Thanks for your reviews, glad to hear you're enjoying the story and also series 3.
And now for some M rated Jaspenor...
"I own you Princess. For this little arrangement to work, you'll do what I say, when I say it," his voice is authoritative, his breath is hot against the skin of her neck and she can feel his erection grinding into her.
"Now take off your slip. Slowly," he demands, his hand sliding down her to tug at her petticoat.
His arrogance is breath taking. And the smugness written all over his smarmy, ridiculously handsome face, is infuriating.
"You don't own me, Jaspaar," she corrects him hautily, glaring at him resentfully while making no move to comply.
Even if she's being manipulated into this little arrangement with this asshole from who knows where, who'll try and extract god knows what else from her aside from sex, she still can't help but bite back at him.
"And whoever you are and wherever your revolving accent is drawn from you hide your horns and cloven hoof rather well. No one would ever think from the outside that you were literally spawned by the devil," she clips. "I mean you could almost pass for-"
"Less talk. More stripping, Princess," Jasper interrupts her, rudely.
Eleanor eyes flash fire. "No manners to speak of, so I guess that establishes you are an American."
Then she pulls herself upright and strips off her slip in one quick movement. "Very well then, asshole, let's just get this over with as quickly as possible so I can pretend I never had the displeasure of meeting such a duplicitous snake in the first place."
As soon as she's naked, Jasper's eyes light up and then he's on top of her. "Trust me baby, you'll remember this for the rest of your days," he tells her, dripping with a confidence that she finds supremely irritating.
"I seriously doubt that," she bites back, her chin held stubbornly high.
He quickly removes his pants, shirt and then briefs and then they're lying naked together in bed. Only this is nothing like last night when she thought he was charming, delightful and not to mention a half decent person.
If only he wasn't sooo unreasonably good looking. If only his chest wasn't a chiselled masterpiece of golden skin and muscles. If only there wasn't a part of her that didn't long to have his hands all over her again, and his skin against her skin, heated flesh against heated flesh.
What he does next takes her aback because his hand travels up her body, dipping over her curves and hollows reverently and she has to press her lips together to stop herself from letting out a sound. And then he puts his lips to her neck. "You're beautiful Princess," he breathes in her ear, and her stomach flutters unexpectedly.
Then he props himself up on an elbow and looks down at her, and the softness is gone, replaced with a hard stare. "Beautiful and you're mine. No other man can have you now. You belong to me," he tells her with emphasis.
"I don't –" Eleanor starts to set him straight but she's drowned out when his lips press against hers and its like the two of them catch alight because his lips are hot and his tongue invades her mouth while his hands travel south to cover the swell of her breasts. Her heart starts racing double time.
A minute later his mouth travels down the length of her body and then his hands are pulling apart her legs as he sinks down onto her, his mouth on her. She would push him off because she told him she wanted this to be fast and impersonal but his mouth and hands have the touch of an expert and her body starts to rise in a way she can't control and he keeps torturing her with his every touch until she's moaning and shuddering beneath him.
And only when she's so close she thinks she's going to explode does she feel him lowering himself down onto her, his muscled torso weighing her down. He takes her in his arms and kisses her fevered cheek, then she can feel him sliding himself inside her.
And he feels impossibly large but somehow her body manages to stretch to fit him, and she lets out another moan when he's buried as deep inside her as he can go.
He takes her arms from around his shoulders and pins them above her head, and then he starts moving, and to her it feels overwhelming as the pressure builds inside her with each thrust. And he won't let up because he keeps going and going. His hand pushes her hair back from his face and he groans against her mouth, "god you're so perfect baby. You feel amazing."
And he feels hot, and hard and she can feel him throbbing inside her until she aches.
He kisses her again. "Say my name," he demands in between thrusts.
And she doesn't even know why but she does what he tells her to. "Jaspaar," she breathes.
He pushes her head back, and tugs at her hair and it seems to set her off, and she pulls her hands out of his grasp and scratches her fingernails down his back and she can feel him shudder inside her from her touch.
"Say it again," he tells her as his movements get more urgent, and her head is knocking against the headboard with each thrust.
"Jaspaar," she moans. And again, "Jaspaar," she gasps and she can tell she's close and he's close because his breath is laboured and the sweat is gleaming on his forehead.
And then she finally comes and its so intense she feels like she's about to faint and its only his hands on her hips and the guttural sounds spilling from his lips as he follows her a moment after that convinces her she hasn't blacked out.
He collapses on top of her, and its almost over powering having his heavy, strong body on top of her, with the scent of sweat and sex filing the air.
After she's caught her breath, she goes to push him off her and demands that he get out of her room and out of her life.
He smirks to himself, presses a kiss to her lips and his hands rove down her body one more time, and finally rolls himself off her with the grace of a cat slinking away from the fireplace.
He pulls on his trousers, then his shirt and slips on his shoes.
"So this was fun Princess. I'm looking forward to a repeat performance tomorrow night," and with that he casually tosses his jacket over his shoulder and in two strides is out the door.
"You evil fucker," Eleanor's face is aghast as she glares at the back of his head as it slips from the room. But he doesn't even have the grace to acknowledge he's heard her.
She's so incensed she actually runs after him, grabs the door open and stands in the hallway hands on hips.
"You are not coming back tomorrow night, you bloody bastard," she yells after him, seething.
He's far down the corridor by the time her words come out, but he does manage to turn around. "You might want to put some clothes on Princess. Someone might take a picture of you and use it to blackmail you," he warns, an evil smirk flitting across his face.
And yes she might be standing naked in the middle of a corridor after a session that could very well have woken up the neighbours, but right now she doesn't give a fuck.
Eleanor stalks back down the corridor, yanks open the door and slams it after her loudly while she wonders what the bloody hell she did to deserve that man in her life.