Petal: A Dark Romance, page 20
And I refused. Because it wouldn’t be right.
She had to live with a few spankings that day, groaning and begging for more each time my hand landed on her ass while I fucked her so viciously that I could be sure she wouldn’t complain about a lack of pain afterward.
It was perfect.
She is fucking perfect.
She’s looking at me differently these days, and I’m not sure what to think of it. Her obedience didn’t suffer from her newfound desire to be hurt by me. On the contrary. She’s kneeling like the perfect slave, obeying every command I direct at her. I thought I’d be happy to see her like that, but I’m not.
I’m worried.
She’s too obedient, too eager to please, and too hungry for pain. While I knew that these are the things she’s always wanted but never dared to pursue, I’m astonished at the severity she craves. Her body is adorned with bruises and red weals, yet she keeps asking for more. She’s in the right hands for what she desires, but she’s playing with fire when she keeps pushing me like this. I may be versed in the art of containment, but I can feel the metaphorical shackles loosening each time I’m with her.
And the fact that she keeps calling me by my name doesn’t make it any better. On the contrary. It’s the only disobedience she’s shown lately, and one that granted her more than one severe punishment. She speaks my name like a pledge, sweet with devotion, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d call it nostalgia. Of course, that can’t be, because she doesn’t have any memory of us, no matter what she may believe.
“I’m worried about her.”
Malia’s voice probes into my thoughts, forcing me back to the triteness of the present. I’m in the kitchen, skimming through e-mails to see whether there’s anything that needs an immediate response in means of keeping appearances at my job. I didn’t take on any new clients this month, but there could always be follow-up issues with the ones I finished before taking Petal here. Nothing today, though.
“Why is that?” I ask, casting Malia a quick glance as she walks past me, holding a rolled-up newspaper in her hand as she makes her way to the sofa in the connected living room. This girl must be the only person I know who still reads the paper version of the local newspaper. It appears to be one of those habits that help her to stay sane in a situation that’s straining, to say the least.
She plunks down into the heavy cushions, glaring at me while she smooths the overly large paper in her lap. “She looks exhausted. More so than usual.”
Reproach is a loyal companion every time Malia faces me, and I don’t blame her for that. But I have no intention of finding excuses for myself.
Petal felt the whip this morning. She was drenched in sweat and tears when I left the room.
But she was smiling. There was a goddamn smile on her face when she thanked me—and it sent a cold shiver down my spine. I left her sooner than I intended, seeking distraction in my business inbox.
“She’s getting what she wants,” I simply say, avoiding Malia’s piercing look from across the room.
A few moments of strained silence stretch between us, and I can sense that Malia has more to say than that. There’s something on her mind, something she has yet to give voice to. And when she finally does, I turn into a pillar of salt, crippled by my own failure.
“You told her your name,” she says. “She just mentioned it.”
“You’re not supposed to talk to her.”
“I didn’t,” Malia insists. “She talked to me. Told me to tell you ‘thank you’—but I have no idea for what.”
I grind my teeth, unsure what to tell her in response. She’s right to call me out on this, because I clearly lost control when I shouldn’t have.
“It was a mistake,” I admit. “It slipped out, and I fucking regret that it did.”
I turn around, meeting her inquiring gaze as I approach the sofa.
“But I can’t take it back,” I add. “I can’t make her forget again.”
She huffs. “We both know you could. Apparently you can do whatever the hell you want when it comes to her.”
“No, I can’t, Malia!”
She jerks up as I raise my voice in front of her. I’ve never done it before, because I never had to, but if she really believes what she’s saying, I’ll have to rectify.
“I can’t do whatever the hell I want, and I won’t,” I tell her, raising my finger in a warning. “That’s exactly why I’m admitting to a mistake here. It was a moment of weakness on my part. She wasn’t supposed to hear it just yet, and I know it fucking triggered something within her, but I can’t quite say what. And that’s not a good thing. We can’t let things like that slip.”
“We?” she barks at me. “I didn’t do anything. You fucked up!”
She’s blinking suspiciously fast as she averts her eyes from me, lowering her head for a moment before she looks back up, still flickering, still looking weirdly guilty.
She’s lying. And she’s really bad at it.
But what is she lying about? Or is this just about the fact that she’s spoken to Petal at all—something I explicitly forbid her to do?
“Maybe we should put an end to this,” she says now, obviously trying to divert my attention. “We went too far. It’s obviously too much—even for you.”
She meets my gaze, silently asking for approval. But I shake my head.
“No, we knew this would be hard,” I insist. “On all of us.”
“Fine,” Malia agrees, rolling her eyes. “But you better be ready for this, because I have something to tell you that won’t make this any easier.”
Chapter 47
J
“Does anyone know that you’re here?”
