A/N: Happy weekend! It's still Friday night for me, and the kid's at his dad's for the weekend, which means you get a new chapter! Lol, don't expect my other stories to be updated with this kind of frequency; I'm actually working a little ahead on this one, which means faster updates.
Um, also, you know how I keep saying this whole story is michemistic's fault? Well, this chapter IS her fault utterly and completely, because she asked for it. Like, specifically. Want the quote? It's something along the lines of how I've never had Rachel go down on Jesse in one of my stories yet.
You're welcome. ;-)
Dare
"I thought I told you not to hit anymore."
Rachel looked up at Jesse utterly unrepentantly as he took her hand and led her into the bathroom. She hopped up on the white tile countertop, drumming her heels softly against the cupboard below her as he pulled cotton balls and peroxide from a drawer. "It was only Finn," she said as he examined her split knuckles again. Even that little touch sent shivers down her spine, and she ached for more.
"Yes, well, did you ever consider the fact that you might hurt yourself in the act of hitting someone else? Finn's got a hard head, after all."
Rachel wrinkled her nose. "I wasn't really thinking," she admitted. "He made me mad, and I just sort of reacted."
"Which is fine, most of the time, but now you've gone and hurt your hand." Jesse chuckled and kissed her palm, then moved her hand to cup his cheek. It was something Rachel had done of her own volition plenty of times when they were dating, and the familiarity of the gesture brought back a wash of emotions she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to deal with. "Look at the pair of us—we look like we went and picked a fight with a professional wrestler."
Okay, they didn't look quite that bad, but Rachel had to agree that they were both a little battered. The hinge of her thumb was still a little sore and swollen, and now the thin skin over her first two knuckles was well and truly split. Jesse was right about one thing—Finn's cheekbone had been hard. The side of Jesse's jaw was bruised where she'd socked him yesterday, and her bite on his arm was wrapped in gauze. "Don't be hyperbolic," she said, mimicking his words to her from yesterday.
Jesse snorted lightly as he soaked a cotton ball in peroxide. "Who's the boss here? I can be as hyperbolic or figurative as I like."
"Yes, master," Rachel said sarcastically.
But Jesse instantly flicked his eyes up to meet hers, a playful smirk hovering over his tempting mouth. "Careful, Rach. I might learn to like those words from you."
Rachel decided not to push it further. She wasn't entirely sure whether he was kidding or not.
Jesse raised the dripping cotton ball and hesitated. "This is going to sting," he cautioned. "Be a good girl and hold still, and I'll make it worth your while."
"I always got a lollipop after going to the doctor," Rachel teased, knowing full well his promise had nothing to do with candy. "I didn't see anything like that in your kitchen."
"If you want something to suck on I'll gladly oblige, but it won't be a lollipop." Jesse lowered his hand, smoothing the cotton carefully over her split knuckles.
Rachel hissed, sucking in a mouthful of air as the familiar, unpleasant sting of peroxide settled over her flesh. Her hurt skin foamed, and she quivered but didn't snatch her hand away. She suspected Jesse had made the dirty comment at least in part to distract her, and she didn't know whether to be irritated or grateful. Irritation was definitely safer, but was it more honest?
"As your master," Jesse said, swiping her knuckles again, "if I ordered you to suck me off, would you?"
"No," Rachel snapped. "You're not allowed to ask me to do something like that, anyway; it's in the rules."
"You forget," Jesse said with a devious smile, "I didn't sign any rules."
"Your lackey did. Ipso facto, you're bound by them."
"You don't even know what that means." Jesse dabbed again, carefully removing the traces of blood and cleaning the wound as gently as he could. "Besides, you already permitted me to make a sexual demand. No panties, remember?"
"How do you know I didn't ignore you?" Rachel went to cross her arms over her chest, but Jesse was holding her hurt hand still and did not let go. She felt a little foolish, but he merely dabbed at her knuckles again.
I'll confirm before the night is out," Jesse vowed, "but I don't need to. I know you listened."
"How do you know?" Rachel demanded.
