Chapter 10
Welcome 2017 as I (or we if you're as excited about fanfiction as I am) celebrate with a new chapter.
And Action!
Sometimes the hardest decision, and the right decision, are one in the same.
Razoul finished searching another home, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead the words of his father ate at his ear, recapping the wisdom bestowed upon him when he was just a boy. Someone from his team shouted out the next location they were to look for Princess Jasmine, and Razoul fell behind, slowly making his way to another pointless destination. She wouldn't be there.
Why on earth didn't he bust her in that coffeehouse brothel? Within seconds, one word, and Jasmine would have been taken back to the palace and all of this feeble searching would finally end. He was never one to choose feelings over duty, but this time his heart ruled out the responsibility of ratting on Jasmine.
She had looked so …happy. How was that possible? The Jasmine he knew would have fainted enduring hard labor and sat in a corner crying if someone told her what to do. But there she'd been, serving commoners with that sensational smile of hers; cheeks brightly colored meeting her laughing eyes. A glimmer she hadn't worn in many years. Plus, it looked like she had gained some needed weight, looking stronger and healthier than ever. That was good. It meant she was well fed and taken care of. Who was he to tear her away from happiness when it so often eluded her?
"Razoul, we've searched every building in Agrabah; every shack, home, pub, every last shit smeared dump, and there is still no sign of her." A scrawny guard, Nadhr, with inflated self-worth strode alongside the Captain of the Guards. "How long will you force us to endure this goose chase? Every day for a month straight-The men are tired of looking. Face, it Razoul, Jasmine is gone."
Nadhr was grabbed by the collar of his vest and lifted off the ground, his nose squishing against Razoul's.
"Get back in formation maggot. Before I pluck the skin from your mouth for disrespecting a superior and the commandments of Agrabah's Sultan Regent."
"Yes sir…" Nadhr sniveled. With a toss, the soldier plummeted, forming a dirt cloud as he fell, then waited to rise until after Razoul had passed.
Taking the lead of the pack once more, Razoul pretended to be sure of their route. Promising his men their Princess would be found soon. In truth Razoul was buying time until sundown, fighting through the grim decision that needed to be made. To figure out if his heart was sensible or if it dangerously clouded his loyalty to obligation.
Jasmine was safe right now but what about at night when the brothel was over flowing with drunk, sex-crazed hooligans? The pig in pink and the gargantuan in green made his skin crawl—almost as much as it did when enduring the wrath of Jafar. What would happen should they tire of Jasmine or find her useless? If she made a mistake or back talked to the wrong person. Would she be beaten? Or worse...?
On the other hand, would Jasmine be any safer with Jafar? Jafar could as easily have her whacked and find himself a new bride. Which is precisely what may happen, should Jafar learn her place of employment. At least Jasmine wasn't with the street rat Aladdin, which might lessen Jafar's fury. However, if she had lost her virginity at all, it wouldn't matter who took it and Jafar would dissect her feminine parts with a dull blade as punishment. That thought set Razoul's teeth on edge.
During Jasmine's absence, the same guests from the dinner party had been invited to return for the upcoming wedding; two weeks was far too long to endure looing after pompous house guests. As annoying as the lot of them were—drinking all their booze and eating all their food—Razoul had been thankful for their distraction which forced Jafar to retain a mask of normalcy; even though it was obvious to the staff he was coming unraveled at the seams.
Yesterday, Jafar held a private meeting with the royal guards and all of the palace staff, threatening that if anyone was hiding Jasmine from him a brutal fate would ensnare each one of them. Geraldine had rolled her eyes, never one to quiver and shake—Razoul admired that. Which was more than he could say for his men who trembled while murmuring apologies; a few of them even became teary eyed when Jafar said he would burn down all of Agrabah if Jasmine wasn't found come the Royal Wedding. Cruella since had distracted Jafar enough to keep the flames at bay, but it became abundantly clear that if Jasmine wasn't procured soon, every living creature within miles would have the flesh melted from their bones; including women and children.
I wish you were still here with me father. You would know what to do. "Sometimes the hardest decision, and the right decision, are one in the same."
The same quote hit with another wave. Razoul knew what needed to be done; but he didn't like it in the least. Her Majesty didn't belong in a whorehouse. She was obligated to take position as Queen and that meant being home in time to marry Sultan Jafar.
Where are your balls man? Do it already! Please forgive me Jasmine, but I'm only doing what's best for everyone.
"Go…away," came the slow monotonous tone of his superior, startling Razoul before he even knocked.
Razoul gulped and reached out again, this time actually rapping on the patterned door.
