Day 7: Part 1

Jasper Fucks Like He Acts

The sound of tinkering woke me up. I tried to convince myself that I was still dreaming, that it was way to fucking early to be up, and that unless the tinkering sound was the alarm syste telling me the house was on fire, it was not worth waking up for.

But it didn't stop.

I bolted up in bed, promising to pound the shit out of whatever the noise was, and threw the covers away from my body, before I realized it was Jasper.

Fucking Jasper.

"I would reconsider that," he said.

Yes, I had masturbated to Jasper last night. Usually, it didn't require me to go stark naked. A simple pulling down of the panties and a lifting of the shirt, and I was as happy as the next chronic masturbator. But for some inexplicable reason, I had decided to go all out and get nude last night beforehand.

And had apparently forgotten to redress.

"Oh my god," I cried, pulling the covers back over my naked body. When everything but my head was underneath the bedding, I glared at him. "What the hell, Jasper. That's a little creepy."

He was perched in a leather armchair on the far side of my room, drinking another cup of coffee out of one of those beautiful, delicate china glasses. He took a sip and replaced it on its saucer. It tinkled.

I waited for that same urge; the one that insisted I rip the beautiful cup from his fingers and smash it onto the ground. But instead, I was kind of indifferent to the whole thing. Considering that one, Jasper had just seen me pretty much completely naked and two, I was so unfathomably excited about his presence in my bedroom that nothing else really mattered.

I almost gagged at the thought.

Well, if last night means anything . . .

Means anything what?

I'm just saying, you might be repulsed by his demeanor, but he's a curly-headed fucking fox, so . . .

Right.

I flopped back down on the bed. "Can I help you with something?"

"You were speaking in your sleep and it was quite amusing," he said.

I closed my eyes.

"Would you like to know what you speak of?" he asked.

I blushed. I knew what I spoke of. There was not a single dream last night that didn't involve Jasper and me in more than a few compromising positions. The heat of it all was beginning to set my limbs on fire and I drew them close to my chest until it spread like licks of flames to my chest.

My face must have given me away. He picked himself up off the armchair and walked over to the bed. I watched his steps, just as slow and calculating as the rest of him, until he was so close that I could only see the crotch of his pants. I clenched my jaw together to keep my tongue from licking the outside of it.

He bent down.

"If there was ever a mutual feeling, Bella," he said, the hot swell of his breath spreading like a fruity, vaporous cloud over the side of my face.

I fought for a second with myself, trying to decide whether or not to suck his face off, but by the time I turned around, he had already straightened himself up and was walking towards the door.

"Tanya and I are leaving town for the evening. We will return tomorrow. Please take a shower," he said, one hand on the doorknob and his back to me, "so you can bid Tanya and I a proper farewell."

We sat staring at each other across his desk.

"Did you seriously bring me here just to talk to me?"

He was smiling. Hugely. Like, teeth and all.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing, Jasper," I said, sinking back into my chair. "But this is ridiculous."

Still smiling.

"You're making my skin crawl." I held out my arm to him, which was flush with goosebumps. "See? Remember that skin crawling thing? No lies."

Still smiling.

I leaned in towards him a little, all conspiratorial like. "Really, Jasper? Here?"

He pressed his lips together and gave me the vag-soaking half-smile Edward was so fond of.

"You're being dirty," I accused angrily, though it took every last bit of my will not to rub my legs together.

When had this happened exactly? When I went from being distinctly horrified by Jasper's very presence to being almost unable to resist the soft curve of his lips or the straight, strong lines of his lower jaw or . . . um.

What?

I thought back to the first time I met him, standing in Rosalie and Emmett's foyer hardly a week ago. Yeah, it was definitely then. He had been . . . beautiful, almost to the point of being indecent. I had wanted to cover his face and hide his beauty from anyone that could mar it. The first time he'd held that whip and the taut muscles of his back had stretched and retracted as he'd lifted it over his head . . . um.

What?

"Bella?"

I blinked. "Hmm?"

"What do you think?"

"I was not at all listening."

He smirked. "I can see that. Where were you, by the way? You were smiling."

I blushed.

"Ah," he said. "Well, I suppose it is beneficial that we are on the same page, then."

I cocked a dubious eyebrow. "I doubt that."

He wasn't sitting at his desk, and for that I was grateful. Aside from kind of wanting to kick him in the nuts for being such an unfortunate asshole and bringing me into this fucking den again, I would have felt like I wasn't in control and I would have probably thrown up.

