I won’t do it.
I don’t want her broken. I want her strong and fierce and to see what she’s capable of without unwanted bonds chaining her to the ground.
That makes her dangerous in a way I’m not prepared to deal with.
“Jafar?” The way she says my name makes me think this isn’t the first time.
I give myself a shake. “Let me give you a tour.”
Her skeptical look almost makes me smile. Almost. I feel eyes on us as I press my hand to her back and guide her through the lounge to the door guarded by a dark-skinned woman with her long black braids pulled back from her face. She gives me a once over. “Look what the dog dragged in.”
“Allecto.” I have no idea what her real name is. Hades has three women who answer directly to him, his Furies, and they go by the names of their mythological counterparts. Hades takes his Greek shit seriously.
Meg is my favorite because she likes to get down in the dirt with the rest of us. Allecto and Tis—Tisiphone—are more in the way of hard asses. The real thing that counts against them is that they hate me. Always have.
She turns that dark gaze on Jasmine and raises her brow. “She’s not your usual type.”
I silently curse as Jasmine tenses. “Hades already gave his approval. Stop swinging your metaphorical dick around and let us through.”
“You’re just mad my metaphorical dick is bigger than yours.” She rolls her eyes. “Have fun. Don’t break the rules or I start breaking kneecaps.”
I can’t say for certain that her threat is empty. I’ve been a member here five years, and I’ve never seen anyone step out of line in a way that required Allecto to step in. The worst have been a couple lovers’ spats and one memorable fight between two Doms who didn’t want to share a particular partner. The lovers were strongly encouraged to fight in one of the private rooms Hades keeps and the idiot Doms had their memberships revoked.
“You don’t have to worry about us.”
“Mmhmm.”
I nudge Jasmine through the door and exhale slowly. She glances at me. “She makes you nervous.”
“Anyone with the tiniest bit of common sense is nervous around Allecto.”
A small smile pulls at the edges of Jasmine’s full lips. “I think I like her.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
She stops short and her gaze ping-pongs around the room we’ve entered. The lounge we just left is designed for a place to socialize as desired. This is the public playroom. It’s early yet, so there are only two scenes going on. “See something you like?”
Her attention narrows on the pair on the spanking bench. The man is bent over it, his forearms braced on the shorter blocks. The woman at his back wields a paddle with ease and familiarity, each smack of contact slightly overlapping the one before it, leaving his ass and upper thighs red. “I—” Jasmine swallows hard. “This is a lot to take in.”
Protectiveness surges, nearly taking me out at the knees. Before I can think better of it, I hook an arm around her waist and pull her to the corner closest to us. It’s got a handful of deep chairs that are excellent for fucking, but that’s not what I have in mind. Not at the moment, anyways.
I drop into the chair with her in my lap. Jasmine immediately tries to stand, but I band my arm across her waist. “Relax, baby girl. We have all night.”
“I thought you wanted to set the tone.”
I do. But not at her expense.
Damn it, I don’t know what’s happening to me. I always wanted Jasmine’s consent. I’m not a complete monster. But her emotional state never factored into my plans. Not until we walked into The Underworld and it truly hit home how fucking sheltered she’s been. I knew, of course. Part of the reason I was so damn sure she’d choose me was because of that fact.
I hadn’t bargained on the downsides of it.
“Breathe.” I hold her tight to me until she relaxes against my chest. “There’s nothing going on in this place that isn’t completely consensual.”
“I’m aware,” she snaps. “I know how this works. I read. A lot.”
I’ll just bet she does. I spread my hand across her stomach, brushing my thumb along the underside of her breast. “Is there a lot of spanking in these books of yours?”
“Some of them.” The ire drains out of her voice, leaving her a little breathy. “Sometimes it’s whips. Sometimes canes.”
I chuckle. I can’t help it. “Why don’t we learn to crawl before you start sprinting toward the canes and whips?” I drop my free hand to her hip and stroke her thigh where the slit in the dress has bared it. “Do you like pain, or do you just like the fight?” No question that she does like the fight. We’ve more than established that at this point.