I look at him, searching for something I already know he won’t give freely. Jafar remains an enigma to me, but I can’t help grasping at these little details he drops. Proof that he wants me as more than a simple trophy of war.
Or perhaps I’m reaching because I crave companionship so desperately, I’m willing to bend over backwards to paint him in a flattering light.
The bartender deposits our drinks and moves around the corner. Jafar still has his hand on the back of my neck, but I don’t have the strength to tell him to release me. Not when his touch is the only thing holding the panic at bay. I can feel it there, bleating in terror just out of reach.
“Drink.” He watches me lift the glass with shaking hands and drain half of it. The whiskey burns my throat, but I welcome the fuzzy warmth it will bring. I go for another drink, but he touches the top of the glass, stopping the movement. It’s a gentle touch. I could ignore his clear order and drink more.
I set the glass back on the bar. “I wasn’t finished.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
I blink. “I’m not sure. I was nervous about tonight.”
He nods as if I’ve revealed more than I meant to. “I don’t want you shit-housed, Jasmine. That was enough to take the edge off.”
“But—”
He pushes my glass out of reach. “You can have more later—after you eat something.”
I narrow my eyes, but it’s difficult to be furious with him when the whiskey has already fuzzed the edges. I’m not drunk. Nowhere near drunk. But I don’t feel in danger of fleeing any more.
“Jafar.”
His hand on my neck keeps me from turning, but he rotates me to face the woman behind us. I get a glimpse of purple and bare feet out of the corner of my eye, but nothing else. When he answers her, he’s the coldly polite man I first met five years ago. “Megaera.”
“Hades wants a look at your spoils of war.” Amusement filters into her dry tone. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”
“Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s exquisite.”
They’re talking about me as if I’m not here, or as if I have no more agency than the chair I’m perched on. I want to snap back, to snarl that I’m a person with my own thoughts on things and not a pretty little thing.
Except I promised to obey.
I take a slow, silent breath. I can do this.
“May I?”
Jafar rotates my chair to face the room and uses his hold on me to nudge me to stand. “By all means.” He gives me a small squeeze and drops his hand, though he remains close enough that I imagine I can feel the heat coming from his body. A small anchor I cling to as I try not to shake.
A single soft finger presses against my chin, lifting my face. I look at her. I can’t help it. They call me exquisite, but this woman is something else entirely. She wears a purple dress that’s almost Grecian, but I suppose that’s to be expected with the theme of this place and the man who rules it. She’s all sharp features that aren’t in the realm of traditionally pretty, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that leaves flutters in my stomach. Lower.
Blue eyes study my face in pieces. Eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips. She strokes my chin almost absently and I can’t stop my shiver. The woman—Meg—laughs. “You’re right, Jafar. She’s exquisite. Are you going to share?”
I can’t move, held captive by her touch, her gaze. But I hear Jafar’s amusement rise to match hers. “It appears my baby girl’s not averse to the idea.”
“Baby girl.” Meg smiles, the expression just as sharp as the woman herself. “I look forward to playing with you when your Daddy gives permission.”
Playing with you.
I can’t stop shivering. I shouldn’t want that, to be shared, should I? I have no idea. My fantasies are only in theory at this point, except for the ones Jafar and I have played out together. Have I touched myself to the thought of more than one pair of hands on my body? Yes. Oh, yes.
But the thought of doing it now? Tonight?
“That’s enough.”
Meg drops her hand and steps back. If anything, the interest in her eyes has increased from this little exchange. “Don’t keep him waiting long.” She turns. I can’t help watching her walk away, can’t quite seem to pull my gaze away.
“She has that effect on people.”
I twist to look at Jafar, my emotions ranging from desire to disbelief. “You’ll share me.”
He shrugs a single shoulder. “It’s open for negotiation.”
“You told her that you’d share me.”
“Come here.” He waits for me to obey, to step between his thighs, to set his hands on my hips. “You want her.”