Chapter 123: Lena and Jasmine have a breakthrough
The heavy Balinese teak door clicked shut behind Dr. Singh, leaving Jasmine and Lena alone in the humid, jasmine-scented silence of Jasmine's room. The low hum of the nearby waterfall outside the open windows seemed louder now, a constant, soothing counterpoint to the tension that had finally begun to unravel during the session. Lena sat perched on the edge of the oversized daybed, her dark eyes fixed on Jasmine, who stood near the intricate carved screen, picking nervously at the edge of the white bandage wrapped tightly around her left wrist.
"Still angry?" Lena asked, her voice softer than usual, lacking its typical playful edge.
Jasmine sighed, the sound shaky. "Not... not angry at you. Not anymore. Just... fuck, Lena. Just tired. Tired of feeling like I’m drowning in it. The jealousy. The fucking insecurity. Like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, even here." She gestured vaguely around the beautiful room, the symbol of a life most could only dream of. "Dr. Singh’s right. It’s poison. It was poisoning me… poisoning us."
Lena nodded slowly, shifting to sit cross-legged, facing Jasmine fully. "I didn’t help. I pushed. When you pulled back, when you got quiet, I pushed harder. Tried to tease you out of it, flirt with Bruce harder in front of you… Stupid. Just fucking stupid." She ran a hand through her dark hair. "I was scared too, Jas. Scared you hated me. Scared Bruce would think I was causing trouble. I love this family. I love him. And I love you."
The words hung in the fragrant air. Jasmine stopped picking at the bandage. Her green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or defiance, were wide pools of vulnerability. "You do?" The question was barely a whisper.
"Of course I fucking do," Lena said, her voice catching. "You’re my sister. Through all this crazy shit. We came into this together, remember? You, me, Camille, Ketut… navigating Bruce, the sharing, the whole damn circus. We had each other’s backs." She swallowed hard. "Until I fucked it up."
"It wasn’t just you," Jasmine breathed. She took a step towards the bed, then another. She sank down onto the soft cushions beside Lena, close but not touching. "I let the darkness win. I let it whisper that I wasn’t enough. That Bruce loved you more because…" Her gaze flickered unconsciously towards Lena's famously celebrated curves.
Lena’s hand shot out, not to touch Jasmine’s body, but to grasp her trembling fingers, stopping the self-conscious gesture. “Stop it. Right now. That’s the poison talking,” she insisted, her voice firm but laced with warmth. “Bruce loves every fucking inch of you, Jas. He loses himself staring at your ass, gets hard just thinking about that tight little pussy. He loves my curves, yeah, but yours drive him wild in a different way. Wild and free, remember? That’s you. That’s what he craves.”
A choked sob escaped Jasmine’s lips. “I scared myself,” she whispered, the admission raw and jagged like the skin beneath the bandage she now unconsciously touched. “The darkness… it felt so heavy. Like I was dragging everyone down.” She finally looked directly at Lena, her green eyes shimmering with unshed tears, the walls Dr. Singh had helped chip away finally crumbling completely. “I’m sorry, Lena. For pulling away. For the jealousy. For… for this.” Her fingertip traced the outline of the bandage.
Lena didn’t hesitate. She pulled Jasmine into a fierce, tight hug, burying her face in Jasmine’s shoulder. “Shut up,” she mumbled, her own voice thick. “Just shut up. We’re here. We’re together. You scared the absolute shit out of us, you crazy bitch.” She tightened her arms. “Never again, okay? Promise me. No more drowning alone. We sink or swim together in this fucked up, beautiful family.”
Jasmine clung back, her fingers digging into Lena’s back, the rigid tension in her body finally, truly melting. The scent of jasmine flowers mingled with the salty tang of their shared tears. The waterfall’s hum was a steady, grounding rhythm. Years of unspoken tension, recent pain, and fierce, complicated sisterhood flowed between them in that silent embrace. Walls lowered, guards dropped, pain acknowledged and held together. It wasn’t sexual, just profoundly human, a raw stitching back together.
The soft click of the carved door opening was barely audible. Bruce stood silhouetted against the brighter hall light, his broad frame filling the doorway. His swirling hazel eyes, usually alight with warmth or desire, scanned the room and landed on the entwined figures of his wives. A softness touched his face at the sight of their embrace, a rare moment of vulnerability between the often fiercely competitive women. He stepped quietly into the jasmine-scented dimness.
His gaze shifted, drawn downwards. The white bandage on Jasmine’s left wrist was gone. In its place, stark against her dark skin, was an ugly, ragged scar – a brutal, jagged line screaming of a desperate, terrifying moment. All the softness vanished from Bruce’s face, replaced by a visceral, gut-punched horror. The color drained from his cheeks. He moved towards them slowly, each step heavy on the teak floor.
“Jaz…” His voice was a thick, guttural rasp, choked with an emotion so potent it vibrated in the air. Lena felt Jasmine tense in her arms and loosened her hold, turning slightly to see Bruce’s face. His eyes, usually mesmerizing swirls of green and blue, were dark, stormy pools of anguish fixed solely on Jasmine’s wrist. He stopped right before her, his imposing frame trembling faintly.
