An awkward silence settles over us,and I look up at Jace for several moments. For a very brief time, it is as if we are the only two people in the room. As if Mason and Arabella aren't here. As if nobody is here. I feel my heartbeat picking up and a sliver of something runs down my spine. He really does have amazing eyes. At least his looks aren't the issue with him. And maybe, somewhere far away in the depth of my mind, I have a tiny spark of something else. That I admire him for more than his good looks and confidence. That there is actually a reason that I sent that picture to him last night. And that it hurt that he hadn't responded to it at all. But as he looks back at me, there is so much fire in his eyes. It makes me want to look away, but I don't. Is he trying to intimidate me? Or is it something else? Did he really think of me when he was with someone else last night? Or is he just toying with me? Was he even with someone else last night? “So, Norali, how old are you?” A
Jace walks out with Arabella by his side, and she shoots me a scowl over her shoulder. I wink at her before turning back to pay. When we step outside, Jace and Arabella are still loading groceries into his flashy car. Multiple people around admire it. "It's a beauty," Mason says dreamily. "Why don't you just marry the damn car?" I huff, but Mason barely notices and heads straight for Jace’s car. I have zero interest in joining them—especially with Arabella clinging to Jace, eyeing him like he's prime steak. Instead, I push the trolley to our car and start loading up. "Apple girl," a voice calls from behind me. I turn to see the guy who saved me from a broken nose earlier. He’s leaning against a massive motorcycle, wearing a leather jacket and all. "Wow," I say, eyeing the beast behind him. He smiles and pats his motorcycle. "Thanks," he says. He gives me a casual look. "Was that your boyfriend?" he asks, motioning toward Mason. "My brother," I reply, closing the trunk. "No boy
The door beside me flings open. "What the fuck?!" I hear Jace shout. My hands are yanked from the steering wheel, and I see Jace bending over to remove the key from the ignition. He turns, gripping my chin. "Are you okay? I'll call an ambulance," he says, panic widening his eyes. "I'm fine," I manage to croak, closing my eyes against the wave of dizziness. "Bullshit. Open your eyes," he demands. I sigh and comply. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken." "Mason, call an ambulance," Jace orders, tossing his phone to him. "Jace, she’s fine. The airbags didn’t even deploy. She swerved right, hit the brakes—her head didn’t touch the wheel," Mason argues, glancing at me for confirmation. Jace's grip on my chin softens but his face remains inches from mine. His hand slides from my chin to my cheek. "Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Nauseous? Do you have any pain?" Jace asks, looking down my body as if assessing the situation. "I'm really fine," I insist, though my head still spins a little. "Wh
Mason tosses the keys in the air, catches them effortlessly, and strolls over. "Let’s go, baby sis. Jace, thanks for your help. Li, also thank him, too," Mason says, using his teacher voice. Arabella watches us closely, and I can’t help but turn to Jace. "Jace... thank you SO much," I say with exaggerated enthusiasm as I throw my arms around his neck. Once again, he freezes, and I learn something new about him. He’s had sex—probably a lot of it—but physical contact, true intimacy? He seems to shy away from it. He seems to hate it. He's got no problem with using his hands and his dick, but a simple hug? Imagine the horror. And so, of course, I press my body against his, feeling my breasts flatten against his chest. With a slight shift, I position us so I’m facing Arabella. I give her a small, cruel smile as I slide my hand up to the back of Jace’s neck. He’s still frozen, his breath warm against my cheek. With my other hand, I grab his blazer, pulling him even closer. I turn my hea
"Yeah... apparently the clients did. These parties tend to get a bit wild." Mason’s phone lights up, and I lean over to see the chat with Jace.-Jace: Help me.-Jace: [picture]I stare at the picture, scanning it thoroughly. It’s his office, and sure enough, there are multiple women in lingerie—asses and breasts on full display—touching the men. "Ask him if he has a favorite stripper," I say to Mason. He smirks and immediately types.-Mason: Got a favorite girl?My heart pounds out of my chest. What office party has strippers present??-Jace: They're dirty and already sucked more cock tonight than I had drinks. Their speed is immaculate, though. They're in and out with the boys in minutes.Mason laughs out loud and continues the conversation.-Mason: You didn't answer the question. Is it the blonde one in red?He zooms in on a stripper in red, her back to the camera, her face turned just enough for her profile to show.-Jace: If you want a list of my top ten, I can make you one. Why a
My heart races as I stare at the messages from Jace, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’s online, probably noticing that I am too. Another text pops up. -Mr. Grumpy: Sugar Baby. My belly flutters. -Mr.Grumpy: I want you to tell me one thing. -Mr. Grumpy: If you answer, I won't punish you for ignoring my request in the supermarket. I told you to keep your phone on, you brat. I start typing, then delete it. Type again, delete. A flood of responses rush through my mind. My phone was on all night; I just didn’t have it with me. But I doubt he’d appreciate that answer right now. Also, “brat” sounds... kind of sexy, coming from him. Okay. -Norali: Shoot. -Mr. Grumpy: Tell me what happened last night. Was there someone with you? Aaah. So he is still wondering about last night. Interesting. Well, that is exactly the same for me. I want to know what happened with Charlene. But he isn't going to get my answer that easily. -Norali: What an inappropriate question to ask, Mr. Ad
