Chapter 1
The first time Jareth came to her lasted two glorious weeks. She'd been on a post-graduation trip through Europe with some of her friends.
Sarah was weaving through the densely packed bodies as they danced to the throbbing music that pulsated so forcefully it replaced her heartbeat. The chill of the highly alcoholic drink in her hand did nothing to decrease the simmering heat of so many bodies pressing against each other.
Girlfriends of Sarah's would always marvel at her confidence, at the nonchalant way she effortlessly seduced then discarded man after man. They didn't understand, because Sarah never told them, that it was easy to be confident around somebody in whom you have no interest, someone whom you don't care what they think of you.
None of them were him, and so none of them mattered, none of them could be more than a plaything, a pitiful substitute for what she really wanted.
Yet she would never call out for him, not once, no matter how many times she thought of him at night or imagined his face on the long string of men who she always, always found wanting. If he came to her when she called, she would be admitting defeat; she would show that she needed him, more than he needed her. And if he didn't come…
The thought was too humiliating to contemplate.
As she drained her glass and deposited it on some surface at the edge of the writhing mass, Sarah began to dance. Men came up to her, and she would smile flirtatiously, swing her hips, twirl her hair, lean in close to him and let her body brush against his… then, with one last teasing, naughty smile, sink back into the crowd and disappear.
And so she slid her hands up some faceless man's chest, and pressed her hips against him in this crowded club, and teased him with the futile hope that he might possess her tonight. She might sleep with him-- sometimes she fucked them, just because, just for the hell of it-- but he would never possess her.
Then she felt a hand slide around her waist, and she sensed rather than saw the majestic arrogance that was the Goblin King.
"Come now, Sarah," he whispered, and somehow despite the deafening blast of the music, she heard him, crystal clear. He guided her away, his hand at the small of her back, and she followed yieldingly.
"Hey, man, I was dancing with her!" her previous partner exclaimed, grabbing for Sarah's wrist.
She glanced over at him with a look of such scorn that he shrank back. Jareth, for his part, didn't even bother with acknowledgment of any sort. He led her to a dark corner of the dance floor and trapped her between himself and the wall.
"I'm surprised you didn't break his arm." Sarah had to strain her neck to look up at him, he was so close. She could feel his body heat all up and down her form.
Jareth shrugged dismissively. "What, that boy? He was nobody. Wasn't worth the trouble."
She felt an ever so slight flash of annoyance that Jareth knew so well that whoever Sarah was with was nobody, and then wondered what he would do if there was ever a somebody.
Then such thoughts flew form her mind and Sarah drew in her breath as he drew still closer to her, until every inch of her body was pressed against his. The rough brick of the wall dug into her back, and it was painful and delectable, as Jareth grinned ferally before dipping his head suddenly and capturing her lips with his.
If his kiss had been rough last time, it was nothing compared to how he kissed her now. There was nothing gentle in the way his mouth pressed against hers, his teeth biting her lip, his tongue pressed into her mouth, feeling like assault even though there was not an unwilling bone in her body.
He set her body on fire, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed ever closer, lifting her legs to wrap them around his waist, knowing that finally she would get what she had been waiting for, finally she would feel him inside of her and she would do her best to drive him mad with pleasure.
He broke the kiss and pulled back just far enough to gaze down at her face: her skin that shone with sweat, and her eyes that shined with lust and maybe something else, and her lips swollen, bleeding slightly from his brutal passion. The look on his face scared her a little—she had never seen such intense, such naked hunger, nor so dark a desire.
She stood there, mesmerized, and suddenly she realized that she was falling backwards, the brick wall that had been behind her gone. She landed on a soft surface, Jareth on top of her, still looking down at her with the same expression.
"Much better," he murmured. He leaned down to kiss her neck, and then bit it harshly. She stifled a scream.
"Don't hold it in," he whispered in her ear. "I want to hear your screams. I want to hear you scream in pleasure, and in pain, and in fear and desire and ecstasy and terror." He punctuated his words with tiny butterfly kisses down the side of her neck to her collarbone, light caresses to emphasize his dark words. He lifted his head to look up at her.
"And I get what I want," he told her.