Slaps and subs
1770 Words
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– Cassie’s POV
The silence after I slapped him is deafening.
My hand still tingles. My pulse races so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Jessie’s smile hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s only gotten darker—colder. Like I’d just confirmed something he’s always suspected about me. Something he’s been waiting for.
I take a shaky step back. “Don’t you dare—”
He grabs my wrist again, harder this time. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear I’m not going anywhere.
“You were warned,” he says low, almost gently. “I told you what happens when you mouth off. When you put your hands on me.”
“I told you I’m not yours to control—”
He cuts me off by dragging me toward the bed, and my breath catches.
“Let go of me!”
He sits down on the edge and yanks me across his lap before I can fight him off. I twist, try to push up, kick free—but he locks an arm around my waist, pinning me down.
My heart pounds in my ears.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I snap, voice rising in panic—but also something else. Heat. Shame. Wanting.
He leans down so his mouth is near my ear, his voice steady. “I told you last night what disobedience gets you.”
“Jessie, don’t.”
“You earned this.”
The first slap lands on the curve of my ass through the thin cotton of his T-shirt—and it stings. I gasp, shocked more by the action than the pain.
“I warned you,” he says again, his voice still maddeningly calm. “And now I’m going to make sure you remember.”
He lands another. Harder this time. A jolt of fire shoots through me, and I bite down a sound I refuse to let him hear.
“You don’t get to put your hands on me, Cassie, unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences.”
Smack.
“You don’t get to lie to me.”
Smack.
“Don’t get to run.”
Smack.
My eyes burn, but I won’t cry. I won’t.
“You’re insane,” I hiss, teeth clenched.
His hand stills, resting on the small of my back. “Say that again.”
I twist my head toward him, daring him with my glare. “You’re. f*****g. Insane.”
He flips me onto my back before I can blink. His weight hovers over me, his eyes burning into mine.
“You think this is me being insane?” he murmurs, voice like steel under silk. “No, Cassie. This is me holding back.”
I try to push him off—he doesn’t budge.
“You don’t get to humiliate me like that,” I spit. “You think I’m scared of you?”
He leans closer, one hand braced beside my head, the other slowly tracing up my thigh beneath the hem of his shirt.
“You should be,” he whispers.
But I’m not.
I’m burning.
Angry. Aroused. Addicted to this chaos I didn’t ask for and can’t seem to crawl out of.
He sees it. Sees the war behind my eyes. The betrayal of my body. And that only makes his smirk return—slow, deliberate, cruel.
“You’re mine now,” he says, voice velvet-dark. “Whether you like it or not.”
My heart’s slamming in my chest, a wild, uneven beat that I can’t control. Every nerve in my body is screaming—rage, fear, want, shame—they’re all crashing into each other like a damn car wreck.
He’s close.
Too close.
His hand is sliding higher up my thigh, hot and possessive, but his eyes are locked on mine. Watching. Measuring. He’s waiting for something.
A word. A breath. A surrender.
And for a second—God help me—I almost give it to him.
I almost whisper yes.
But then—
BANG BANG BANG.
The sharp, jarring sound of knuckles against the front door snaps us both out of it.
Jessie freezes. His entire body tenses above me, his jaw tight.
“What the hell—?” I whisper.
He lets out a sharp breath, then moves off me with a quiet, controlled fury that tells me whoever is behind that knock just delayed something dangerous.
“Stay here,” he orders, running a hand through his hair and grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner.
I sit up, heart racing, skin flushed, completely wrecked in every way possible. My legs are still trembling, and I’m suddenly all too aware of how little I’m wearing—his oversized shirt, nothing else. The bruising memory of his handprint still lingers on my ass.
He stalks out the door and disappears down the hall.
I stare at the open doorway, pulse thudding.
What the f**k was that?
I hug my knees to my chest, trying to catch my breath. I can still feel the heat of his palm, the burn of his voice in my ear, the terrifying pull of how close I’d come to giving in.
But I don’t get long to recover, because I hear voices.
One is Jessie’s—low and impatient.
The other is sharper. Older. Female.
Shit.
“Jessie, whose car is that in the driveway?” The woman sounds suspicious, stern.