"Touch the door again, Razoul, and I will slice open each one of your blasted fingers."
Behind the safety of the closed door Razoul rolled his eyes, then went in ignoring a threat that would easily come true if he didn't speak quickly.
"Your Majesty—."
Jafar stood over the mantel of the fireplace drinking deeply from wed wine. Razoul's muscles tighten waiting for Jafar to acknowledge him. When he didn't the guard attempted to speak again—unfortunately Jafar was in no mood to listen and bitterly cut him off.
"One month…"
Razoul made sure not to breathe too loudly.
"An entire month, wasted!" his wineglass shattered engulfed in flames as Jafar screeched, whirling on Razoul, "And all that you have done is fail!"
Razoul knelt down submissively looking to the floor.
"What use to me is a moronic overweight prick?"
As Jafar's eclipse snuffed out surrounding light, Razoul's intestines curled—moments when Jafar became rancorous is when all of hell quivered. The psycho was so unpredictable.
"If you don't find me that abomination of a woman, your head, and the heads of every guard will serve as payment!"
A shower of spit rained on the top of Razoul's turban and he caved, "The brothel," he closed his eyes hating how weak his voice sounded.
Dark circled eyes shot open and the corners of the Regent's mouth screwed downwardly. The Razoul cleared his throat consciously speaking deeper as he cautiously looked to Jafar.
"Jasmine is in a brothel, two streets down from the square. I found her this afternoon, but needed to be sure—"
Jafar wiped the tiredness from his face as he walked towards his staff, and Razoul decided to change the subject before he dug himself a deeper hole.
"I can have a team of guards ready to retrieve her immediately. Just tell me how you wish me to proceed my Lord and I—."
But before he could finish, Jafar had darted out the door briskly, the abundant cape whooshing past. The guard stood looking after Jafar who broke the protocol of refinement to split into a full-on run. Razoul never knew Jafar was capable of such an exercise; it either meant something really good was going to happen, or that someone was about to die. For her sake, Jasmine better be a servant girl in a coffeehouse and nothing more…
Razoul waited a few minutes longer, allowing the space needed to clear his head. A palace horse was readied and Razoul mounted the mare slowly. He could have run after following Jafar on his heels. But that might be taken as a form of disobedience. Instead, he would meet them there merely for support and hopefully come back with both his head, and Jasmine's, intact.
He was blind with rage when the brothel entrance flung open. Jafar eyed the numerous salacious women and drunken men sprawled out on cushions; picking apart each of their faces, some of them looked towards Jafar with passing interest and others led men away to rooms like flies ensnared by a Venus flytrap. But none of the faces were of hers and his muscles became rigid and a static fuzz muffled the noisy brothel. That's when an all too familiar woman approached.
"Oh fuck—Look who is back!"
Jafar's staff knocked against the flooring as he turned to see Humairah—though he was sure she still made everyone call her 'Ummah.' Allah, how he despised that cow.
Fuck you Jasmine for making me come back into the shit hole!
"Mm—and he's all grown up now too and powerful—the only thing missing from your arm is the Sultana. Fortunately for the rest of us girls, she's long since been dead—."
*Whack*
Jafar back handed her mouth without warning. His patience was shrill. "Where is she."
Ummah held her jaw baring grey teeth. "Get the fuck out, I don't have to tell you any—shit! You son of a fucking whore, that hurts—."
Jafar rammed her against the nearest wall, the length of his staff pressed firmly into the folds of her neck so she could barely breathe; but the brothel kept on loud and oblivious.
His face closed in on her, "I will burn this infested rat hole to the ground with flames so hot, your eyes will ooze from their sockets and your cock sucking lips will turn inside out! Now tell me where Jasmine is!"
Ummah spat a throaty chuckle, "You and her are more a match than either of you realize…demented bastards."
The remark caught Jafar off guard when suddenly a whistle came from above.
"You!" Tahira waved from the top railing down to Jafar, "Yeah you, follow me now!" The man just stood there looking up dumbly and Tahira became riled, "Hurry up, Jasmine's in trouble!"
With sudden realization, Jafar propelled himself away from the sloshed woman looking towards the half-naked girl, taking massive strides to meet her at the top of the winding staircase.
With a sense of urgency Tahira gathered the dress from her ankles racing down the narrow hallway towards the furthest room, looking behind her repeatedly to make sure the tall dark man was keeping up. With a shaky hand Tahira guided the man, "In there, Dracul may have hurt her. Please, you have to stop this."
Jafar shook the handle finding it locked, then stepped back, and kicked with powerful force, splitting the door wide open. A being made up of revulsion and malice sucked at his chest, briefly debilitating his movements.