I’m not going to send him a nude, especially since his picture is foggy anyway. Instead, I open the camera and stand in front of the living room mirror. I made sure my phone is in front of my face. It's just my op half on the screen, with maybe my shirt pulled down just a tad to reveal more of my shoulders and collarbones. It's not particularly sexy or anything like that. I could’ve probably done a way better job. -Norali: Picture I hit send and wait for his response, heart pounding. -Mr. Grumpy: Yes, mirror kink added. -Mr. Grumpy: You're stunning. And the nerves come back again. Did he really just call me stunning? My cheeks flush, and I clear my throat, which suddenly feels tight. Does he really mean that? Jace isn’t the type to throw out compliments. How can he even call me stunning when my face isn’t in the picture? -Mr. Grumpy: Your turn. Pressing my lips together, I stand frozen in the living room for a few seconds. What else could be a kink? I glance around the room, t
"So... someone is coming over this morning," I say casually to Hannah as I switch on the coffee machine. She’s lounging on the couch and immediately pauses The Office. "You’re joking," she gasps. Of course, she immediately knows who I’m talking about. I turn around as I hear her get up from the couch. "What do you mean 'coming over'?" she asks, full of intrigue. I sigh, pressing the cappuccino button. "Well... he’s got a day planned with Mason," I reply, trying to figure out how to tell her that he wants us to join. Hannah’s face narrows in suspicion. "Okay... what are you not telling me?" Before I can answer, Mason walks down the stairs with Esme, who showed up early this morning and immediately went to him. I’ve been downstairs avoiding them. "But I thought it was just a day with Jace," Mason complains. "Come on," Esme chimes in, opening the door to the living room. "It’ll be fun!" "Good morning, Hannah," Mason greets, though his eyes are still on Esme. "I wanted a bro day,"
A hundred thoughts race through my mind, tangling in the fear that grips my chest. “The lights,” I manage to whisper, the only thing I can say as the night feels alive with danger. Jace tilts his head, eyes gleaming with a predatory calm. “I control them with my phone. Must admit, it was entertaining watching you run around like a little mouse,” he says, voice low and sharp. The gun is still pointed at me, a small, deadly thing that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. His finger rests too comfortably on the trigger, and though logic tells me he won’t shoot me, every instinct screams otherwise. “Throw the joint and the lighter,” he sneers, voice cold as steel. My hands act before I can think, letting both drop into the grass as if they burn me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften. He’s in complete control, and I can feel it like a noose tightening around my throat. “Now, take off your sweats,” he orders. For a moment, I think I misheard him. My heart stumbles. “What?” My voice is bare
I hear Jace leap from the couch with a sharp curse, and I sprint into the house like my life depends on it. My feet barely skim the floor as I slam the glass sliding doors shut with a shuddering crash. My eyes dart to the lock just above my head, and without hesitation, I jump, fingers fumbling but finding it. I twist the lock, securing it as my bare feet touch the cool wood again. But Jace is already there. He’s in front of me before I even catch my breath, his presence looming. The glass panes separating us feel paper-thin. His chest heaves, his jaw tight. He knows I’ve locked the door. “Open it,” he snaps, his voice like a lash, the sheer force of it making him seem larger—more dangerous—than I’ve ever seen him before. My pulse spikes, but I refuse to flinch. Instead, I slowly place the joint between my lips, locking my gaze with his furious eyes, and flick the lighter. The flame bursts to life between us, and in its glow, I see the fire mirrored in his eyes—rage and something d
I barely have a second to breathe before I feel his teeth sink into my skin, right where the chocolate had been poured. A sharp moan escapes my lips as Jace bites down harder, the pain blooming through me in a delicious, addictive wave. Shit. Is this punishment? Because it feels better than anything I’ve ever experienced. HHis fingers pinch the soft skin of my waist, and he bites again, harder this time. Another moan tears out of me before I can stop it, and I feel his gaze flick up to my face. Heat rushes up my neck. I throw my head back, desperately trying to hide the pleasure that's so obviously written on my face. I bite my lip, hard, struggling to hold in a scream. “You like that?” Jace's voice is low, a mix of surprise and something darker. I nod, unable to form words. Like it? Jesus. I’m sure he can even smell my arousal. And since I’m not wearing underwear, I can feel it on my legs. “Really?” he presses, his voice dripping with intrigue. “Yes,” I manage to whisper, my vo
I lay back down the moment Jace steps into the house, leaving the sliding doors open behind him. My back sinks into the soft cushions, heart pounding in my chest. He’s told me to lie on my back and lift my shirt, exposing my stomach. My eyes are shut, and my hands cling to the top of the wooden lounge set above my head. I’ve followed his instructions without question. The cold wind brushes across my bare skin, and with my eyes closed, I become hyper-aware of every sound around me. I hear Jace’s soft footsteps approaching. Though he remains silent, I can feel his gaze roaming over my body. The urge to peek is almost unbearable—I want to see what he’s planning. The first sound I hear is the click of a lighter. Then, he inhales deeply. I swallow hard, knowing he’s watching me as he smokes. The sensation is thrilling. Exhilarating. And utterly terrifying. I can hardly breathe. “Open,” Jace commands softly. My lips part immediately, and he places the tip of the joint between them.