Jesse chuckled as he threw the cotton ball in the trash can and reached for a small sterile pad. Placing it over the split skin, he took the roll of gauze and wrapped her hand a few times, holding the pad in place. "Trust me," he said, "I know." After tucking the end of the gauze in, securing the dressing, he raised her hand and placed a kiss on the tips of her fingers. "All done, and you didn't complain once. What would my sweet girl like for her reward?" The corners of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile.
"A lollipop," Rachel said firmly, knowing full well that he had nothing of the sort in the apartment.
The utterly undignified snort that met her words was followed by his hands hoisting her off the counter, pulling her close to his body. "I'll give you a fucking lollipop," he said, carrying her quickly into the bedroom and dumping her unceremoniously on the bed.
Rachel squealed and flipped over, intent on crawling away, but he was on top of her instantly, his body hot and solid, and she twisted in the confines of his embrace, unsure whether she wanted to be away from him or face-to-face. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that his touch affected her like no other. It was one of the reasons she'd come back here—left school early, even, which she never did—despite her reservations. She was curious about Jesse's plans, and not only his plans for her transformation, as he called it, but for their private time together.
Already he had her saying they, as if they were something again, a pair, a duo—a couple. As if he meant to her what Finn was supposed to mean, what Jesse himself had meant before his betrayal. It was so easy to slip back into that with him, to pretend that the egging and Jesse's defection back to Vocal Adrenaline had never happened. So tempting.
And his hands were even more tempting, gliding up her body, holding her against him as if he fully intended never to let her go. He rolled them over so she was on top, slipping his hands down over her barely-there skirt and squeezing. The motion put her center squarely in contact with the unmistakable hard bulge in his jeans, and her eyes widened as he pushed up against her.
"Does that feel like a lollipop to you?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming at her. Deep blue and stormy, like the slate color of the walls. She felt sure she could get lost in that color and never find her way home again. But more than his eyes, it was his mouth that seemed to call to her. She remembered his kisses so well, despite not having had one in months. They consumed her, making her feel like nothing else in the world ever could.
"Kiss me, Jesse," she whined, knowing he'd already said no.
"I don't even want to know what Freud would say about you," Jesse said with a chuckle. "All that biting, and whining for kisses and lollipops. Oral fixation, much?"
"Jesse, please." She wasn't above a little begging if it got her what she wanted, and right now what she wanted was that kiss...but on her terms, not his.
His hand rose and slapped her backside—lighter than any of the times he'd done so yesterday, but she still scowled and tried to jerk away from him. He held her firmly where she was, shaking his head slowly. "I already told you no," he said, "and that should be the end of it."
"Why?" she taunted. "Because you're the master?"
He shifted instantly, flipping them again, hovering over her. "Because I'm the master," he confirmed. "And because you know what you have to do if you want a kiss."
Yes, she knew. But she also knew that giving him what he wanted—kissing him first—was a dangerous thing to do. A kiss like that would never be just a kiss. It would cement this fragile, broken thing that they had just barely resuscitated, and Rachel honestly didn't know if she was ready for that. Plus, there was Finn to think of. Bumbling, well-meaning Finn, who she wanted to sock again, given the opportunity, regardless of what his face did to her knuckles. She was mad at him now, but what if he apologized?
Jesse's hands moved, sliding under her the hem of her tight pink button-down shirt, splaying against the silken skin of her stomach. The logical, rational part of her mind abruptly turned off, eclipsed by the primal, visceral nature of his touch. He popped the buttons slowly, starting at the bottom, exposing more of her toned torso to his view with each sure movement of his fingers.
"Jesse," she whimpered, not at all sure whether she was telling him to stop or begging to continue. Not that it really mattered. She recognized that set, intent look on his face—he wasn't going to stop now unless she uttered her safeword, and she wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.
"Been waiting so long to see you," he muttered, popping another button open, exposing to view the red satin bra she'd purchased over the Internet and had to hide from her fathers when the box came in the mail. Sexy underclothes were not her forte—usually she went with either utilitarian or little-girl cute. But the sexier outfits demanded different undergarments, and she'd worked up the nerve a week ago to buy a few experimental items. Nothing too daring—lace itched like hell, she'd learned—but definitely more grown-up. "Jesus Christ," Jesse murmured, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he released the last button and her shirt fell open. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Is it working?" Rachel heard the quiver in her own voice, knowing full well that she was way out of her league here. Sexy bed-talk was something she'd never done before, though Jesse pulled it off with aplomb.