She shakes her head, sitting on my couch with her legs curled up and her arms wrapped around a black pillow. She’s wearing a summer dress tonight, in a bright mint color that compliments her beautiful eyes. Her skin is kissed by a feeble tan that is still more red than brown in some places. She told me that she’d spend some time at the beach with her friend after graduation, but I didn’t know that they planned a visit to Newport.
And maybe they didn’t. Maybe she just showed up here to see me.
“I’m sorry to ambush you like this, Jayson,” she says as I sit down next to her, my expression streaked with questions. “I... I just needed to talk to you.”
“About what?”
She presses her lips together, tightening her grip on the pillow simultaneously. It’s obvious that she’s in pain, in yet another phase of distress, most likely caused by him.
“I told my dad,” she says, proving my suspicion right. “I told him about California, about college, and that I’ve made my decision. I told him I would go.”
She pauses, casting me a cautious look from the side, as if she was awaiting some kind of reaction from my side.
“And he didn’t take it well?” I presume.
“Not at all,” she responds, shaking her head while a new wave of sadness scurries across her face. “He flipped. He called me an ingrate and...”
Her hand doesn’t fly up to her face fast enough to hide the tears that emerge with sudden force. She can’t stop herself from sobbing, again. And again, it’s because of something that man did.
God, how I loathe him.
“It shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. You’ve talked about this before. He knew you’ve been accepted a while ago,” I say, moving closer as I place my hand on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to soothe her. My motion is robotic and speaks of the restraint that’s put on both me and her. I never dare to touch her, only allowing myself a hug if she’s the one to initiate it. Nothing else.
She leans into my inept touch, placing her dainty hand on mine before she continues to speak.
“Yes, sure,” she utters, her lips trembling uncontrollably. “But in his eyes, it was never more than a vague consideration, nothing I’d actually go through with. He let me play with the idea because he never expected me to actually do it. He wasn’t prepared for this.”
“He can’t stop you from going.”
Her face lights up, and she looks at me with wide, teary eyes, as if I’d just said something surprising, something she wasn’t aware of.
“He can’t, can he?” She looks bewildered, and her eyelashes flicker nervously as she locks her gaze on mine.
I shake my head, never breaking eye contact. “Only if you let him. It’s your decision, Petal.”
A pink blush adorns her face and she lowers her head.
“I just wish he’d be more supportive,” she murmurs, the sad undertone of her voice stabbing me right in the chest. “Like you are.”
There’s a question lingering in the look she throws me now, seeking reassurance for something I’ve promised her long ago.
“I gave you my word,” I say, before she gets a chance to voice her question. “And I’m sticking to it. I’ll pay for your tuition for as long as necessary.”
“I might still get one of the scholarships and—”
“Even if you don’t. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
She smiles weakly, shaking her head as she fiddles with a loose yarn that’s sticking out from the pillow. “I’ll be forever in your debt, Jayson.”
“No, you won’t,” I insist, removing my hand from her shoulder as I distance myself. “Haven’t we talked about this?”
She shrugs. “Yes, but I just don’t get it... you keep saying that you’re the one owing me. And—”
“You don’t have to get it,” I tell her. “You just need to trust me.”
I know I’m asking a lot of her, but it can’t be done any other way. She can never know just how much she’s done for me, and what I took from her to get it.
She huffs, looking up at me with a smile that makes me weak in the knees as she wipes away her tears.
“I’m going to do it,” she says, adding a silly little nod to emphasize her words. “I’m going to college.”
She chuckles, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe herself, suggesting that this might be the first time she actually believed in her dream as she said it out loud.
“We should celebrate!” she announces, turning to me with an expectant smile. “Will you make me a drink?”
I reciprocate her excited beam with a raised eyebrow. “You’re eighteen.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like this would be my first, Jayson. Malia and I have tried her mother’s wine several times. And we made Gin Tonics once. Oh, I loved those!”
A hopeful request is flickering in her green eyes, silently asking me to walk down a dangerous path with her.
I don’t know what she sees in me. A friend? A counselor? A father-like figure? I’m less than seven years older than her, but at our age, it may as well be more than a decade. Until a few weeks ago, it wasn’t even legal to think about her the way I do—and I’m sure that the attraction is one-sided. Whatever she sees in me has very little in common with the way I desire her.
Yet, she’s the one who keeps coming to me.
“Oh, come on, please!” she pleads. “All I ever hear is no, no, no. I thought you were different. And we have something to celebrate!”
There is no we when it comes to her and me, but her words wake a sinister hope inside me. A hope that I should abandon as soon as I taste its sweet allure.
But I don’t.
Instead, I walk over to my bar. I reach for reserve gin from Nolet, the finest I own.
I pour us a drink, and then another. I watch the color of her cheeks change, I watch as her eyes lose focus and her gaze turns hazy—and I don’t back away when she seeks my touch.
She calls out for me.
And that evening, I listen.
Chapter 48
Petal
I’m going to ask him for something today. And he will have to give it to me.