“Try again. Slowly,” Jace instructs, bringing the joint back to my lips. This time, I inhale gently, feeling the smoke trail down into my lungs before exhaling a thick haze. “Yes, good. Again,” he murmurs, guiding the joint to my lips once more. I take another puff, and then Jace takes a hit himself. After one more inhale, he presses the joint into the ashtray on the table, extinguishing it. “That’s it?” I ask, a bit puzzled. Jace smirks as he dumps the remainder of the joint with the ash. “That’s enough for now. We’ll have more after dessert.” He gives me a knowing look. I’m not quite sure what he’s hinting at, but I do know that my brain feels foggy immediately. The weed is definitely working. Dessert seems like a fantasy right now. “Dessert?” I ask, intrigued but distracted by the haze settling over me. "I have to pee," I suddenly blurt outas I jump up from the lounge with a burst of excitement. I hurry upstairs, my steps dreamy and unsteady. Inside the bathroom, I sit down
"Pfft. I was just... thinking," Jace says, opening the wine bottle and pouring a glass for me before I can even respond. "Drink," he orders, filling it generously. "Yes, sir," I reply with exaggerated innocence. He clears his throat and swiftly turns back to the stove. He places a plate full of ravioli in front of me. "This looks delicious," I say, genuinely impressed. "But it’s a lot. I’m not sure I can—" "Eat. All of it," Jace interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. I raise an eyebrow at him, meeting his strict teacher's gaze. "I don’t know if I can take all of it," I say sweetly, trying to match his seriousness. His strict face falls for a seconds, but then darkens with an edge. "I’m sure you can. Try." He sits across from me, placing a fork in my hand. "So," Jace says after taking a sip of wine, his eyes fixed on me, "talk." "About?" I ask, taking a bite of the ravioli and nodding in appreciation. It’s incredible. Jace looks down at my plate of food, and then bac
“Come in,” Jace says softly. “The backdoor is always open.” I gasp in mock shock and follow him to the door. “You never lock your backdoor? Don’t you know how unsafe that is? You never know who might creep in, in the middle of the night.” I smirk. “Well, consider my door open to creeps.” Jace responds with clear double meaning. My stomach does a little jump, and I quickly divert my attention to the house instead. Jace opens the door and gestures for me to step inside first. I kick off my shoes and step into the spacious, wooden interior. The place is much larger than I expected. To my left, a grand staircase twinkles with tiny lights, and the ceiling stretches up to the rafters, with skylights framing the stars that are beginning to dot the sky. I wander deeper into the house, passing an open kitchen before entering the living room. The far wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a stunning view of the large porch outside, complete with a barbecue, lounge set, and jac
No tears come. I just sit there, staring ahead, completely numb. The car's already unlocked, and I’ve been in it for what feels like an hour. Or maybe it’s only been two minutes when the door of the restaurant opens and I see Jace walking out. My heart does a little jump, slowly pulling me from the shock. He suddenly sits beside me. I blink, turning my head to him, confused at how he got here so fast. I hadn’t even noticed him get in. Jace is watching me, expecting something. "What?" I ask, my voice distant. He frowns. "I asked you twice already if you’re alright." I think about that question. It’s one I don't want to answer. "Can we go?" I say instead. "Of course." Jace starts the car without hesitation. As we pull away, I glance at the restaurant one last time. Everything looks the same as when we arrived. Strawberry milkshakes will never taste the same ever again. I start breathing normally as we drive out of the city, leaving my dad and everything else behind. “What did y
“Yeah, it’s great. Really excited,” Dad says, finally meeting my eyes. “But I just lost my job. That was a bummer,” he adds, his gaze fixed on me. “Oh no... What happened?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Reorganization. Not my fault in any way,” he replies quickly, taking another bite of his steak. I barely touch my food. “It’s been tight, money-wise, to be honest,” Dad says after a pause. I grab a fry, stalling for time. “Oh... what about finding a new job?” I ask, dipping my fry in mayo. “No luck. It’s a tough market out there. I’m struggling, pumpkin. Really struggling,” he says, his tone tinged with sadness. I know where this is going. "Do you think you can help me out a little bit?" There it is—the question I dreaded. I don’t mind helping my dad, but this is what he does. He disappears for long stretches, sometimes years, until he needs money. Mason used to give in when Dad showed up at our door, pleading. That has been years. Nothing has changed. "Come on, pum