"Definitely." He lowered his head, skimming his nose lightly along the bottom of the bra. Her skin glowed, pale café au lait, contrasted against the bright red satin. Finn vanished from her mind as if he had never existed, and she breathed in deeply, fisting her hands in the bedding below her as Jesse moved. His lips ran over the cup of the bra, unerringly finding her pebbled nipple. "Let's see how you like that oral fixation of yours used on you," he breathed, then bit.
Even through the material, she definitely felt it. He wasn't being gentle, but the sting of his teeth made her cry out sharply in an intriguing mix of both pleasure and pain. She squeezed her eyes shut, arching into his touch as he pushed her bra up and over her breasts, covering her nipple with his mouth, skin-on-skin. Wet heat drowned the lingering squeezing sting of the bite, and she exhaled a shaky, voiced breath.
"I'll make love to you with the delicate reverence due a princess," Jesse muttered against her skin, "and worship your body with every romantic cliche known to man. I swear to you that will happen...but not right now. Baser instincts are at work today."
The deep, insistent quality of his words sent fire racing through her, and Rachel didn't know for a moment whether she was afloat or willingly drowning. His teeth bit down again, a cool breath and then an intense rush of pressure that shot straight to her core. She was tense and aching, not at all sure what he might do next but utterly wiling to find out.
"Take me, Jesse," she whimpered, neither knowing nor caring where that sudden desire had come from.
"Oh, you're mine for the taking," he ground out, pulling her still-clasped bra over her head and tossing it impatiently to the side. "But you're forgetting who gives the orders here."
"You haven't given any," she protested, whimpering as his hands closed over her breasts, holding them in a firm, possessive grasp.
"Mine," he growled, and it was so wrong in her head, but Rachel couldn't help the thrill that tickled up her spine as he claimed her in the baldest possible terms. No, she was no possession, no plaything, but the raw elemental power of his desire in that moment was impossible to ignore. And maybe it wasn't politically correct—wasn't the kind of genteel declaration of love that her fathers had taught her to want—but there was absolutely nothing she could do about how Jesse made her feel.
"You want an order?" Jesse asked, shifting his darkened eyes to look at her. They smoldered, just the color of a summer thunderstorm, ripe with the promise of explosive intent. "I'll give you an order."
His hands were on her again, and she found herself deposited next to the bed, dropped on her knees. Jesse stood before her, tipping her head up with his fingers to look him in the eye.
"Call me master," he said. "Say it like you mean it."
"No."
The game of chicken was back on in that instant, and Rachel knew it. What would be the rules this time, though? Would he spank her again for disobeying? She was kneeling before him, so she doubted it; her bottom wasn't exactly reachable.
But his intentions were made perfectly clear when his hands found his fly and undid the button. Instantly her eyes were riveted to that spot, just at face level. He was definitely turned on—that was more than apparent even to her inexperienced gaze, and she licked her lips nervously, understanding exactly what he meant.
"Call me your master," he repeated, the edge of a dare creeping into his voice.
Except, Rachel wasn't quite sure what he was daring her to do. Obey? Or continue to defy him? She was aware that she was playing along either way—he wasn't holding her in place, and she was perfectly able to climb to her feet and leave the room if she so chose.
But she didn't choose. Her nipples throbbed with a pleasant, aching warmth where he'd bitten her, and the challenge in his eyes was too tempting to ignore. "No," she said again, very firmly, but she stayed where she was.
He lowered the zipper on his jeans at her second defiance, the trace of a smirk hovering at the corners of his mouth. The material fell, pooling around his feet, and he stepped out of the pile of fabric, kicking it to the side. "Just say the words," he taunted. "Tell me what I want to hear, and I'll put my mouth all over you. Devour you."
Rachel eyed the black and grey plaid boxers in front of her, and the way his hands hovered at the waistband. "No."