When Jafar had been torn from the gratification of ripping out Aladdin's neck, it felt as if someone mutilated his manhood. Emanating with uncontrollable power had been the first time Jafar's beast was let out of its cage and being denied the urchins blood had left a hole of bitter resentment. After a while though, Jafar got over his loss, finding pleasure in attaining substantial political power and dominance. But the raging emotions felt the night he took over Agrabah was child's play compared to this moment. For Aladdin merely threatened what Jafar wanted. This time, a rat had actually gone and taken what belonged to him.
Jasmine…His Jasmine was exposed, sprawled out, being pumped by some wormy cocksucker. The look on her face was unreadable, blushed with heat making Jasmine appear older. There was a massive gash decorating her cheekbone, Jasmines eyes glossy and faded as she looked to him. He barely breathed. He could barely think. All Jafar could focus on was her naked breasts being devoured. Glossy saliva coated the peak of her tit as the worm released his suction with a dull pop; looking up aggravated by the interruption.
"Who the fucking hell?"
Jafar remained calm but his eye twitched, his mind giving in to darkness.
"Jafar…" his name came as a whisper of breath from her parted lips, Jasmine remaining captivated by the well-dressed man in the doorway.
Dracul looked to Jasmine removing his gnarly fingers from her taint as he grabbed at her waist possessively with both hands. "You know him? Get out. Get the fuck out!"
Still Jasmine ignored the rest of the world. The way she peered up at him, like he was some saint rescuing her, made his stomach twist in angst. He was not her goddamned prince. He was here for an entirely other purpose. In a split second Jafar's staff fell with a clash and he was under Jasmines arms, prying her from Dracul's lap. Dracul tried to keep a grip on Jasmine clawing down the length of her thighs as Jafar drug her away and Jasmine yelped from the pain. Her rescuer tossed her behind him and Jasmine's head spun as she fought to keep herself standing under the dizzying weight from having too much to drink. Dracul jumped to his feet causing the room to quiver and she covered her bare chest, suddenly aware how indecent she had been in front of Jafar.
"That whore, is mine. I paid for my time and I still have plenty left!"
"Not with her, you don't. And I can assure the amount of breaths you have left are running out of time as well."
Making a powerful cracking sound Dracul popped his knuckles. From them, waves of Jasmine's musky scent clung to Jafar's nostrils, concluding without a doubt someone else had taken what was his—Never before had he wanted so desperately to gut another human being.
"You are in my house. I'm the one to make the threats."
Jasmine ignored the instinct to cower. Instead, she squared muscular shoulders stepping out to challenge Dracul but was snatched back behind Jafar, gasping in irritation at how he continued to guard her. When Dracul thundered, however, Jasmine admitted it felt safer behind Jafar's wide shoulders.
"Give her back now and I'll make sure your death is quick."
"Come get her—and I guarantee yours will be agonizingly slow."
Dracul pulled the infamous sword while Jafar summoned the staff with an open-faced palm; the bald-headed brute wearying slightly, "A real man will fight a fair fight."
Jasmine's breath hitched. No magic? Dracul was twice Jafar's size in stature, probably weighing in around 300 pounds, and though Jafar was strong, there was no way he was equipped to take down a wooly mammoth.
Cobra eyes dimmed evading magical qualities. "Agreed."
Before she could thrust herself between the men and stop the madness, Dracul lunged forward, slashing the blade towards Jafar's abdomen. Jafar dodged, shoving Jasmine back and out of the way. Then a second and a third, Dracul slashing the air like he was sawing blades of grass as Jafar allowed his opponent to tire with every hit and miss. When Dracul attempted another rage induced aim, Jafar putted his opponents knee cap with a powerful swing; Dracul's leg bursting with a pop which crippled the oaf and brought him to his knees.
A small crowd of women had gathered outside Jasmine's door, all watching intensely, no one speaking out against the brawl. Within a manner of seconds Jafar had mounted Dracul and bashed in the man's face. Taking heaving ragged breaths Jafar grunted as he unleashed merciless blows with white knuckled fists. Some of the women screamed and Jasmine covered her mouth, seeing just how psychotic Jafar could become. This was personal. She could see it in the way every drop of his strength poured into breaking the bones of Dracul's head, refusing to stop until there was nothing more than a gruesome deformed mess. The brutality of the injuries alone could have rendered Dracul dead, but Jafar took no chances; taking up the fallen blade, Jafar stepped around the lifeless body, knelt down and tore into the pale flesh with a drawn out smooth motion. Blood squirted from the jugular across the room, splashing out on Jasmine's gown before gushing in a puddle beneath Dracul's body.
