I falter again. What a humiliating thing to admit.
Rather than taking another piece with his queen, Jasper moves his remaining knight to C3. Distracted, I try to figure out what he’s doing. I’m exposed, and I don’t understand why he’s not attacking.
“When did you realize?” I ask, wanting desperately to even the playing field. “That you liked . . . That you were a—”
“A sadist?” Faint amusement lightens his features. “A frightening word, isn’t it?”
Of course he’s amused—he’s the one on the safe end of the whip.
Jasper appears to think it over. “It was from a fairly young age—certainly from the time I was old enough to start thinking about sex. I can’t remember a time where it was separate from pain in my mind.”
He grows silent for a moment, and it’s like he gathers the shadows, becoming something still and slightly frightening.
Something unholy, but divinely in need of worship.
“As I grew older, I learned. My body called for control, for pain. Craved it like air, or water. It wasn’t a desire . . . it was a vocation.” His eyes gleam in the soft lights. “I saw pretty things and I wanted to break them. I saw pretty people and wanted them under my loafer and begging. I wanted tears, and surrender.” His lips thin, and the shadows darken. “You can’t imagine how much it frightened me.”
I start in surprise, and he smiles faintly at my reaction, but there’s no humor in it.
“I thought I was evil,” he confesses. “Only villains want to hurt people. I spent years burying it, fearing to look too closely at my desires. Which was foolish, of course—only in understanding comes acceptance. It took me a long time before I realized that not just any tears would do. Not any pain would ease the ache in my soul. They needed to be willingly offered. Given freely and gratefully.”
Jasper rolls his shoulders back, and I realize he’s uncomfortable. He directs that penetrating gaze on me again. “I’m sorry.
I’m explaining this poorly. It’s not something I’ve ever tried to put into words before.”
Pulse shivering, I shake my head minutely. “You’re explaining it perfectly.”
Freely and gratefully. For the first time I wonder just how much pleasure a masochist must feel for their pain to become something they beg for.
On the board, I can suddenly see how clever his move is. If he pushes forward with his knight, I will be placed terribly to protect my major pieces. But most of my defensive moves still leave me at his mercy.
I move my pawn to C6, pre-emptively stopping his knight from advancing.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and I beam up at him at the praise.
Something kindles in his expression as he takes in my smile. I wonder if he’d be encouraging while he hurt me. What kind of comfort would come between the torments?
Feeling warm, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose.
Jasper moves his other bishop to G5 to threaten my knight. “How did you meet your husband?”
My arousal sizzles out. “Ah. Henry was plumping out his extracurriculars for his Yale application, so we met at the nursing home my grandmother was moved to.” Jasper’s brows twitch at the mention of Yale, just slightly, and my smile turns caustic.
Yes, nothing but the best for my dear husband. “Henry . . . he took an interest in me. I’m still not quite sure why. His parents were rather hard on him, and I think he liked playing the hero. His family was wealthy, you see, and terribly educated.”
Jasper trains his eyes on the board, but the lines of him are carefully still. I know he’s paying attention.
I lift my hand in a dismissive wave, though my throat thickens at the humiliating memories. “It’s all very predictable, I’m afraid. He was kind to me, and so willing to ‘teach’ me to be a better person—in their eyes, of course. How I should dress, and talk, and eat so I could fit into his world. It didn’t matter, though. His parents hated me.”
It hurts to think of those early years. God, I was naive. Just a foolish little girl.
Maybe I’m making a mistake, telling Jasper all this.
I study his move. If he takes my knight, I can take his bishop. Is that an even exchange? Can I afford to give him this piece if he gives me one of his?
Into the lull I left, Jasper offers, “It took a long time for me to put a name to what I needed. What I was. Sadist. Dominant, too, but that was easier to wrap my head around—even a relief, in many ways. But then, once I finally felt I had it worked out, all I wanted was to experience it. To find the other side of my coin, if you like.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a grimace.
“The problem was, of course, that there are as many brands of masochist and submissive as there are sadist and dominant.”
“There are?” I ask, curiosity bubbling past my unwelcome memories. “I thought— I suppose I thought you either are or you aren’t.”
Absentmindedly, Jasper runs his finger over his lower lip as he contemplates me, and I try to stop imagining what that lip would taste like. I wonder what flavor of sadist he is.
“Not quite. Some submissives want a full-time dominant, and others are only interested in giving up control during sex.
Some want a combination of both. Some enjoy bondage, some degradation. Some like to be praised, and others like to be hunted.”
His hand curls around the arm of his chair as he lowers it, and my heart trips over itself, speeding. I want to ask what it means when all of those things sound incredible . . . but I’m embarrassed about what the answer might be.
Flustered, I move my pawn to B5.
And am instantly embarrassed by how transparent a move it is. He’ll be able to see through that with no trouble.
“Masochists are the same,” he continues, watching me. “Some like particular types of pain—a sting, or thud, or burn, or slice, or a combination of those or many others. Some seek out subspace, others hate it. There are different extremes to which they may enjoy pain . . . No, it’s not as simple as does or does not.”
I feel his gaze on me again, and I pick up my tea to buy myself some thinking time. Maybe . . . some of that . . . would be okay.
Maybe.
Knight to B5. Jasper takes my pawn.
Okay, he’s too strong in this position. I change the subject again.
“Henry craved his parents’ approval as much as I craved his—but I also think I was the only person who had ever looked up to him, and he needed that as well. He proposed after five months despite their dislike of me, and I couldn’t believe it. It felt so romantic to me, like a dream.” I shake my head, annoyed that my past self was ever that stupid. “When we eloped, they disowned him. He hadn’t planned on that. He thought they would forgive him anything. They didn’t, and he didn’t do so well after that.”
We didn’t do so well after that, either.
“You said he was in service,” Jasper said, not quite a question.
I take a sip of my tea, then nod. “Yes, well. He didn’t get into an Ivy like he’d planned, in the end. He didn’t have the grades, and without his father’s donations . . .” I shrug uncomfortably. “We sold his car to get started in a small apartment, and I worked in the local library while I studied. I did receive an academic scholarship, which helped a lot. It wasn’t what he had planned for his life. It still felt like luxury to me, but it was a coffin for Henry. He resented . . . it.”