Instead of moving directly to his boxers, Jesse slid his black t-shirt over his head. Was there such a thing as strip-hangman? Because that's how this particular encounter felt—Jesse egging her on, and with each obstinate refusal to give him what he said he wanted, he pushed her further toward the inevitable conclusion.
His chest was beautiful—hairless and smooth, toned without being overblown. He was a dancer, through and through—compact and lithely muscular, the lines of his body utterly different from her own. She stared at him, neither commenting nor backing down, watching the way his torso moved as he breathed, the perfect, silky line of hair leading down from his belly button and disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.
"Last chance, pet," he said, shifting his hands again. His pale European skin glowed against the dark colors he so often preferred—the black and grey of his boxers, the slate color of the walls—and made him stand out, stark and gleaming.
"No," she said again, firm in her choice. She had no doubt that Jesse would follow through on his promise if she gave in, and it sounded delicious, but she preferred to take her chances on the unknown. Especially since she wasn't at all sure he actually wanted her to capitulate.
He slipped his thumbs inside the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down his legs and stepping out of them. As he straightened, Rachel got her first real look at a naked man.
All of the anatomy textbooks in the world couldn't have prepared her for how it actually felt to see him with her own eyes.
He wasn't hairy, which she'd been a little leery about—he must have done some "landscaping" of his own, Rachel thought as she looked at him. The skin was taut over the length of him; she could even see a thick vein, and his cock moved, pulsing slightly, as he grabbed the base of it in a fist. His other hand wove into her hair, fingers curling against her scalp. He didn't pull her down, didn't force her movements, but he made it clear—as if it wasn't already—what he was telling her to do.
"You said you wanted a lollipop for your reward," he said, his voice a little tight, belying the easy, taunting nature of his words. "Show me."
Could she? Would she? Rachel considered her options, feeling his hand in her hair, watching his cock as he waited for her to either obey or defy him again. She'd never really thought about it before; the act itself had always seemed a little demeaning in her eyes. But Jesse had done it to her, and it had felt...she couldn't describe it. Like drowning in a slow, wet fire, if such a thing could happen. Hot, moist, delicate and powerful at the same time...he'd reduced her to Jell-O with his lips and tongue, to the point where she'd abandoned her pride and begged him to keep going. The thought of doing that right back to him was...more than a little intriguing. More than a little tempting.
Slowly, ready to stop if she decided she didn't like it, Rachel leaned toward him.
Jesse's hand fisted in her hair, pulling, tipping her head up, and she raised confused eyes to him. Why had he stopped her?
"If you bite me," he warned, "I'll make sure you can't sit for the rest of the week."
The look in his stormy eyes told her he was utterly serious, but Rachel thought she was maybe slowly learning how to play this game. She smiled up at him, letting the gesture curve her full mouth into something a little coy, a little teasing. "It might be worth it," she said, before moving forward and giving the tip of his cock an experimental lick.
He groaned, his hand dropping from the base so hers could replace it. Rachel licked him again, feeling both of his hands closing in her hair now. He didn't smell bad at all, which was something she hadn't been sure about—he smelled like Jesse, and a little like sex, and it was actually kind of...hot.
But, though this act had been described in detail in plenty of the magazines she and Mercedes sometimes bought, she hadn't been prepared for the reality of it, hadn't realized that it wasn't like closing her mouth around a sucker or nibbling at a popsicle. Her first vocal coach when she was little had encouraged her to open her mouth wide when she sang in order to help enunciate, and had told her to put three fingers in her mouth vertically to gauge how wide she should open. This felt like that, opening wide to take him in, the length of his cock hard and solid in her mouth. It was a little weird, very foreign, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to continue.
But then, Jesse moaned.
That sound did her in. It was needy and yearning, and she knew exactly how he felt in that moment. It was how he made her feel when he touched her, the immediacy and absolute carnal delight of something so raw, so deliberately perfect. She shifted, taking more of him in her mouth, breathing carefully through her nose as he slipped deeper before he pulled at her hair again, his firm fists guiding her off of his length and then back on, moving them both at the same time, slowly at first, then faster.