Bloodied and deranged Jafar snapped his neck upwards.
Her belly flipped. Fuck.
Guess who was next?
Jasmine took off propelling herself through the crowded hallway of frantic drunk women. Despite her efforts to sprint at godlike speed down the stairs, rapid footsteps closed in. Her heart punched the drums of her ears, adrenaline electrifying as Jafar stayed right on her tail. Jasmine made it as far as the steps of the brothel, her arm clinging to the column as she hurled her body around the corner, the flat of her feet sliding across splintered wood. Someone from the brothel called out for her while screams echoed from upstairs as Ummah discovered the bloody scene; Jasmine refused to stop.
Turning down the alley the wind was knocked from her gut as Jafar's weight pummeled her, their bodies smashing against brick walling. Her fists flung wildly, beating at whatever was within reach; chest, arms, the side of his face, her knuckles cracking against teeth. Fingernails caught with the grain of his chin and she kicked at him, throwing her body in every direction making it impossible for him to keep a steady grip on her.
If anyone were watching they would think her possessed. Let them think that. Let them see whatever they want. Dying without a fight was not within her and fight she did; snapping her jaw like a tiger, half believing she would rip out his throat if she found an in. But Jafar took hold of her wrists, squeezing them painfully as he forced her arms high above her head, pinning them there so every struggle she made wreaked havoc on her arm sockets. His beard scratched at her forehead as his form meshed with Jasmine's, pinning her beneath the weight of his pelvis. He kicked out her legs so she stood awkwardly apart, unable to cause any real damage.
His breath was warm and tangy excreting in deep breaths that encompassed her.
"Get off of me, get off you conniving bastard. I hate you, I fucking hate you!" Jasmine belted, spit stretching from her teeth as tears cascaded, her nose turning runny. Continuing to struggle caused Jasmine's shoulders to burn and Jafar pulled on the length of her arms as punishment making her whimper.
"That's enough Jasmine!" he growled deeply with eyes as dark as an abyss and Jasmine's chest constricted, "It's over. Done." Her heart literally hurt as if it was shutting down, the heartless words so matter of fact when he spoke. Done. For him a simple process—for her a catastrophic horror. To him it was an open and shut deal—he finally caught her and would kill her. But she didn't accept that ending, couldn't. She still had too much spirit left to die quietly. Jasmine cleared her throat then spit its remnants on Jafar's worn face. He jerked at the impact then growled turning to face the foul tigress pinned beneath him.
With the wings of his shoulder, Jafar wiped the spit from his cheek, the look in his eyes making Jasmine's body tremor. She knew he wanted to kill her, had seen that look in his eyes often enough to know exactly what he was thinking. He would win but she'd be damned to not get a few swings of her own in. Her hips bucked wildly knocking off his balance allowing her knee to jut towards the meat of his thigh, barely missing his soft spot. With strength, she wouldn't possess if it wasn't for adrenaline, Jasmine brought her elbows down on Jafar's shoulder breaking his hold. A fleeting chance of freedom had been earned allowing Jasmine to turn. Sadly, her petite frame became immobilized once more, Jafar's strong stature slamming her chest and face into the wall—into helpless submission. She struggled for a moment against him, letting out a grunt as Jafar nailed her wrists to the sides of her head with a death grip, pinning himself hard against her backside. Her neck was left exposed, dotting with beads of perspiration, heating all the more as Jafar breathed heavily down her spine.
That gave her an idea.
"Is this how you want to take me Jafar?" A brilliant idea for drunk Jasmine, less brilliant in reality. Still she embraced it knowing she was a dead woman either way. "I bet you've imagined fucking me. Just…like…this." She arched her back, digging the curve of her ass against his cock and he froze like a statue.
Her hips rocked into him, bringing her buttocks up until the slightest peak of her taint brushed against him, then back down again repeating the process a second time. Her breath hitched at how quickly he hardened and she dug deeper, circling her hips.
"I'm supposed to go to the highest bidder," Jasmine smiled into the brick, watching Jafar's cold stare from the corner of her eye, "but since he took half of me, I'll give you a fair price—if you ask nicely."
Jasmine yelped, her head yanked back and Jafar's gut twisted at her sudden cold laugh; he tried to force the hideous sound to stop, winding the root of her scalp tighter, but it didn't work. Instead Princess Jasmine laughed harder in a strenuous giggling tone.
Is she drunk!?
He snarled in her ear, pressing her deeper against the rough bricks and ripped her head back far enough so to look down on her youthful face. But the cold heartless laughing persisted the same, sounding nothing like the girl he knew.