His mom?
I hear him sigh. “It’s Cassie’s.”
Silence.
Then, “Is she here?”
I scramble off the bed, nearly tripping over my own legs. Panic surges up my throat as I realize I don’t even have pants on, and I’m about to be caught half-naked in Jessie Cross’s bedroom.
“Oh my God,” I hiss, frantically looking for my dress or—hell, anything.
But it’s gone. Probably in the laundry or the trash or burned in hell where last night belongs.
I hear footsteps approaching. Fast.
“Shitshitshit—” I grab one of his hoodies off the chair and tug it on over the shirt. It’s huge. I look like a damn pillowcase with legs.
The door bursts open.
Jessie storms in, eyes locked on mine. “She’s coming upstairs.”
“What?!”
“You didn’t lock the door.” He doesn’t even sound panicked—just pissed.
He yanks open the closet and gestures inside. “Go. Now.”
“Are you serious?!”
“Cassie—” His eyes flash, and suddenly I remember the heat of his palm, the way he held me down. “Don’t argue. You’ve done enough of that today.”
I scowl but dive into the closet anyway, my bare feet silent against the floor.
The door shuts just as I hear a knock on his bedroom door.
“Jessie? Can I come in?”
I squeeze myself between a wall of his jackets, heart thundering in my ears.
The door creaks open.
I hold my breath.
His voice is calm, casual. “Yeah, Mom. What’s up?”
His mom.
Oh, I’m so screwed.
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Jessie’s POV
I shut the closet door just in time, making sure it doesn’t click too loud.
Cassie’s eyes were wild as I shoved her in there—half pissed, half panicked. Good. Maybe now she’ll listen for once.
I turn just as Mom knocks on my bedroom door.
“Jessie? Can I come in?”
I rub a hand over my face, schooling my features, pushing down the fire still crawling under my skin from five damn seconds ago—when I had her right where I wanted her.
So close to breaking.
So close to begging.
“Yeah, Mom. What’s up?” I ask, stepping back and letting the door open.
She walks in, eyeing the room with that suspicious mom-scan that makes you feel guilty even when you’ve done nothing wrong—which, for the record, I absolutely have.
“Who’s car is that in the driveway?” she asks, arms crossed. Her tone already says she knows the answer.
I shrug. “Cassie’s.”
Her eyebrows arch. “Cassie Davenport?”
“Mmhm.”
Her eyes narrow. “Is she here?”
I keep my face blank. “No. She crashed last night, but I dropped her off this morning.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
I walk over to the window and pretend to adjust the blinds so I don’t have to meet her eyes. “She had too much to drink. I wasn’t gonna let her drive like that.”
Not a lie.
Not exactly the truth, either.
What I don’t say is that she’s currently barefoot and flushed in my closet, wearing my shirt, after nearly coming on my hand just minutes ago.
Mom lets out a breath, her arms loosening slightly.
“Well… that was decent of you,” she says.
I glance back at her. “She’s not that bad. Once you get past the mouth.”
And the attitude. And the fact that she drives me absolutely insane in all the worst and best ways.
Mom hums, giving me a look like she’s not sure whether to believe me or schedule an exorcism.
“I didn’t think you two got along.”
“We don’t,” I say honestly. “But I’m not gonna let her end up in some ditch.”
Mom nods slowly, like she’s working out whether she believes this new, “mature” version of me.
She walks to the door but pauses before leaving.
“Just… be careful, Jessie.”
I tilt my head. “With what?”
“With girls like her,” she says, eyes sharp. “Pretty ones. Angry ones. The kind that make boys do dumb things.”
I force a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She leaves.
The second I hear her footsteps disappear down the stairs, I blow out a breath and move straight to the closet.
I open the door and—
Cassie is standing there, arms crossed, lips tight, eyes like goddamn fire.
“You’re lucky I didn’t scream,” she hisses.
“You’re lucky I didn’t gag you,” I shoot back.
Her nostrils flare. “You’re a psychopath.”
I grin, leaning in. “And you’re still in my shirt. In my house. In my bed.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off, stepping close—too close.
“Now,” I murmur, voice low and razor-sharp. “Where were we before we got interrupted?”
- Writer
