Chapter 9
J
“Jayson.”
Her eyes widen when she hears my answer, but it’s not in realization or recognition of any kind. She’s simply surprised.
As am I.
She asked for my name, and I told her. I told her, just like that. As if it was nothing, no big deal at all. The most natural thing to do. And of course, it is—under normal circumstances. In the outside world, where normal people live and love, unburdened by the obstacles that have been put in our way.
“Jayson.”
The way she breathes my name is so heavy with devotion that it spurs my desire for her, feeding it with hope and lust that I cannot place.
I pull her closer, reveling in the way her eyelashes flicker as I stretch her tight channel. I just came inside her mere minutes ago, but I’m rock-hard, as if it never happened.
She’s doing that to me. In a way, she always has, but I never allowed myself to act on it. I knew it would be this way once I could have her. I know there’s no way back now that I’ve been inside her, now that I’ve seen the way her face grimaces when I push her, playing and testing how much she really needs this, how much she’s capable of enduring.
My little Petal keeps surprising me. So calm, collected and innocent—but her nature turned carnal once I gave her something she didn’t know she craved. I’ve never heard a girl scream like her. I’ve never seen a girl cry like her.
I’ve never seen a girl beg like her—beg for more, and not for me to stop.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my adoration for her is laced with concern.
She’s always been so self-aware, so smart and reflective. Just like me, she knew about the darkness within herself, and we both knew she needed to shed a shell that was built around her, so this darkness could be accessed.
And now I gave her my name, thus playing havoc with the deal we so carefully laid out between us.
How could I? How could I be so fucking stupid?
You’re in love, the root of all stupidity.
“Jayson.” She keeps repeating my name like a mantra, contemplating, tasting every syllable while she moves her hips in a way that drives me insane.
The expression on her face is somewhat apathetic, not quite there, not quite in the moment. She looks at me, but it seems as if she’s looking right through me, while my name keeps rolling off her tongue and she clenches around my length. She’s fucking me in a meditative rhythm, breathing my name as her voice grows weaker and her gaze glassy.
What is she doing? Is she trying to remember? Is she trying to see whether any of this seems familiar? My cock inside her, my name attached to the action.
Fuck, why on Earth did I tell her? Do I want her to remember? Do I want for her to realize why she’s here and how she got here? Do I want her to know?
I’m certain that a part of me does. It’s undeniable, and incidentally, it’s the only explanation for my idiotic slip. What else could it be? My scientific curiosity? I know there are certain triggers that could guide her toward the truth. The white rose was one of them. Her favorite flower, a blossom that symbolizes strong emotions and devotion. She once told me that they’re her favorite, because they don’t rely on passion alone, but long-lasting and sustaining love. They always had plenty at her family’s store, providing solace for Petal when nothing else did. I knew that it would trigger something within her when I placed it in that vase on the table, but I couldn’t know what memory I would awake. All I knew is that it would be hazy and too vague for her to make any sense of it. It was interesting and disheartening at the same time when she shared her vision with me.
A picture of men, surrounding her—and she picked me to be the evil one.
That hurt, my dear Petal. That really hurt.
“Jayson,” she utters again. Then she tilts her head to the side, fixating me with attentive eyes.
“That’s a nice name, very classy,” she assesses, leaving me in the dark about any memories or connections she might have found upon hearing my revelation.
I groan when she tilts her hips, her tight muscles tensing around me as if she was trying to milk me. That minx. I know what she’s trying to do. I know her well enough to realize that she’s trying to take over, claiming control that I’m not willing to relinquish.
“You know you don’t get to call me that,” I remind her. “I’m your master.”
Her gaze latches on to mine, the hint of a smile scurrying across her face.
“Then why did you tell?” she wants to know. “Why did you tell me your name if you don’t want me to use it?”
Dangerous intimacy flares between us, and she leans forward until her lips find mine. It’s the first time she’s the one initiating the kiss, and she’s not shy about it. She takes from me just as I took from her, breathing heavily while we intertwine in a luscious embrace. She moves closer, forbidding me to speak as her mesmerizing kiss silences me.
And I let her. I close my eyes and give in to the woman who has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember. There’s no fighting it. I neither can nor do I want to.
But I know I should.