He reached out, his large hand surprisingly gentle as it closed around her scarred wrist, lifting it into the warm lantern light. His thumb brushed over the raised, ruined flesh. Jasmine flinched, but didn’t pull away, her green eyes wide and fixed on his face, tears spilling over anew. He stared at the scar, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked onto hers, the intensity was almost physical.
“You can’t ever fucking leave me,” he ground out, the words raw, desperate, torn from somewhere deep and primal. “Do you hear me?” His grip on her wrist tightened almost painfully, not in anger, but in a frantic need to anchor her, to keep her here. “You can’t. I need you.” His voice cracked. “Do you still doubt? Do you still doubt how much I love you? How much I fucking need you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He brought her scarred wrist to his lips, kissing the damaged skin with a fierce, aching tenderness that made both women gasp. Then, still holding her wrist, he pressed her open palm flat against the solid muscle of his chest, right over his hammering heart. The thudding rhythm was frantic, powerful, undeniable against her skin.
“Do you feel this, Jaz?” he demanded, his voice rough with unshed tears, his gaze boring into hers. “Do you feel my heart beating?” He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers, the scent of him – salt, sunshine, and deep male distress – enveloping her. “Jaz… do you feel it?” The question hung, a desperate plea echoing in the sudden silence of the room, the only other sound the relentless, distant roar of the sea.
The frantic thudding beneath Jasmine’s palm was undeniable, a frantic drumbeat against her skin echoing the desperation in Bruce’s eyes. His forehead pressed against hers now, the heat radiating off him, the scent of his fear and fierce love thick in the humid, jasmine-laden air. The distant sea roared, a counterpoint to the ragged breaths tearing from his chest. "Do you feel it?" he rasped again, the plea raw, primal.
"Yes, Bruce," Jasmine whispered, her voice thick with tears, her green eyes locked onto his swirling hazel depths. "I feel it." Her fingers curled slightly against the damp cotton of his shirt, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath. "I know. I’ve always known." A sob hitched in her throat. "Deep down, I knew."
She pulled her hand slightly from his chest, not breaking contact, her fingers tracing the hard muscle before lifting to gently cup his jaw, her thumb brushing away a tear tracking through his stubble. "It’s… it’s me," she confessed, the words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. "My head. Dr. Singh… she’s helping me see it. Where it all started." Her gaze flickered past him for a second, haunted. "My father. He always… loved my sister more. Everything was hers. Attention. Praise. Love. Fuck, even the goddamn bigger slice of cake." A bitter, choked laugh escaped her. "I was just… there. Never enough."
Bruce’s grip on her wrist softened, his thumb reverently stroking the jagged ridge of the scar, his eyes never leaving hers, absorbing her pain. Lena watched silently, her own eyes glistening, a quiet pillar of support beside them. Jasmine leaned into Bruce’s touch, drawing strength from his solid presence. "Maybe… maybe joining this family, with all these incredible women," she gestured weakly towards Lena, "wasn’t the smartest move for someone wired to feel inadequate. Fuck knows I didn’t see it then." She took a shuddering breath. "But I wouldn’t change it. Not for anything. Finding you all… it’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever done."
Her voice strengthened, conviction replacing the tremor. "Even when I let the poison drown me. Even when I…" Her eyes dropped to the scar on her wrist held so gently in Bruce’s hand. "I’m here, Bruce. I’ll always be here. For you." She turned her head slightly, meeting Lena’s dark, understanding gaze. "For Lena. For Camille, Ketut, Sophia, Erika… for everyone. This crazy, beautiful family." She looked back at Bruce, her green eyes blazing with fierce, tear-streaked loyalty. "If… if you’ll still have this fucked-up mess?"
Bruce didn’t speak. A low groan tore from his throat, part anguish, part overwhelming relief. He surged forward, crushing her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His arms locked around her like iron bands, his big body trembling. "Always," he choked out against her skin, the word muffled but vibrating with absolute certainty. "Always, Jaz. You’re mine. Ours." He pulled back just enough to capture her mouth in a kiss that was desperate, possessive, a claiming that seared through her. It wasn't gentle; it was raw need, a physical affirmation of everything words couldn't convey. His tongue plunged into her mouth, demanding, tasting salt tears and the unique essence of her.
Lena moved instinctively. She pressed close behind Jasmine, her hands sliding around Jasmine’s waist, holding her steady against Bruce’s onslaught. Lena’s lips found the sensitive skin behind Jasmine’s ear, nipping softly, then soothing with her tongue. "We have you, wild thing," Lena murmured, her voice husky with shared emotion and rising desire. "Always."
