“Last I checked, you’re not my keeper.” I bypass him and motion at Ethan and Elsa to follow me, leaving Jonathan with Layla.

That should be fun.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to ignore Jonathan’s looming presence. He somehow ends up in circles of people who buzz around him like bees to honey. It’s almost as if he’s stealing the limelight away from the children with his presence.

Pretending he’s not there, I continue networking and introducing the associations’ representatives to the donors.

When I was young, I took everything for granted, and because of that, I need to revisit my choices and try to make a difference.

No matter how small that difference is.

Charity is all about giving, and I always feel like I haven’t done enough of that — giving, that is.

I’ve taken and taken and haven’t even stopped to look back once. Now, I have the choice to do something different.

Layla’s mother, Kenza — which literally means treasure — is a plump woman in her mid-fifties with pale skin and dreamy hazel eyes. When she catches me roaming around, she hugs me and rubs my arm. She has a French accent she acquired from her time living in France. Like Layla, she covers her hair with a hijab, but unlike her daughter’s hip-hop style, she wears modest, elegant dresses. “I’m so happy our Layla got to know you, Aurora.”

“I’m so happy you gave birth to her.”

“Believe me, so am I.” Then she leans in to murmur, “Don’t tell anyone, but I hate boys.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Seriously. The only reason I kept giving birth was so I’d get a baby girl. Though she did turn out to be like her brothers, didn’t she?”

“Sort of.”

We laugh and she reaches into her pocket. “Hold on, Layla has been teaching me how to take selfies.”

She pauses when she doesn’t find her phone. “I lost it again.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you find it. I’ll call you.”

“It’s on silent mode.”

“Where was the last place you saw it?”

“At home. No. At the storage room. Or was it in the bathroom?”

I laugh. Kenza plays a constant lost and found game with her phone. “I’ll go check the storage room and you check the bathroom.”

We part ways and I head to the small supply space that was originally filled with cleaning equipment. Now it contains all the baskets and gifts people have brought in for the children.

Something glints on the ground and I get on my hands and knees to check it out. Nope. Not the phone. It’s a lollipop wrapper.

I’m about to stand back up when the door clicks behind me and Jonathan’s strong voice fills the space.

“I like the view.”

26

Aurora

My spine jerks upright at Jonathan’s now very recognisable voice.

It doesn’t matter how much I hear it or how much time I spend in his company. It will always hold a frightening edge that’s meant to be obeyed.

Worshipped even.

Despite my earlier retorts, I admit taking refuge in the public setting. Now that we’re all alone, I have absolutely no defence against my tyrant.

I scramble to my feet, realising the position I’m in — on my knees with my arse in his full view.

The moment I stand up, a scorching warmth appears at my back like a volcano nearing an eruption. I don’t even get to turn around as Jonathan grabs both my wrists and pins them with one hand at the small of my back.

My breathing shortens and that now-familiar heat shoots through my limbs and settles between my legs.

“Do you think it’s okay to defy me, Aurora?” His voice lowers as his lips graze the shell of my ear. “Is that it?”

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but you do. That’s why you’re doing it on purpose. Do you like to see me lose control?” He pushes his hips forwards and I suck in a crackled breath at the feel of the hard bulge nestling against my arse.

“Or do you perhaps like to be punished?” His other hand yanks my dress up. Shivers cover my skin, but it has nothing to do with the cold air and everything to do with how he grabs my arse as if that’s what he was always meant to do.

“I did nothing to be punished for,” I speak firmly, even though my legs have turned into jelly.

“Nothing to be punished for?” His hand comes down on my arse and I yelp, my thighs shaking and coated with the evidence of my arousal.

“N-nothing,” I breathe out.

Slap.

I gasp, the sound ending in a moan. “…aaah.”

“You’re mine, so act like it, mean it, fucking breathe it if you have to. You do not get to defy me in public again. Do you understand?”

My quivering lips set in a line, I refuse to give him an answer.

Slap.

“I said. Do you understand?”

A full body shudder goes through me and my hands curl into fists in his hold, but I still don’t say a word.

“We can do this all night.” He grabs my arse with false tenderness, and I nearly moan at the sensation before he slaps the skin again.

A whimper rips out of me, and I hate how needy it sounds. I hate that no matter how sore my behind is, I can’t help wanting more.

His voice drops in range as he murmurs in my ear, “If you don’t say the words, I’m going to spank your little arse until everyone hears your cries. Is that what you want, wild one?”

“N-no!”

“Then say it.”

“Fine,” I hiss.

“Glad we agree on that.”

More like he coerced me into agreeing. Arsehole.

“Now, what did I say about staying away from Ethan?” He tightens his hold on my wrists. “When we go outside, you’ll tell him you won’t make it to the dinner.”

“No.” The word is barely audible, but it’s there. The most horrifying part is that I didn’t say it because I won’t allow Jonathan to dictate my life.

It’s more like a challenge. At this point, all I want is the lash of his hand and the way he elicits these weird sensations from deep inside me.

If provoking him is what it takes to bring out his true self, then so be it. I’ve become a pro at it in such a short time.