“I like you like this,” I say softly, still not quite sure if he’s really not mad at me. Maybe he knew I’d be looking. He always seems to know what I’m up to.
“Like what?” Joseph asks.
“I don’t know, just when you’re kind and playful.”
He scoffs, shaking his head he responds, “those words aren’t used to describe me very often.”
“I really like this side of you,” I say placing my hand on his. A moment of silence falls over us, and I feel compelled to ask, “Passerotto?” I’m not sure if I pronounced it correctly. Or if me prodding is going to tip him to the point of being pissed off. But I want to talk. It’s in my nature.
Joseph hesitates for a moment, and I fear he might close himself off. But instead he grabs onto my waist and pulls me onto his lap. I gasp and hold onto him, not expecting it. He seems to pull me into his lap whenever we “talk.” I like it. Yet another thing to add to my Things-I-like-about-Joseph-Levi-list. I nestle into his lap and wait patiently.
“Yes. It means little Sparrow.”
“Who did that journal belong to?” I ask, although I’m certain it’s his.
“My mother gave it to me when I was little….” Joseph’s eyes are distant as his voice trails off. I place my cheek on his hot chest, listening to his heart and playing with the smatter of chest hair peeking through his unbuttoned shirt. I can sense that this is something he doesn’t want to talk about, but I don’t want to lose the opportunity to get him to open up.
“Go on… Please,” I say very softly, stroking his hand and pulling away from him enough to look him in the eyes.
Joseph swallows audibly. But I’m pleased when he continues speaking. “I don’t like talking about my past, but you seem to make me talk, my flower. I’ve had a fucked up life. There were a lot of times where I thought I wouldn’t make it after the shit I had been through, after the shit I seen.” He runs a hand down his face and looks past me.
The pain in his words pull at my heartstrings.
“What did you see?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I just want him to open up to me.
There’s a long pause, and I can actually feel Joseph’s heart pounding against my hand still at his chest. “A lot of death. A lot of murder.”
I bring a hand to my lips in horror. “I’m sorry,” I say in a choked voice, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
“It’s okay,” he replies thickly. But I know it’s not. He’s fucking hurting and it tears me up. “I’d just rather not talk about it.” My eyes flicker down to my lap then back to his. I want him to talk. I want him to open up to me.
I know how he feels, not wanting to talk about things. But it helped me, so much that I know for sure I wouldn’t be the person I am without having someone to confide in. Even if it was just a counselor at school. It’s good to talk it out.
“Please?” I plead with him.
He shakes his head and the look in his eyes tells me not to push him. I nod, trying not to feel like he’s pushing me away. My eyes focus on the closet, where the journal is. Maybe that’s his way.
I glance over at the closet. “Can I read it?”
“The journal?” he asks and I immediately nod my head. “You can read it any time you wish.”
We sit together in silence, and I swear I can hear Joseph’s heart beating in tandem with the mine. After a moment I turn into his lap, looking him in the eyes. I see the pain in his dark gaze and I hate that I’ve partly caused it by bringing up the subject. I just want to help make it go away.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, rubbing his arm.
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans down and kisses me on the lips very gently. Emotions swell up from my stomach and I find myself wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into me, smashing my lips into his with fiery passion.
I feel him hesitate for a moment, but it only lasts for an instant. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me back into the bed.
I’ve never felt more connected to anyone in my life. The more I learn about Joseph, the more I want him.
The more I fall for him.
And that could be a very dangerous thing.
Joseph
Although her hips are steadied by the bench in front of her, the rope tying her wrists behind her back and hanging from the ceiling is what’s keeping her up right. Her ankles are bound to the bench and spreading for me. Her hips are tied down as well. She’s dangling naked, completely at my mercy. With the blindfold on, she doesn’t know where I am. Each time my feet smack on the floor, her fingers twitched slightly. Her shoulders are going to be hurting her soon. This has to come to an end soon enough. I pull back on the blow as I smack the riding crop against her ass one last time. She yelps as her upper body is swaying, although her lower body is tied so tightly she doesn’t move from the waist down.
Her ass is a beautiful shade of red. Some spots a bit darker than the others. I trail the leather up the middle of her back; her body shivers and her rose petal colored nipples harden that much more. As I get to her arms and move forward, gently flicking the riding crop against her hard nipples, she moans.
It’s only 30 minutes but she’s so wet that her arousal is dripping down her thighs. I move the head of the riding crop up her neck and to her chin as I pull the blindfold off of her. The bright light startles her, she sways away from me for just a moment as she closes her eyes. I allow it. Once she looks back at me as I bring my face closer to hers and plant a gentle kiss against her lips.
This is all because she got up from the table without asking for permission. Realistically, this isn’t a punishment. I know she loved every minute of it. But that’s what we’re calling it.
“You do realize I own you.” I tell her, my lips just an inch from hers. “You belong to me. Your freedom belongs to me.” She holds my gaze as I speak to her. Her lips parting that beautiful way I’ve become addicted to.
She says her answer so sweetly, “yes, Sir.”
I walk around her, dropping the riding crop as I go and stroking my hard cock. I grip her hip in one hand although I don’t need to, she’s not going anywhere.
I don’t hold back when I fuck her.
And she takes it.
Chapter 20
Joseph
You can’t keep telling me no.
I stare at the text message, nearly breaking the phone in my hand as I squeeze it, my anger rising and rising. I need to calm down. Every time this fuckface pisses me off, I fight with my flower. I’m not letting him come between us and I don’t give a damn what he wants.
I kept up my part of the bargain. I’m out.
They want the money back? They can come fucking get it.
I’m not dealing with their shit anymore. I pace the study wanting to go back to the home I grew up in and beat the fucking piss out of him. But he never played fair. He’d pull a gun in a sword fight if he could. And he’d be damn proud of it. Going back there wouldn’t be good.
The sound of Lilly turning off the water to the shower upstairs reminds me why I’m even letting him get to me. I finally have something worth giving a fuck about. This isn’t the first or second or dozenth time I’ve had to put up with these assholes since I’ve left.