're waiting for the one, you'll never find him.

If only he'd say he was the one I've been waiting for—the rich bad man who will treat me rough while worshipping the ground I walk on.

His grip on my throat tightens, forcing my head back against his shoulder. The hand on my waist dips down, sliding under my joggers to my panty-clad crotch.

I've been grabbed there before, but I've never been touched. This man is touching me. Gently fingers press softly against me, moving up and down.

"Shit," I exhale.

"Sometimes good girls like bad things done to them." He presses in harder and sparks shoot through me.

This isn't fair. I want to sink back into him. To grind against his growing erection. I want to be his helpless little bitch to tease and please.

"Don't fight your desires," he purrs and I melt just a little bit more.

I can't let him do this to me, but I'm helpless to stop him. My own body is my enemy as his actions make me weak at the knees. My virgin pussy can somehow tell these fingers aren't mine. Oh, he is good. His movements send bursts of electricity through me, and God, do I want more of this?

"Please," I moan, forgetting myself in the moment.

"Please stop?" he chuckles. Obviously, I'm not giving the right signs, or maybe I am absolutely telling him what I want right now.

"No. Yes. God. No."

"Make up your mind, sweetheart."

"Yes, but after I cum."

"Dirty girl." He doubles down on his efforts until I'm mewing and wet. I will never admit to this being the best orgasm of my life.