A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach.

He was leaning against the front of his desk with his ankles crossed and his fingers curled around the edges of his desk, his palms flat. I took a moment to appreciate the tight grip of his fingers and the clean, evenly cut lines of his fingernails.

Really, Bella? Fingernails?

Whether it was because he caught me staring or whether it was some unconscious nervous gesture, he flexed his fingers forward and curled them back slowly, one by one. When I looked at him, he wasn't smiling, but the tight ring of light in his eyes let me know he was laughing at me.

Of course he was. Because Jasper was always aware of his body.

"Lost again?"

I blinked.

He reached behind him and produced the green folder. He opened it, folded it over, and handed it to me. I took it from him, but refused to glance at the thick piece of parchment and silver pen that were attached to the front of it.

"What is this?" I whispered, already knowing the answer.

"That, my dearest Bella, is your ticket out of limbo."

His face was expressionless; his eyebrows un-creased and his lips relaxed and unassuming.

"Where's Tanya?" I asked and immediately knew it was the worst possible thing that could have come out of my goddamn mouth.

"She drove ahead of me to the airport," he said, his tone indifferent.

Before I could stop myself, I said, "Does she know about this?"

"Not yet, but she will before we return."

"So what changed?" I asked. "Why are you taking me out of limbo?"

I tried to find an emotion. A single, definable emotion that let me know how I felt about this, that I was ready for this. Or not ready for this. Anger? No. My heart wasn't beating in any previously unknown speed. My body and hands weren't flourished with goosebumps or shaking. I was no long nauseous. I attempted a smile, but was not met with the immediate extension of whatever muscles control a smile. I tried to frown, but was met with the same resistance.

He took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. I watched his jaw clench and his teeth grind together, like he was fighting and contemplating his own body. He opened his mouth and held it unclenched for a moment, before shutting it again. Then he did the second most un-Jasper thing I had seen him do: he pushed himself off his desk and squatted down in front of my chair.

Inexplicably, I became angry. "Is it a weird feeling, to be down at my level?"

He ignored me. "Bella," he said. "If you agree to this. If you sign this contract and become my second sub, you will experience a previously unfounded side of me. But first, before you agree to my terms and live in this house side-by-side with Tanya, I insist you listen."

I kept still.

"I would like to tell you a little of my past. But first, I wish to speak to you about last night. About your insolence."

I raised the right corner of my lip in a sneer of disbelief. "My insolence?"

"The way you spoke to me was disrespectful."

"Absolutely," I said with emphasis, "but you are kind of an asshole and you, well, you deserved it."

He slapped his hands on the armrests. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, Bella, exactly! Please, do not, please never apologize for the words you meant to speak. Those things you said about me were true, are true."

I didn't like this. Indifferent, controlled, unemotional Jasper was not only the Jasper I knew but the only Jasper I knew how to deal with. My bitter snarkiness and my blatant disregard for his opinions or wants made it easy to function around him. Well, perhaps not easy, but tolerable. Tolerable because it was all I knew. Jasper, well, he was fucking excited right then and I didn't know whether to share in his excitement and smile at him or cave into myself because something catastrophic and more sinister was about to unfold.

My stomach rolled over on itself and I shut my eyes.

"And though they are true," he said, "and although you spoke of things that are undoubtedly a fact, Bella, the difference between is that you did it with the complete understanding that it would undoubtedly be the last time you saw me."

I felt the armrests rise under my propped elbows and knew he had let go of them.

"Bella," he said. "Bella, Bella, Bella. Aside from Edward and my father, who are both required to remain in my life purely out of familial obligation, no one has spoken to me the way you did for the exact reason you intended. I live in a world of people who are required to do as I command. A countless number of bodies whose only purpose is to bend to my will. And, until this very moment, I had yet to encounter a single person, a single other human being, who has done otherwise with the exact knowledge the outcome of such action would entail." He chuckled. "Yes, I have dealt with insubordination. But it was always the passive-aggressive type and was almost immediately apologized for. And when it was not, those people were dismissed."

My eyes were still closed.

"Bella, no person in almost a decade has said what I know to be true. No other person has ever been able to adequately express these behaviors of mine so eloquently and so without shame. As you did last night." He paused. "God, Bella, look at me!"