"You… killed… him," Came further snickering as Jasmine ignored the stinging at the back of her head.
He shook his fist, jolting her head to intensify the threat, "Would you like to join him?"
The laughter slowed, turning choppy and nervous as if sanity resumed.
Though he was within range Jasmine refused to look up at him and spoke absently to the bricks. "I doubt I have a say in the matter…so get it over with."
He closed his eyes inhaling the intoxicating scent of her skin. He wanted to do many things to her, and killing her was one of them. He imagined breaking her neck here in the ally, and walking away forever so the roaches would devour her corpse. She had left him and her responsibilities to come here and be a fucking whore…Jasmine deserved to die.
Feeling his grip falter, Jasmine slowly straightened her head lifting from the padded clothing of his chest, then twisted at the waist to peer up at the man she loathed. Their faces so close they shared the air. She hated him. Hated everything. Everyone. Dracul and Ummah for giving her no other choice but to be a prostitute. Aladdin for making her feel like she wasn't worthy of his love or didn't fit in his world. But out of all the people she wanted to blame there stood only one person responsible for her turmoil. Herself. Why in the hell had she agreed to Ummah's ridiculous deal? Wasn't she supposed to be above all this entrapment bullshit? Instead of following her heart, staying true to who she was, Jasmine had allowed herself to cripple under stress. To be blinded by fear.
Jasmine exhaled and inhaled at rapid pace, feeling herself hyperventilate as she shook in Jafar's clutches. With hesitation Jafar allowed her to turn and face him, shocked when Jasmine jumped on the tips of her toes to fling her arms around him. Her mouth rested in the crook of his neck, breathing in the red linen draping of his turban as she clung to his stiff body. Maybe it was the booze or the psychosis of a breakdown. For whatever reason, she allowed herself a fleeting moment to look to Jafar for comfort in the midst of her unraveling world. But as he remained frozen against her, Jasmine cringed at what she'd done, shoving him away to create a distance that wasn't nearly far enough.
He had nearly allowed himself to hold her, to indulge in the sensual feel of her young body. But the terrible vision, of Dracul fingering Jasmine, flashed in the back of his eyes, pinning his arms down in rebuttal. He had smelled her on that wormy fucker. Jasmine had been wet for another man, not for him, and all he seen when looking at her was a dirty useless child. His heart raced faster, fighting to remain in control. How many men had taken her inside of that room? She said only half of her had been taken but what the hell did that mean? How many other men had shoved their grimy hands on her skin or thumbed the swell of her cunt, taking only half of her? Ten? A hundred? The thought was sickening. All the nights he'd lost sleep, going insane trying to find her and the little bitch was less than a mile away being a fucking—
"I didn't want it," Jasmine said dryly hating how deathly silent and tense it became and Jafar was ripped from a black hole.
"This…Or him—." She gestured to the brothel accusing a dead man of taking advantage of her. Her eyes closed briefly. For shame. Allowing yourself to blame a dead man for your actions. No matter how awful Dracul was, he was still a life, and Jafar took it in the most horrific manner possible; because of you.
There was a trace he was listening but with a lick of his lips the calculated deaf stare resumed. Why did he always do that to her? to everyone? How could he pretend to feel nothing twenty-four seven? Did he know how shaken up she was? Or how her insides burned? Blood was smeared on his hands and all over her see-through gown. Still he didn't shake, didn't tremble, or act guilty in any form. He was solid. Stiff and cold. Jafar felt nothing: portraying only the eeriness of the calm before a storm.
Jasmine shook her head holding her stomach with an arm and her pained chest with a trembling hand. Continued silence compelled her to explain further.
"It …It hurt...He was rough and I hated it."
His tone was so cold it stung, "Hmph. Was that before or after your cunt squirted juices all over Its hand?" He worked his jaw eyeing her, "Appeared to me I interrupted something you rather enjoyed."
"What the hell would you know? It's not like I wanted this, Jafar!"
"You didn't want this? Then why the fuck were you in a whore house, little girl?"
Jasmine's mouth gaped, "I did what I had to, to survive, no thanks to you! Aladdin and I—."
"Aladdin!?" He snarled, the muscles in his throat contracting as he yelled, "I should have guessed. Where is the street rat!"
"It wasn't his fault, stop blaming him for everything!"
Jafar spun around and hissed against her determined face, "I don't blame the rodent, I blame the filthy little whore!"
They held in a stare off, noses pressed together, their eyes locked refusing to back down.
"It wasn't his fault I was forced to leave the palace."
