I grab the edge of the table, pushing back against Jasper, bucking into his hold as he slams into me relentlessly. I moan loudly when his skilled fingers find my sensitive clit. I don’t think I can handle this.
“Oh God,” I cry out.
“That’s right, I am your God,” he growls.
I’m overtaken by the sensation that I need to pee, but I don’t want to stop, so I try to ignore it. He rubs my nub at a high pace, and as the orgasm unfurls and crashes through me, I squirt all over the floor.
“Fuck,” I mutter, mortified.
He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing just slightly. “That’s fucking hot, darling. Look at you, squirting all over the floor for me like the good girl you are.”
My cheeks flush a light pink from his praise, and a few thrusts later, he empties his release inside me. He pulls out a few seconds later, nuzzling my neck and pressing tender kisses to the nape. His warm load crawls down my thighs, and I let it trace its own pattern across my skin.
Jasper pulls me back against his sweat-covered chest, his head resting on my shoulder, and together we watch Tammy. She resembles a naked porcelain doll. It’s beautiful.
“You did a wonderful job, my love. Look at your masterpiece. The first of many. I can’t wait for you to capture her choiceless surrender.”
“That sounds like a title,Choiceless Surrender,” I murmur. “It captures how I made her bend to my will.”
I can feel his proud smile against my flesh. Unlike Tammy, I have never felt so alive.
“Let’s get dressed,” he says, a reluctance to his voice. “I have a surprise for you.”
I turn around, facing him, and I squint my eyes at him curiously. He picks up my underwear and jeans and hands them to me. Quickly, I get dressed. He beckons me to follow him to another room, and when we enter, I see it.
My mouth opens in an ‘o’, my lips slightly parted. I brush past him, almost running towards the mahogany casket, intricate details carved in the polished wood. I graze my fingersover the smooth surface. Then I notice the dried bouquets of flowers, an entire wall full of them. Roses, lilies, laurel, chrysanthemums, all the familiar grave flowers are lined up. Tears pool from my eyes of happiness.
“I figured you’d need some props,” he smiles, and I fling myself around his neck.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whisper.
Chapter Twelve
Ikeep a small bronze hand mirror in front of Tammy’s still form. Her breath ghosts across the glass. Her lips are parted, and we made small holes where her nostrils are. We gave her some water and porridge yesterday. The idea that her body is still alive, waging a war; while it’s cruelly unaware that the fight is already lost, is intoxicating. It’s like watching someone drown in shallow water, unable to give their withering hope, the wings it needs to save themselves from the inevitable—death.
I grab my camera and circle her. Hunting her imprisoned body to capture the despair that exudes from her. It’s so palpable I can almost smell it. She’s still on the table, her eyes darting to me.
“I wish you could see how beautiful you look,” I say dreamily, while I play with some of her greasy strands of hair.I arrange them to frame her waxy face. Her eyes are fixated on me as she stares at me with dread. Lost in my own mind, I don’t register Jasper coming in, nor the extra pair of footsteps.
His arms snake around my waist, and I almost drop the camera on top of Tammy. It’s his hand that catches it with ease. Startled, I turn in his embrace, my heart pounding relentlessly against my ribcage.
“Drifting off, were we, Darling?” He asks with a light chuckle. He brushes his lips against mine and lets me go, giving me the camera.
“I didn’t hear you,” I murmur.
My eyes fall on the fresh flowers in Marvin’s arms. His gaze is void of emotion; he just stands there, holding a bunch of grave bouquets wrapped in black paper. Each petal looks silken, as if it were cut from its stem early in the morning. I’ve always found flowers fitting to be placed on a grave, despite the irony. A life taken to comfort death. The moment it's taken from its root, decay silently sets in. Our watering of flowers is similar to embalming the dead. A frail attempt to stop the rot, to preserve the illusion of life, but in the end, none of us can stop the slip toward it.
Petals will curl inward, and cheeks will hollow. In that sense, they are each other's fitting companions as they go to ruin.
Jasper’s eyes linger on me, trying to find a way into my mind, to decipher where my thoughts are wandering off to.
“Sorry,” I whisper, meeting his concerned gaze. “I was realizing how fitting flowers are, as companions to the dead.”
He smiles gently and cups my face. “Never say sorry, Starling. I was just curious where your mind drifted off to.”
An uncomfortable cough breaks our intimate moment, Marvin standing there, his tight grip on the paper wrinkling it.
“Sir, where would you like me to place them?” he asks Jasper.