So I did. And I immediately wished I hadn't. He had risen and was pacing in a rather frantic motion across the length of his desk. His hands were balled and tightly held behind his back, forcing his torso to hunch forward. The awkward curve of his spine and the disheveled mess of his hair . . . I didn't like it.

"Jasper," I breathed. "Stop pacing. You're making me feel sick."

He did, but it was with effort.

"Bella," he said, his voice more even. "For the first time in almost ten years, I have respect for another human being. I have been waiting, Bella, for someone to speak to me the way you did last night. God, the people I work for fear me. The friends I have treat me with a god-like reverence. I had almost given up hope. But when you came into my office and demanded I speak with you, I already knew what was to come. Bella, you are with whom I am meant to be. I know this as simply and precisely as I know that I am the wealthiest and most intelligent man in a 500-mile radius."

I swallowed bile. Not because what he said made me feel particularly sick or anything, but because, with those paragraphs of words, Jasper had sealed my fate.

Jasper had sealed my fate.

I hated him. Hated everything about him. But I needed him. And if I were to reject his contract, if I turned around and left his house now, my panic attacks would resume their control over my life.

I had spent three years subjected to them.

And I couldn't, for the sake of my own fucked up sanity, and for the sanity of Emmett (and Rosalie, though I really didn't want to admit it), and for my own person sanctity, the respect I no longer had for myself but was desperate to regain, I could not leave Jasper.

"And if I say no?" I whispered.

Even though he was already standing above me, he still raised his chin. "Then I will ask you to leave."

I don't remember doing it. Months later, I could not say with absolute certainty that it was even my name I wrote on the contract. I certainly didn't write the proper date. But the next thing I knew, Jasper was kissing me.

And again, as it had so many times before, my body was burning alive.

This is what it should have felt like to kiss Edward. The flames blooming in my chest until I swear to god I could feel the licks of them in my fingers and toes. The burning need, forever insatiable by the pure untouchableness of Jasper, was burning my nerves, my bones, until I could almost feel my marrow bubbling under the pressure of it all. A thin sheen of sweat marred my skin, making some parts flushed with excitement and others white with terror. I could feel the blush on my cheeks but the clamminess on my palms and fingers.

If ever my body had been pulled in two opposite directions but too equally strong forces, it was then. A part of me raged against the idea of giving my body to Jasper. I wanted to protect whatever part of myself I could from him. My mind was already his; my purpose here was to allow him to mold and shape the contents of my brain, of my mind, to alleviate my subconscious demons. But my body, my sanctuary, the flesh and hair, my skin and, well, and my heart, needed to stay separated. Needed to remain mine . . . and perhaps, needed to remain a little bit of Edward's.

"No?"

The word was not spoken by me, but by Jasper.

"What do you mean by 'no'?"

My body went cold. He had pulled away, far enough that only his hands were touching me, cupping the backs of my elbows.

"Did I say that?" I asked, trying to lean back towards him.

"You did," he said.

"I didn't mean it."

His eyes darkened. "Did you not, though?"

"Nope," I said. When he didn't make a motion back towards me, I sighed. "Jesus, Jasper. Just kiss me!"

He pulled away further and I built a groan in my throat. I gripped the back of his arms and tried pulling him back towards me, but in a swift motion that resembled the way a human looks attempting to fly, he untangled himself from my hands.

"Jesus effing Christ, Jasper," I said. "Do you want to kiss me or not?"

"Jasper?" he echoed.

My heart rate dropped so quickly I became dizzy. "I-I'm sorry, I don't – " I shook my head, trying to relieve myself of the lightheadedness that was making the edges of my vision turn dark. "I'm not used to – I'm trying – "

"It is quite fine, Bella," he clipped. "I understand there will be a slight adjustment period."

I bowed my head. "Yes . . . Master."

He groaned, a deep throaty sound that sounded more beautifully animalistic than anything human. "Yes, Bella. Yes."

We moved to my bed.

I wanted his hands on me, all over me. I thought of the last week of unadulterated torture as I watched his beautiful body move and speak. His long fingers, his unruly curls, his pouting pink mouth . . . and I wanted it all. I wanted it to be mine.

Our clothes were off long before our touches became more than playful groping. He didn't pull the covers down from my bed, only pushed me onto it and climbed on top of me, his lithe body making quick work of mine until I was squirming underneath him and begging for no part of my body to be left undiscovered by his hands, his mouth.

I wanted him to scream my name.

