A shiver courses down my spine, raising gooseflesh on my arms. My mouth dries up. God, I want him to be selfish with me.
I want him to take and take until I’m wrung out and spent. Part of me wants to make a joke, to lighten the mood, because he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying—and if I’m wrong, it really will destroy me.
Because there’s this other part of me that doesn’t have a sense of humor at all. That part of me is desperate, and lonely, and has ached for him to touch me like this for too many years to count.
“Anything. I’ll do anything for you,” I whisper, finally meeting his eyes.
I’m shaking, my body fighting against this rising tide of hope. He wouldn’t look at me like this if he didn’t care, right?
His grip tightens painfully. Then his forehead rolls against mine, just slightly. “You don’t even know what I’m asking yet,”
he mutters, letting out a sound suspiciously close to a groan.
It goes right to my dick. He’s confusing me now. For the first time since I’ve known him, he seems undone.
“Jasper? Sir?” His eyes come back to mine, full of a banked heat that thrills me. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer, but the pad of his thumb brushes over my lips. I shudder, caught. My every atom zeroes in on that single point of contact.
His thumb drags over my lip harder, smearing it. Owning it.
“Don’t sleep with her.”
The words are halfway between a plea and an order. They hang in the air for too long.
“Why would you . . . ask that?” My stomach is in knots. I can’t tell if I’m thrilled or horrified. I think I’m both. I try to move my head back so I can think—so I can breathe—but he holds me tight. “You of all people shouldn’t be asking me that.”
“I know.”
“Years, Jasper. It’s been years. And she likes me. I won’t have to be— Damn it! You’re doing this now?”
No. Okay. I think I’ve got a handle on this. I’m definitely pissed.
I push him off me and get some distance even though my heart tries to carve its way through my chest and leap back into his arms. Stupid thing is a masochist.
Okay, all of me is a masochist. It’s no excuse!
“Lucky, I know,” he repeats.
The use of my nickname pulls me up short. I’ve never heard him use it. Not once.
“Are you going to promise the same thing?” I demand.
I look back at him and the delicate line of his throat works. He sighs, looking at the floor, which, really, is answer enough.
But . . .
But.
He’s achingly beautiful in this moment. Rumpled and vulnerable and raw. I wonder how many people have ever seen him like this.
Jasper has unspooled me before, and I’ve curled up at his feet and thanked him, but I never thought I’d see him unravel.
“I know it’s cruel. I know it’s unfair. But . . . I’m asking anyway.” Jasper swallows, and his voice is unsteady as he adds, “Please.”
Please.
Fuck.
Drawing in a tremulous breath, I have to ask, “Why?”
My voice is too hoarse. My erection has long since deflated—but this isn’t about that.
He shakes his head once, and I laugh, a little surprised at how strangled it sounds. “No. You can’t ask something like that and not even give me an answer. Even I’m not that much of a pushover.”
“You’re not a pushover,” he snaps, dark eyes flashing like lightning in the night. “Being submissive with me is not the same thing.”
And my stupid masochistic heart knocks out a few ribs at his instant defense.
His pale jaw clenches, and his black hair is discomposed. Haltingly, he says, “I need to work through a few things. I fear . . . I fear that I need to make some decisions.”
As though that explains anything.
“Decisions,” I echo, heart sinking. He fears. That doesn’t sound like a man ready to make a wild declaration of love.
“About me?”
Jasper falters, but there’s a hint of shame in his slight grimace.
“Right,” I breathe. Everything inside me is shredding to pieces. I’ve been shot and it hurt less than this conversation. Hot tears prick the back of my eyes, and I rub the back of my neck, hoping it might somehow knock the hot lump out of my throat as well. “So I should blow my chance with Eden and just . . . wait until you decide whether I’m worth it?”
Jasper steps forward again. I retreat but find myself up against a cabinet. Did I think this kitchen was big? It’s a matchbox, and he’s the lit match, sucking down all my oxygen.
“Lucien—”
“Y’all might want to move your asses, Dom’s pitching a fi—” The swinging door crashes back against Beau’s outstretched hand as he cuts off, taking in the scene.
Jasper turns, angling his body so I’m not in full view. Instantly, all vulnerability flees from his face, leaving only cold, forbidding marble in its place.
That’s what he is, I realize. Unfeeling, untouchable, beautiful art. And I can stare at him all day but, really, he’s never going to look back.
Beau looks up at the ceiling like he suddenly finds cornices fascinating. “I’ll— Ah. I’ll tell him you’ll be a few more minutes.”
Fucking. Fantastic.
While neither of them are looking, I swipe a hand over my eyes.
Somehow, Beau beats a retreat even faster than he arrived. And right now? That looks like a damn fine idea.
I sidestep around Jasper before he turns back to me and walk toward the door as quickly as I can without being accused of running.
“We’re not done here, Lucien,” Jasper says, but the hint of panic takes the usual weight from his implied order.
I stop. “I think we are, actually,” I tell him as I crack in a thousand places. “We are done, Jasper.”
Now I just need to get through one whole meeting without shattering completely.
Chapter 15
Eden
SURVIVAL TIP #183
“The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters.”
L ooking around, I finally, reluctantly, have to admit there’s nothing more I can do to tidy my room. I never made it down to breakfast, though someone—Lucky?—left a plate of delicious pancakes that dripped with melted chocolate by my door, which staved off my hunger at least.
Before the strikes, I only rarely had heavy carbs or sugar, though I have a terrible sweet tooth. My grandmother never allowed it, making it clear she couldn’t spare the expense. And Henry, well, he controlled everything so tightly. At first, he’d delighted in having me sample every sweet and delicacy I’d never been able to afford as a child. But over time they became a treat, a reward only given when I especially pleased him—and that became a very rare thing.
Lucky’s pancakes were delivered free of judgment or condition, and I savored every morsel with carnal delight.
I’m now glowing clean, the night’s sticky sin scrubbed off my skin. My tight bun is back in its place, and I’ve donned the most conservative clothes that Beau and Dom brought me. Looking down at the tight pencil skirt and silk blouse, I’m reminded more of a caricature of a secretary than anything else, but at least it has the illusion of professionalism.