He scoffed, straightening so he towered her all the more, "So…he didn't want you either?"
She pulled in her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. That's not at all what she said. But he had read her like an open book.
"That's why you've become a disgusting—disease ridden,"
"Stop it—."
"Filthy—useless skank!"
"Stop-" Jasmine screamed closing her ears as Jafar trudged, pacing in front of her.
"After I refused your nasty little cunt, you ran off, looking for someone to love you. And when you didn't find it in Aladdin either, you came here." Jafar looked crazed and she readied herself for a bloody death similar to Dracul's. "To fill your wormy little hole with disgusting maggot cocks!" His last sentence was filled with spite as he screeched.
"Shut up!" Hollering, Jasmine bent down to pick up a handful of rocks and hurled them at Jafar with terrible aim. His fist rose above her, daring Jasmine to finish throwing her next fistful when Razoul appeared at the head of the alley.
"Your Majesty stop! Please… a crowd is sure to form. I beg you… both of you. Allow me to take it from here," Jasmine looked over to where Razoul knelt on one knee, pleading for her safety. He should be pleading for Jafar's safety. "Please your Grace...have mercy."
Without a word, Jafar concealed lunacy with composure, smoothing the creases in each sleeve as if he were brushing himself clean of her touch; then strode away, leaving behind a very shaken woman. She had picked up right where she left off—a victim, weak and imprisoned. A ripple of rocks pummeled into dirt as Jasmine stared into nothingness. Then, with every ounce of her being, she screamed. An earsplitting cry filled with pain worth a thousand and one nights and Jasmine fell on wobbly knees depleted.
Jafar continued past the staring commoners and the women cowering inside the brothel with his head held high. Anyone that dared speak a word to him he would incinerate without hesitation. Even as Jasmine's curdled cry broke the sound barrier, Jafar refused to look back on her. She was Razoul's problem now, for if he were to spend one more instant in that girl's presence he would bash her head with his staff.
Speaking of which.
Jafar held out his hand and the gilded staff flew from the window—out of the room where Jasmine had been reduced to little value—down into his palm. Razoul mounted Jasmine on the horse, leading it by the reigns as he followed after the Sultan Regent. The billowing cape followed after the dark mysterious man, cane thudding in the dirt as he strode calmly towards the palace. No one knew the extent of chaos spiraling inside the viperous mind of a man so well composed; which was the way Jafar liked it.
Jasmine deserved to die, yet for the millionth time received underserved grace. He couldn't look at her, not after the image of her being wet half-naked had been burned into his brain. He hated the girl now more than ever. If he had his way, he would be rid of her already. But the mask of normalcy won out, keeping his head high and eyes forward, ignoring the itching desire to smite Jasmine into oblivion.
Jasmine didn't allow anyone to do anything for her, and probably never would again. The only courtesy she accepted was Razoul helping her walk the stairs; she was woozy and sore and found the daunting task of a million steps impractical. But tonight, when she'd taken a bath and discarded the sharmuta uniform, the Princess had refused her maids help, telling them to go to bed because she was more than capable of helping herself. Even when one of the women offered to bandage up her cut cheek, Jasmine insisted she could clean up her own wounds. Which shocked all the servants, though they kept their heads bowed and thoughts to themselves. (Quit a difference from the outspoken women of the brothel.)
Jafar had disappeared somewhere in the palace, and she was thankful not to see him the last hour. Jasmine dressed in her silk nightgown of violet with gold trimmings and was pained with guilt thinking of the girls. Of Tahira. She didn't even get a chance to say goodbye or apologize for actions beyond her control. Maybe there was some way she could see them all again and make things right; but the idea would have to wait until tomorrow when she'd had a decent night's rest and alcohol had passed entirely from her system.
Tonight, felt like an eternity and it was only two in the morning. The events she'd endured and constant lack of sleep caught up to her and she barely had the energy it took to walk from the bath to her bedroom. Jasmine strolled idly, callused fingers twisting at the damp hair forming it into a thick massive braid; another skill that the girls in the brothel had taught her. As she turned down the last passage something unusual pulled her from thoughts. Baba's room had a glow that spilled into the dark corridor.
That was strange.
She secured the ends with a studded clamp, tossing the braid over her shoulder as she walked in to the room. Expecting to find it empty, Jasmine fell back on her heels, stumbling into the door with brute force as the sight crippled her ability to stand. Her heart dropped as if it had been ripped from its cavity, leaving her with an overwhelming painful sensation. All this drama was too much to handle for one evening.
Baba was back in his bed. Sleeping away peacefully as he snored. He looked older and thinner, but was very much alive and well—finally in his own chambers where she had wanted him to be from the start.