Bruce broke the kiss, breathing harshly, his eyes dark pools of need fixed on Jasmine. His hands slid down, gripping the hem of her thin cotton sundress. In one swift, decisive motion, he yanked it up and over her head, tossing it aside. Jasmine stood trembling in just her lace panties, the humid air kissing her dark skin. Bruce’s gaze raked over her – the perfect curve of her hips, the incredible swell of her ass Lena often envied, the tight muscles of her stomach, the proud lift of her breasts. His eyes lingered on the scar, a stark reminder, before blazing hotter. "Fuck, you’re perfect," he growled, the words thick with lust and reverence.
He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties, dragging them down her legs. She stepped out of them, naked now except for the jagged line on her wrist. Bruce dropped to his knees before her. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her forward. His mouth found her inner thigh, biting gently, then laving the sting with his tongue, moving higher. Lena’s hands slid up Jasmine’s torso, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her hardening nipples, pinching them to stiff peaks. Jasmine gasped, her head falling back against Lena’s shoulder, her body arching.
Bruce’s breath was hot against Jasmine’s dark curls. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of her arousal thick and heady. "So fucking wet already," he murmured, his voice rough. "For me?" He didn’t wait for an answer. His tongue, broad and hot, swept through her folds in one long, deliberate stroke. Jasmine cried out, her fingers tangling in Bruce’s hair, pressing him closer. "Oh god! Bruce!"
He growled against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her core. His tongue delved deeper, fucking into her with firm, rhythmic thrusts. He found her swollen clit and latched onto it, sucking hard, flicking the tip rapidly with his tongue. Jasmine bucked against his mouth, whimpering, her thighs trembling. Lena held her firmly, whispering filthy encouragement in her ear while rolling Jasmine’s nipples relentlessly. "That’s it, take it, baby. Let him taste you. He fucking loves your sweet pussy."
Bruce’s hands slid under Jasmine’s ass, lifting her slightly, spreading her wider. He plunged his tongue deeper, fucking her relentlessly, then sucking her clit back into his mouth, applying delicious pressure. Jasmine’s moans escalated, sharp and desperate. "Please… oh fuck… Bruce!" Her orgasm hit suddenly, a violent surge that ripped through her. She convulsed against his mouth, crying out Lena’s name as much as Bruce’s, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his invading tongue.
Bruce rode the waves of her climax, his tongue relentless, drinking her down until her tremors subsided into shuddering aftershocks. He pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes burning with predatory intensity. He surged to his feet, his own erection straining obscenely against his shorts. He fumbled with the drawstring, shoving them down just enough to free his thick, flushed cock, already leaking pre-come. Lena’s hand snaked down Jasmine’s belly, fingers sliding through her slickness, gathering her wetness before guiding Bruce’s cock to Jasmine’s swollen entrance.
"No more waiting," Bruce growled, his voice guttural. He gripped Jasmine’s hips hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Lena held Jasmine steady from behind. With one powerful thrust, Bruce buried himself to the hilt inside her, stretching her impossibly wide. Jasmine screamed, a sound of pure, overwhelming sensation – pain edged with blinding pleasure as her sensitive walls stretched around his thick girth. "FUCK! So big!"
Bruce didn’t pause. He pulled back almost completely, then slammed home again, setting a brutal, demanding pace. Each deep thrust punched the air from Jasmine’s lungs. Lena ground her pelvis against Jasmine’s ass, her own wetness slick against Jasmine’s skin. Lena’s hand slid down again, fingers finding Jasmine’s clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles as Bruce pistoned into her. "Take his big cock, Jas," Lena hissed, her breath hot on Jasmine’s neck. "Take every fucking inch. Look at him. He’s wrecking that perfect pussy."
Jasmine forced her eyes open, locking onto Bruce’s face. His jaw was clenched, sweat beading on his forehead, his hazel eyes blazing with possessive fire, fixed solely on her. Seeing that raw need, that absolute focus, undid her completely. She felt owned, cherished, needed. Her inner muscles clamped down hard on his cock, milking him. Bruce groaned, a deep, animal sound. "Fuck! Your tight little cunt… gonna make me come deep inside you."
His thrusts became erratic, harder, deeper. Lena’s fingers worked her clit furiously. Jasmine felt the coil tightening again, impossibly fast after her first climax. The slap of Bruce’s hips against hers, Lena’s relentless fingers, the overwhelming fullness – it was too much. She shattered, her scream ripped away by another convulsive orgasm. Bruce roared her name as her inner walls clamped down like a vise. He thrust twice more, hard and deep, and then pulsed inside her, thick ropes of hot come flooding her depths as he held himself buried to the root, grinding against her clit.
They collapsed together onto the soft cushions of the daybed, a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs. Bruce stayed inside her, softening slowly, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her hair. Lena curled around Jasmine’s back, her arm draped possessively over Jasmine’s waist, her hand resting lightly on Bruce’s arm. The scent of sex and jasmine hung heavy in the air, mingling with the salt tang of the distant sea. Jasmine traced the jagged line on her wrist with her other hand, then placed it over Bruce’s hand resting on her hip. His fingers immediately interlaced with hers, anchoring her. Safe. Held. His. Ours.