He starts toward me.
I flee for my life.
Chapter 2
Jasmine
I sprint faster than I’ve ever run before. Down staircase after staircase, flying around the corners with enough momentum that my long hair kisses the wall at every turn. I know before I hit the ground level that I won’t be fast enough. That I’ve made it this far is only because Jafar enjoys the chase. I know that, but I can’t stop myself from trying to win against the odds stacked against me.
Freedom, true freedom, waits.
Entrapment bites at my heels.
I know he expects me to take the main route to the front door, a wide hallway that cuts nearly the length of my father’s house. It’s meant to showcase his wealth, the walls lined with priceless works of art and each open doorway giving glimpses of rooms filled with more of the same. This is where my father brings people when he wants to impress them, intimidate them, influence them.
Or at least he used to.
I can’t think about that now.
I swing around the corner and race through the second door down the hall. If I can lose Jafar in the maze of rooms populating the floor plan, I might have an actual chance.
The thought barely forms in my mind when a weight hits my back hard enough to take me to the floor. I shriek and throw my hands out, but Jafar is already rolling us, taking the brunt of the impact. The temptation to go limp, to give in, to not make this a fight, rises.
Fuck that.
I elbow him with everything I’ve got, and his quiet oomph is music to my ears. His grip goes slack for half a second, and that’s all I need to slither out of the cage he’s made his body. I almost make it. He catches me around my hips and flips me onto my back.
And then he’s there, where I’ve dreaded and desired him, between my thighs, pinning my hips to the ground with his weight, his hands bracketing my wrists in a bruising grip. Overpowering me so easily, he’s not even breathing hard. I loathe him so much in that moment, I arch up and try to headbutt him. All that does is draw a low rumble of a laugh from his throat. “Brat.”
“I hate you.”
“Do you?”
How can he lie here and talk to me as if we’re having any other conversation in any other circumstance? I can’t catch my breath, can’t think past the hard length of his cock pressed against me, past his heavy weight holding me down. “Let me go.”
“No.” He transfers both my wrists to one of his hands and forces my arms over my head. I fight him. Of course I fight him. But the thrashing only loosens my robe, the silk sliding across my bare breasts and exposing me. Jafar glances down and his mouth goes hard. He uses his free hand to clasp my chin, stilling me. “Last chance, Jasmine.”
I know what he wants to hear.
If I had any self-preservation, I’d give him the word that would stop everything. For reasons I refuse to examine, I won’t. I have lost so much in the last few months. I can’t lose any more. I won’t.
I wrench my chin out of his grip and bite his thumb. Hard. He doesn’t wince. To show even that much reaction would be too much for Jafar. He just leans away enough to flip me back onto my stomach before his weight pins me in place again. I fight, but I might as well rail against a hurricane. I’m helpless as he maneuvers my legs farther apart and grips my throat, arching me back until I’m looking down the hallway we lay in the middle of. His beard scrapes against my neck and then I feel his teeth against the sensitive skin there. “Scream if it makes you feel better. We both know why you won’t make me stop. You want this.”
“I don’t want this.” I might want this.
One of his hands snakes between my stomach and the floor, working ever southward. “Shall we see about that?”
I thrash, but he’s got me too effectively pinned. Humiliation heats my face. I know what he’ll find even before his fingers slip beneath the band of my silk panties and lower yet. The truth of me. Hot and wet and aching to be filled by him.
No.
No, damn it, I shouldn’t want this.
But a whimper still escapes my lips when he pushes a single finger into me. How many times have I imagined being touched like this? A thousand? A hundred thousand? More. It’s not the same when it’s my fingers driving me to new heights. I’m too soft, too tentative, too me.
Jafar is none of those things. He touches me like he’s known my body before. Like maybe he’s imagined this, too.