When I was sure I wouldn't be able to stand the feathery touches and chaste kisses, he pressed the entire length of his body against mine. I cried out his name.

"Bella," he said. He placed a series of soft kisses up the edge of my neck and towards my ear, nipping the skin of my jaw as he moved. "You drive me absolutely mad."

He removed the plastic sheath from my nose, pulling the skin around the bandages taut before removing the tape, making sure it was as painless as possible. He pressed his lips to the tip of my nose and instead of kissing it, just let them rest there.

I began to cry.

I wrapped my arms around his torso, scratching my nails on the skin of his back until I felt his chest vibrate with a soft growl. I ran my hands further down his back until I reached the perfectly sculptured mounds of his ass. I cupped it, digging my fingernails into the soft flesh and smiled as he gave a guttural groan in response.

"Jasper," I breathed against his neck. With a final thrust of his tongue around my earlobe, he pulled his head around to look at me. I was uncomfortable with what I saw; instead of the soft, lust-filled eyes that any normal guy would have been sporting, I was met with a look of needy desperation. He looked so abjectly sad. As though this moment would be the end-all to a life of sexual tirades.

"Jasper?" I breathed.

"Bella," he said, matching my breathy tone.

"I want to feel you."

He raised himself up on his hands. I traced the sharp indents of where his muscles left deep pockets of shadows on his flesh of his arms.

"You are so beautiful," I said. My eyes moved from his arms to his face, where he was watching me with an undefined expression. "Touch me."

With his legs still wrapped around mine, he shifted his weight to one arm. He brought his hands down and kneaded one of my breasts, running the soft skin underneath his fingers. I watched my nipple harden to his touch. He ran the pad of his thumb across the pink bud. I moaned and he pinched it delicately between his fingers.

My body was on fire. And he was the cause.

I ran my fingers through his curls, gripping the strands at the base of his head as he traced a pattern with his tongue around the outer edge of my nipple. He nuzzled his face between my breasts, taking long, languid licks of the skin there. When I was sure I wouldn't be able to stand it . . . wouldn't be able to handle another fucking second of that tortuous foreplay, he spread my legs and positioned himself over me.

Again, I cried his name.

Instead of going further, he rocked back on his heels to stare at my body. Aside from the nicotine addiction, I had treated my body well over the years and, judging by his carefully controlled expression, he was hardly immune to its accurate proportions.

"You are beautiful," he said.

He pulled himself flush against my body and ground his hips into mine. I could feel him; feel the soft, albeit quite firm, shape and delicious length of him. He moved his hips forward running the length of himself from my navel, then downward. Back and forth, back and forth, until I was twisting the comforter of the bed between my fists and arching my torso into his chest.

"Fuck," I breathed. "Damnit, Jasper."

He chuckled and pressed his cheek against mine, letting me hear his ragged breathing.

"I want you inside me."

He grinned against the side of my face. "Yes." His hot breath caused a series of goosebumps to spring from my neck downward. My eyes were closed, too tightly to even consider opening them, but I heard him chuckle.

"You really need to stop doing that to me," I said.

And without another moment wasted on unnecessary preamble, he pushed himself inside me.

"Jesus," I said, trying to relax my muscles. "Jesus.

He didn't move for a few long seconds and I opened one eye cautiously. His head was bowed towards my stomach, his eyes shut as tightly as mine had been.

"Jasper?"

When I said his name, he began to move. At first, his movements were controlled and even, but after a few moments, his pace quickened. Without warning, he threw one of my legs to the opposite side of his body until my legs were pressed together and I was lying on my side. I watched him as he readjusted himself into a sitting position, one of his hands on the bed, the other gripping my hip with enough pressure to make me wince.

In that moment, I knew it was not me, Bella Swan, that Jasper was fucking. But Bella Swan, Jasper's sub.

He came, shaking and moaning, his eyes squeezed together into painful slits but the rest of his face calm and uncreased. I pressed my thumb to his forehead, forcing wrinkles into the smooth flesh.

When he opened his eyes to look down at me, I wanted to cry. Instead of the needy desperation, the fervent spark of something primal and animalistic that had turned his face from beautiful to something primordial, he was simply Jasper. Calm, bored, indifferent, fucktard Jasper.

He moved off of me and without another glance in my direction, walked out of my room and closed the door behind him.

It was ten minutes later, when I was still waiting for him to return, that I heard the distinctive purr of his Mercedes come to life as it pulled out of the driveway.