It was...erotic. Visceral. So real, and yet surreal at the same time. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed when she flicked hers up to look at him. There was a fierce vulnerability to him in that moment, one that took her breath away. While he was using her to find pleasure in an act she'd always considered more than a little demeaning, it was really he who was more exposed in that moment. His pleasure depended on her willingness to cooperate. At any moment she could stop—or even bite, as he'd earlier acknowledged.
Feeling bold, she moved her lips slightly as he pushed back into her mouth, letting her teeth graze his length. He groaned and tightened his fists in her hair, tugging a little. "Yes," he hissed, "that's good. But no more than that, Rachel."
But she was in a mischievous mood, and she closed her teeth down slightly harder against the thick head of his cock, her eyes watching his as they opened, locking on hers as he acknowledged the dare. In retribution he pushed deeper, pulling her mouth down farther on him, and he hit the back of her throat. Rachel expected to gag—had been warned by those magazines that it would likely happen at some point—but she didn't.
Right. A gag reflex was necessary in order to gag, and she didn't have one. Smirking internally, she took a cue from Cosmo and took him in even more, making a swallowing motion with her throat muscles.
"Holy shit!" he gasped, his hands hard against her head, and suddenly he was moving, thrusting hard and fast into her mouth, and it was all she could do to keep up with him. It was as if she'd snapped through some last vestige of his control by deep-throating him, and she had to admit that, while it was a little uncomfortable, it was also incredibly, devastatingly hot. "Hum for me," he groaned, his voice laced with tension, his body taut as a piano wire. "Hum around me."
She did, the first bars of the title song to Phantom vibrating around his shaft, and an instant later he was pulling her mouth down on him again, shoving deep into her throat, and the decision of whether to swallow or not was taken out of her hands as he exploded, pulsing, emptying himself down her throat.
They were both panting heavily when he let her go, Rachel reaching up with shaking hands to rub her sore jaw, and Jesse gathered her to him, pulling her back onto the bed and wrapping his body around her. "A fucking lollipop indeed," he muttered, his hand finding her breast again and rubbing the nipple to hardness.
"Jesse," she protested, catching his wrist, "wait!"
He paused momentarily, smiling lazily into her eyes. "Oh, no, beautiful girl. I'm not nearly done with you yet."
"But, Jesse," she said, doing her best to scowl despite the delicious things his proximity was doing to her body, "I'm vegan."
In the instant it took him to understand what she was saying, he blinked.
Then he laughed.
"What you are," he said, "is utterly adorable, and far too sexy for your own good. I hardly think swallowing semen counts as a black mark on your dietary habits." His smile grew teasing. "I can personally guarantee that I was absolutely unharmed during its production."
Rachel's scowl only deepened, and she slapped his chest. "Don't laugh at me!"
Instantly she found herself face-down on the bed, Jesse kneeling beside her. He twisted her arms behind her back, holding them with one of his, and set one of his knees into the back of hers. She was effectively immobilized again, just as she had been yesterday against the wall. She struggled, but though the bed bounced, she wasn't able to loosen his grip. "Let me go!" she squealed, twisting her head to the side and glaring through her ruffled bangs.
His hand came down against her bottom, as she'd more or less expected it to. "What did I say about hitting?"
"You were laughing at me!" she protested.
"You were being funny." He spanked her again, then slowly caressed the stinging flesh through the fabric of her skirt. "Calm down, Rachel," he murmured, his voice deepening into something dangerously seductive as his hand smoothed across her ass, firmly gentle, blending the sting into a hazy kind of warmth. "This isn't that kind of spanking. Just relax and let me show you."
His words did not reassure her, but his hand was stroking her sensitive skin in a way that had her complete and utter attention. It lifted and she tensed, waiting for the strike she knew was coming.
"Ah-ah," he remonstrated, a finger tracing down one ass cheek in a tickling touch that made her squirm. "If you tense, it hurts more. Relax. Give yourself over to me, and I promise that this will feel amazing."
Rachel wasn't at all sure she could do that. She was a tense person by nature, easily excited and apt to fly off the handle at the least provocation. She knew that about herself, and didn't try to deny or hide it. This was an utterly unknown situation—she was topless, in nothing but a tiny skirt, and Jesse was asking her to willingly relax as he hit her? Yeah...probably not happening.