I’ve been so good lately, so fucking good. I never thought I’d ever obey him like this, and do so willingly. It’s strange how he seems to have a clear understanding of the power dynamic between us, and so do I—but I don’t think our perceptions are the same.
He thinks he’s in control. All he sees is a good little prisoner, kneeling before him as he pleases, crying and squealing with twisted delight when he lays his hand on my body, when he fucks me like he owns me, because he thinks he does. He thinks I let him have his way with me because I see no other way. That I let all of this happen because I’m intimidated or even scared of him.
But none of that is true.
I don’t let it happen.
I crave it.
I yearn for him to come back and have his way with me. I yearn for the things he does to me. I don’t wish for the pain specifically, but for what comes after the blinding agony. The vertigo, the ravenous lust, the exhilaration that frees me of everything. He knows how to give all of this to me, and he might be unique in that.
I wonder if I could have given into him like this if I hadn’t seen that video. The girl said I should never tell him that I saw it, but maybe that was just as much part of the plan as everything else? They’re working together on this. Maybe he told her to show it to me but to act as a secret confidant so I’d believe he’s ignorant to my knowledge.
Was this all an elaborate setup to gain my trust—so I could finally enjoy what he has been trying to give me from the beginning? Either way, I can be certain that neither one of them would answer my questions in that regard, so I won’t even bother.
However, I will try for something else today. I already made headway in being allowed up here, a much finer prison cell than the one downstairs. Who says I can’t make it even further?
I suck in a sharp breath when I hear the lock of the door opening, hurrying to my spot on the carpet, at the foot of the bed, about ten feet away from the door, sinking down on my knees and lowering my gaze just in time before he steps inside. His steps are calm and deliberate as always, and I wait in tense anticipation until he comes to a halt right in front of me, placing his hand on the back of my head.
“Good girl.”
I tilt my head back, meeting his dark hazel gaze above. He’s wearing all black again, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to reveal the muscular arms beneath. The smile on his handsome face is mellow and patient. Still, I’m surprised when his first words to me are not an order, but a simple question.
“How are you doing, Petal?”
I wrinkle my eyebrows in confusion, wondering where his question is coming from.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Don’t respond with a question. Just tell me, honestly. How are you?”
He kneels down in front of me, bringing us close to the same eye level.
“I’m good,” I reply in a whisper.
What else could he possibly expect me to say? Is this a trick question?
“I was told you look exhausted,” he says, tenderly caressing my left cheek as he assesses me. “Petal, are we too hard on you?”
A thin crease appears between his eyebrows and he looks seriously concerned. I’ve seen this look on him before, almost every time after he has been with me during the past few days. Even with my feeble access to the outside light, I’m still not entirely sure how much time has passed since that time he hit me with the cane, the day he fucked me for the first time. The marks are still there, but they’re starting fade, especially in comparison to the newer ones I’ve received since then.
It could have been two days, or three, or four. Even the white rose won’t tell me, because its petals have only wilted slightly ever since I first saw it.
“Are we?” he probes, now holding my chin between two fingers.
“No,” I say. “I’m good.”
“People get addicted to this,” he continues. “To the pain, the euphoria. And then, they need to take it further and further. Stronger hits, deeper cuts, more permanent marks.”
He pinches my chin, tilting my head up and to the side, studying me like a foreign object.
“They don’t know when to stop,” he whispers, an ominous tone lacing his voice. “Until it’s too late.”
It could be my imagination, but I’m sure I see a flicker of sadness scurrying across his handsome face. A memory, maybe? Did he—
“I know you love it; I always knew you would.” He cuts off my train of thought. “But we have to be careful with you.”
Careful with me? Why is he teasing me like this, making it so obvious that there’s something behind his words, something deeper, something that may have meaning not only for him but for me, too.
I bite my lower lip to prevent myself from asking questions I know he’s not willing to answer. I don’t want to get on his bad side, not today.
“But I have been good lately, haven’t I?”
My inquiry appears to surprise him. He arches his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side while fixing me with a questioning look.
“I have been obedient, adaptive—pleasing you, just like you want me to.”
He lets go of me and juts his chin forward. “Where are you going with this, Petal?”
“It’s just that...,” I utter, swallowing dryly as I try to think of the right words. “Remember what you told me on my very first day? Down in the basement.”
“I told you a lot of things that day.”
No, you didn’t. You refused to answer any of my questions and listed a bunch of things you expect of me.
I shake my head, casting away the honest words that would only anger him.
“You told me that bad girls get punished,” I say, fighting to stay on track for my purpose. “And good girls get a treat.”
He nods slowly, waiting for me to conclude.
“Well, I have been very good for you, but it’s been a while since I received a treat.”
A sinister chuckle escapes him. “On that, I would disagree, my dear Petal.”
I glare at him, unable to suppress a pouting face, which only makes him laugh at me even more.
“You have been spoiled,” he goes on. “Orgasm after orgasm, elated so high that you must have felt close to the clouds. What more could you possibly ask for, Petal?”