Razoul appeared from the hallway having heard the slamming of the door when she fell.
"He's getting the help needed now…"
The sudden voice startled her but she kept eyes on the sleeping man.
"Jafar returned him shortly after you left. Don't worry Jasmine, whatever illness is ailing your father, he has the best royal doctors looking into it, making him as comfortable as possible."
She couldn't speak. Jafar had done it? What the hell kind of game was he playing at? Recusing her from the brothel and then returning her father. Did he think he was prince charming? That he could redeem himself for all the terrible things he did and continued to do? She hated him. No amount of good deeds would ever be powerful enough to erase that.
Cutting off the remainder of Razoul's conversation, Jasmine pushed herself from the door to set out looking for Jafar. He had some serious explaining to do, no matter what time it was or how drained she felt. She was going to finish the argument they started in the streets. She pounded on the door not waiting for him to answer as she stormed into the crimson room. Jafar stood over his desk glancing at paperwork with a glass of red wine in hand, when her abrupt entrance demanded his attention.
He was dressed casually again, bare skin revealed in the onyx silk. But she refused to allow it to distract her this time. Strutting around to the side of his desk, Jasmine fought to gather her thoughts for an intelligible argument, wanting to knock out his teeth at the same time.
The wine glass was set aside and Jafar glowered, "I spared your life once tonight, do not test—."
Both fists clenched twisting in the onyx shirt, ardently yanking Jafar into her as she claimed his mouth with fervent desire. His eyes shot open body frozen in time as he watched the beautiful face pressed deeply against him. Long thick lashes rested on sweet cinnamon cheeks as Jasmine lost herself in the moment, uncaring if he shoved her away or hit her. Frankly he could do whatever he wanted, she refused to shy away from what felt natural. She had wanted to scream, curse and throw things but the second she was close enough to do anything to him, this is what unfolded.
Just when she was ready to break away, Jafar came to life, clawing at the fabric of her gown cupping the small of her back as he deepened the kiss. Jasmine brought her hands around his neck pulling him down on her mouth and she moaned, their kiss hard with greed, leaving them breathlessly consumed. She took in the musky scent that made up Jafar; the warmth of Arabian heat and spices. His hand slid under Jasmine's woven braid meeting the back of her head, his thumb rubbing intently at the spot he earlier made sore and Jasmine let out a small whimper.
They broke the kiss with bated breath and Jasmine felt exposed under Jafar's darkness. He made her feel vulnerable and naked, like she could keep nothing secret from him and could never hide from him. And as scary as it was, Jasmine loved it, possessing his mouth once more as she gripped the firm lines of his jaw; indulging in the substantial pleasure of being with someone so despicable.
Jasmine moaned a sultry groan as Jafar pried her mouth open with his slick tongue, giving just a little, making her crave more of him as her soft lips parted in reciprocation, their tongues clashing together and Jasmine pulled at the back of Jafar's teeth, his head following in submission to her beckoning tongue.
He tasted so goddamn good, like crisp wine and spiced cinnamon. How someone so manipulative and cold could feel so phenomenal and warm against her was a mystery. Her fingers fell from his face down to the swell of his chest and smoothed over the silky black hairs, their softness nuzzling her fingertips making her weak in the knees. Jafar explored her mouth, groaning with want, using the curve of his tongue to taste the ridges of her palate; he could think of several other places he would love to taste her. A gasp of warm sweet breath came as Jafar shoved his snakelike tongue down her throat causing her to gag and her eyes to flutter.
But she didn't fight him giving him complete control as he tipped her head back firmly, devouring her senses. Spit coated their mouths, fluids intertwining frantically and Jafar bit her lip, gripping it deep under his teeth and she moaned louder than necessary, wanting him to know exactly how much she loved this. The powerful man exerted further control smoothing large hands down over Jasmine's rounded ass.
"Aagh," Jasmine gave a high-pitched whine as the swell of her cheeks were brutally squeezed in both of Jafar's hands and she bit her lip.
Mm—he wanted her to make that noise again. Spreading her ass apart his breath hitched at the pleasured look on Jasmine's face, knowing her folds were parting too, leaving her clit vulnerable, and he ground deep and hard into her. Her warm slit dripped in anticipation as it seeped through her nightie, leaving a slick warmth on his pants. Jasmine moaned again, this time louder and she clutched at Jafar's strong shoulder's, their breaths shallow and quick and her face flushed at the tight pressure building. But she needed more friction, craved to have him deep inside her. As if reading her mind, Jafar slid a hand down over her thick thigh, hiking it up over his waist so her foot rested on the top of the desk, and she rewarded him with elicit moans of pleasure; their foreheads pressed together the smooth silk covered organ thrusted up and down Jasmine's glistening slit.