His hands moved, releasing his grip on her wrists, and he slid his palms down her bare sides, finding the waistband of her skirt. The zipper was at the back, and she both heard and felt it come down an instant later, just before he drew the material away from her body.
"There," he said, gathering her arms in his grip once more. "I told you you weren't wearing underwear. I told you I knew you'd obeyed me."
His free hand came down with the last word, a sharp spank on her left buttock that she wasn't expecting, and she cried out.
"God, I love your voice," he murmured, caressing slowly, his palm working magic on the sting of the slap. It soothed just the edge off the pain, a slow, throbbing warmth beginning to steal over her. "Belting your heart out in front of an audience or crying in pleasure in my bedroom—I can't decide which I like more." His hand came down again with a crack, her skin soothed an instant later by his soft, deft touch.
"You're going to listen to me," he said, "because right now I'm convinced I have your utter and complete attention."
Spank.
Caress.
Ohhh...
"I'm giving you this week to wrestle with your feelings, but make no mistake, you will be mine."
Spank.
Caress.
Oh, god, the sting... It hurt, but now that her stubborn defiance was fading, a treacherously pleasurable warmth was stealing over her backside.
"Do you want to know why?"
Three quick spanks in a row this time, followed by his slow, soothing strokes. No, she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know what he had to say. His words were distracting, and she wanted to pay attention to that curious warmth slowly spreading over her instead.
"Because I love you, Rachel Berry, and I don't do things halfway. You should know that by now."
He shifted, moving her legs apart with his, and his next slap landed at the tender junction of ass and thigh. She shuddered, a low moan torn from her mouth, his warm hand rubbing the area gently.
"Whatever picture you're painting in your head of me—whatever duplicitous plans you think I might have—it ends now."
He spanked her slowly, firm strokes landing here and there over her ass and the upper part of her thighs, never the same spot twice in a row. Her skin was hot—burning, in fact—though the intermittent caresses helped to ease the pain, melting it, morphing it into pleasure as if by the sheer force of Jesse's will. She was wet—could feel the slickness as she moved, shifting, unable to relax fully under his ministrations, too keyed up and on edge. It was exquisite—his voice and hands, the smell of him thick in her throat, her nipples hard against the bedding.
"You're mine, and you're always going to be mine. I came back, not to mess with your life or your glee club, but to make you see what we both want and need. What we sacrificed last year over pettiness and jealousy, and what I'm never going to let go again."
His hand was driving her crazy, alternately hard and gentle, harsh and soothing, pushing her, driving her towards incoherency. Inexplicably, she felt tears spring to her eyes and spill over, though he wasn't hitting her hard enough to do any real damage. She'd be sore for a while, no doubt, but no more than that.
These were tears of a completely different nature, and she slowly felt her defenses crumbling under the unrelenting onslaught of his words and actions, the reality of what he was saying sinking deep into her bones even as his hand spanked her flesh. There was no joke, no prank, no ulterior motive. Just what it was—what they were together. All the possibilities of what they could be, if they let themselves believe in the fairy tale, the fairy tale few couples ever got a chance to experience. She'd had that with Jesse, and they'd squandered it, just as he said, on pettiness and jealousy.
And now they'd been given a second chance.
He spanked her again, harder, five swats in quick succession before the soothing caress. "The doubt ends now—do you hear me? You can be conflicted about your emotions; I can't dictate that, and I'm not stupid enough to try. You can play hard to get if you please, though we both know I'll win in the end. But no more suspicion, no more mistrust. That's over today, because I love you and you know it."
The next slap landed between her legs, and Rachel caught her breath at the sharp, unexpected sting. Her hands twisted in the bedding again, clutching handfuls of the blue comforter, and she took a deep breath. He was stroking her now, spreading moisture, and she was already quivering at the edge of the precipice, needing him, aching for him. With a deep breath she moved, twisting in his grip, unsure if he would let her roll over.
But he did, and when he entered her for the first time, they were face-to-face.
"I love you, Jesse," she whispered, knowing and not caring that he could see the tears on her cheeks.
"I know you do." His voice was a soft murmur—at peace.
Reaching up, tangling her hands in his silky curls, she kissed him.