‘Nice?’
‘Nothing wrong with nice.’ I shovelled my fork defensively into the rice and took a mouthful.
‘I’m nice,’ he said, leaning forward on an elbow, smiling his half-demonic half-angelic smile, willing me to react. ‘I’m as nice as you want me to be. And in bed – was he nice there too?’
‘He was … it’s none of your business actually.’
‘Oh, that bad, eh?’
My scalp prickled as if I’d been caught thieving. It was true, the sex had been less than stellar. The whole affair had fizzled out after we graduated and picked different universities for our PhD studies.
‘It’s good that you finished it, then,’ Jasper opined, turning his attention to the food.
‘Who said I finished it? It was mutual, in the end. It just ended. We still email, you know, as friends.’
‘How very fucking civilised.’
‘Yes, it is. You’re kind of an arsehole, you know? Just for your information. At least, that’s how you’re coming across. I don’t know if you’re aware of it.’
He stared, eyebrows up, until I didn’t think I’d ever be able to swallow the mouthful of risotto I was shifting from cheek to cheek.
‘Thank you for your honesty,’ he said at last.
‘I thought you’d like to know. Why are you trying to belittle me and my past and my life choices? What do you think I’m going to take from that, apart from an impression that you’re a bit of a git?’
‘I’ve always found that submissives like a bit of theatrical arrogance.’
‘Submissives? What, like, a homogeneous ball of girls who like being spanked?’
He sat back and looked me over, his gaze roaming all over me, ending at my ridiculously plunging cleavage.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’m just not a very nice person. Perhaps I’m even a bad person. But I’m a good master. And I can show you things. I want to show you so many things, Sarah. If you’ll let me.’
Every ounce of common sense screamed at me to run. But I was trapped, enticed by the beguiling promise of sinful pleasure to come. He had a hold on me. It just wouldn’t do to let him know.
‘I’ll consider it,’ I said.
‘Good. Well, let’s finish eating, shall we?’
I dug into the risotto, but my appetite wasn’t much in evidence, having been replaced by a tugging tension in my lower abdomen.
This was not alleviated by the sudden arrival of Jasper’s shoe against my foot, then my ankle, then sliding up my calf. I chewed doggedly on a stalk of asparagus but it seemed more and more probable that his footwear journey was going to end at my open crotch.
I put my fork down and shot him a panicked glance.
He winked at me and moved his foot higher, shoving it in between my thighs, parting them. He had to stretch a little and shift forward in his seat but he managed to get his toecap right inside my pussy lips and he held it there, swivelling it this way and that, for about ten seconds while I sat and stared at the ice bucket.
Then he took it away again and said, ‘Strawberries. Come here.’
I hesitated and he pushed back his chair and held out his hand.
‘Come on, Sarah. I’m going to give you your dessert.’
‘My just dessert?’
‘Yes. Exactly.’
He put me on the edge of the table in front of him, my bottom on his place mat. Once he had moved all the silverware and plates out of the way, he had me lie down with my legs dangling off the edge of the table, following the fall of the fine white cloth, almost to the floor.