He lost himself in her mouth, their eyes closed in ecstasy. Fuck, how he wanted her, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her juices, and he could feel her coming undone. They despised one another with twisted revolting hatred, yet they were entangled in a mess of saliva and limbs, needing only each other like their lives depended on it. He still wanted to hurt her, make her scream in agony but she tasted like heaven and he couldn't deny her any longer. Not this time. Not ever again. He wanted to claim all of who she was and make her forget about any man that wasn't him.
Jasmine thought she might lose her mind, her body trembling at the hot throbbing sensation at her center as she whimpered into his mouth, pleading for him to stop without actually saying the words. She didn't understand how someone so cold and heartless could arise such passionate fire deep in her soul, but she needed it to stop before the blaze consumed her.
The flat of her palms landed hard against his unguarded chest, shoving him away as if he she'd been burned; her sex tingling with disappointment. Though he looked like a god Jasmine reminded herself who she was dealing with and why she had come here in the first place and wiped hard at her mouth with the back of a hand, ridding herself of his taste. Jafar's eyes darkened narrowing—his smoldering look making her want to jump on him all over again.
Her brown eyes blinked away the lustful haze, "Was that payment good enough for you?"
Jafar blinked, watching her with sudden reticence. "I've had better…Though I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a sloppy little virgin."
She scoffed hiding how his words stung. Why did they sting? What should she care what he thought of her? Jasmine boldly stepped up to his face, "Another charming sentiment from a narcissistic, motherless, bastard."
After one step, Jafar gripped her by the arm, looking down on the top of her perfumed hair. But he remained silent as Jasmine tilted her head, the amber glow of fire drawing attention to her busted cheek. There was something unreadable in his eyes and Jasmine felt almost sorry for him. Why did she say those hateful things to him? Just because he didn't have a heart didn't mean she had to rip out her own and get on his level.
"I should have left you there to rot," Jafar hissed, his breath on her face.
You're not helping your case, sir.
The old her would have come up with some snide remark or another way to cut him down, and turn this thing into needless hateful bantering. As easy as that would be, Jasmine reminded herself she was a new woman. Not a little girl anymore.
"Yes, perhaps you should have. So, why didn't you?" She looked him over, watching as he opened then closed his mouth, meeting back up to his conflicted eyes. She didn't have to like him, but she would strive to be the bigger person and let the argument slide. "I - just wanted to thank you…"
He scrunched his face as if trying to decipher some coded language being spoken.
"For returning Baba to me…You didn't have to. And you didn't have to come save me, either."
"I didn't save you. I simply took back what was mine. As for the sniveling twat, I merely needed to be rid of his pungent stench." His threat was evident—but Jasmine took his temper with a grain of salt.
He was capable of callous wickedness, but he did save her and returned a sick old man to his bed. That should be victory enough for tonight, and all she wanted now was to go to sleep in peace.
"Thank you all the same…I will see you at our wedding." Her tone was dry and with ease Jasmine unclasped his fingers from her arm never breaking away from his mysterious eyes. "Good night... Jafar."
As suddenly as she entered Jasmine vanished, the long braid swaying at her waist as she walked, leaving Jafar to wallow in a state of inescapable odium.
Here's my dilemma. Magic. I like it. I'm not a big fan of it. But I can't write it out completely. Or at least I don't feel I can. I limit the magic in this story because, as I'm sure most hardcore fanfictioners know, hypnotizing and magic control etcetera takes away from the character's development. I mean, how can Jasmine be her feisty awesome self if she's mindless. Likewise, how can Jafar be deviant and show just how cruel and phenomenal he is if magic does everything. (Which can be entertaining too but there's more to him than that.) I feel like it just lacks something when a story is limited by the confounds of magic. But again, I can't write it out entirely. I just want to specify that is why I don't have too many mystical forces in here in case anyone is thinking: "Why doesn't Jafar just use magic to find Jasmine? Or to control her to love him. Or to make all the kingdoms in the world his oyster etc."
Because the story would end much sooner and I would die of boredom writing it.
Side note, aren't Jasmine and Jafar the greatest dysfunctional pairing ever!? Second best is probably Harley Quinn and Joker. (I think I have deep seeded issues) But I digress. This chapter felt especially difficult for me to write, but hopefully it is a rewarding read.
As always please review and tell me either way what you think or feel so far. Thank you for your support as always! God Bless and Happy New Year!