Chapter 5: It was Real
Derrick’s sleep was a fever swamp. Images pulsed behind his eyelids – the humid darkness of Bonnie’s room, the slick heat of Jane beneath him, the feel of her. But the faces blurred and shifted. One moment it was Jane’s dark hair fanned on Bonnie’s pillow, blindfold secure, the next it was Bonnie’s fiery red strands tangled in his fingers, her green eyes wide and fixed on him, not blindfolded at all, seeing everything. The air was thick with vanilla and musk and the phantom echo of Bonnie’s choked cry. He felt powerful, dominant, needed, the center of their rapt attention. Then, the sickening lurch of discovery. Jasmine’s furious "What the fuck?" echoed, morphing into Bonnie’s silent, tear-streaked horror.
He twisted on his narrow dorm mattress, the sheets damp and clinging. His body hummed with a restless energy, a phantom echo of the climax that had shattered everything. He dreamed of movement. Of Jasmine above him. The weight of her, the slow, deliberate roll of her hips pressing him deep into the mattress, her head thrown back, blindfold gone, her striking green eyes boring into his with an intensity that was terrifying and electrifying. She was riding him. Controlling him. He arched into it, helpless, consumed.
But Jasmine never rode him.
That dissonant thought pierced the dream like ice. She was underneath. Always underneath. Blindfolded.
His eyes snapped open.
Darkness. The familiar, slightly stale smell of his own room – old pizza crusts and cheap detergent, a stark contrast to Bonnie’s vanilla sanctuary. The faint, rhythmic hum of his laptop fan. The orange slash of streetlight slicing through the blinds. And weight. Real, undeniable weight pinning his hips to the bed.
He blinked, disoriented, trying to shove the clinging remnants of the dream aside. His gaze focused downwards.
Jasmine sat astride him. Fully clothed in her ripped black jeans and that worn leather jacket, zipped halfway up over a thin band t-shirt. Her long, dark hair was a chaotic halo around her face in the gloom. She wasn't moving. Just sitting there, her thighs bracketing his, her weight solid and deliberate on his lower abdomen. Her face was shadowed, but he could feel her gaze, sharp as broken glass, fixed on his.
He froze. Every muscle locked. His breath hitched, loud in the sudden, crushing silence. The phantom sensation of her moving against him, from the dream, warred violently with the stark, motionless reality. She felt terrifyingly real. Her scent – turpentine faint beneath cigarette smoke and leather – cut through the stale air of his room.
"Jas?" His voice was a dry croak. He didn't dare move.
"I couldn't sleep," she said. Her voice was flat. Composed. Dangerously calm. It held none of the raw fury from Bonnie’s bedroom, just a chilling precision. Like a scalpel held steady before the cut. "Kept seeing it. Bonnie's face. Your face. How fucking stupid I was." She shifted infinitesimally, the denim of her jeans rasping against the thin cotton of his boxers. The pressure on his hips intensified. "Blindfolded. Anonymous. Safer." She spat the last word like poison. "Did it feel good? Fucking me in the dark? Knowing she was watching? Getting off on it?"
Derrick flinched. The memory of Bonnie’s hand beneath her sweatpants, the damp stain, her primal cry when the headphones fell… it surged back, mixing with the visceral echo of being inside Jasmine. Shame and a traitorous, unwanted flicker of arousal tangled in his gut. His body, treacherous, remembered the heat, the friction. He could feel himself stirring beneath her, a humiliating physiological betrayal. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block her out, but her scent, her weight, her proximity were overwhelming.
"It wasn't like that," he managed, the lie feeble even to his own ears. He remembered Bonnie’s husky whisper: Yes, Derrick. Good. Just like that. Feel her open.
"Wasn't it?" Jasmine leaned forward slightly. The orange streetlight caught the hard edge of her jaw, the glint of her narrowed eyes. "Seemed exactly like that from where I was lying. Or does it look different from up here?" She pressed down again, deliberately. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath. "Tell me, Derrick. What was her 'price'? Watching her best friend get railed by her crush? Was that the show?"
The word 'crush' hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. His secret, laid bare with such casual cruelty. His face burned.
"Bonnie doesn't... I don't..." He stammered, utterly lost. He wanted to push her off, but her stillness, her contained fury, felt more threatening than any struggle. And beneath the fear, the shame, that damnable spark wouldn't die.
"Save it," she cut him off, her voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. "I know what I saw. I know what I felt. And I know Bonnie Hunter orchestrated the whole fucking thing. My 'experience'." She laughed, a short, bitter sound that held no humor. "Mission accomplished, I guess. Got my cherry popped by my stepbrother while my ride-or-die got herself off in the corner. Real fucking wholesome." She finally moved, rocking back slightly on his hips, her gaze never leaving his face. The pressure lessened minimally, but the sense of entrapment remained. "Where is she?"
Derrick blinked. "Bonnie? I... I don't know. Home, I guess. Jas, please... get off." The request was barely a whisper.
"I'll get off," Jasmine said, her tone glacial, "when you get her here.Now. Your phone's right there." She nodded towards his nightstand where the phone screen glowed faintly with a notification. "Text her. Tell her to get her ass over here. Right. Now."
Derrick stared at her, the full implication dawning. The calm was a facade. The storm was coming. "Jas, no. Please. This is crazy. What are you going to do?"
The air crackled with Jasmine’s simmering rage, thick as the scent of old pizza and turpentine clinging to her leather jacket. Derrick’s plea hung uselessly between them. Her gaze, sharp and unyielding in the dim orange light, didn’t flicker from his face. "What am I going to do?" she echoed, her voice low and dangerous. A slow, predatory smile touched her lips, devoid of warmth. "Reciprocate."
Derrick frowned, confusion warring with dread. "Reciprocate what?" The weight of her on his hips felt heavier, more deliberate.
Jasmine shifted, the movement grinding the rough denim of her jeans against the thin cotton of his boxers. A harsh, metallic rrrriiippp shattered the tense silence. A zipper parting was heard. He flinched, the sound unnaturally loud. He in his boxers, so in couldn't be his, but Jasmine grunting as she crawled out of her jeans answered his question. She wriggled, her movements sharp and impatient, peeling the stiff fabric down her legs with rough tugs. The discarded jeans pooled heavily on the floor beside the bed like a dark stain.
She settled back astride him, clad only in her black band tee and dark panties now, the heat of her radiating through the thin layers separating them. Derrick instinctively tried to push himself up, to create distance, but her hands slammed onto his shoulders, pinning him flat against the mattress with surprising strength. Her eyes, glittering with an unnerving intensity, finally drifted past his face towards the head of the bed, towards the wall. Not seeing it. Seeing something else. Someone else. "I should have known when you answered that you were twenty, Derrick," Jasmine said, her voice flat, almost detached. "Maybe I did know. Maybe I didn't care."
Derrick’s breath came in short, panicked gasps. The feel of her bare thighs against his sides, the heat pooling where their bodies met, warred violently with the chilling threat in her voice. His mind screamed, replaying Bonnie’s whispered instructions, the voyeuristic intensity of her watching. "Jas, please," he choked out, his voice raw. "What are you doing? This... this isn't you!" His body betrayed him, responding to her proximity despite the fear, a traitorous heat blooming low in his belly. Derrick repeated his question, his concern growing at the same rate as his cock.
Jasmine leaned down, her breath hot against his ear, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper that seemed to vibrate through his bones. The scent of stale smoke and leather intensified. Her green eyes locked onto his, holding him captive. "I'm going to fuck you," she hissed, the words deliberate, heavy with intent, "in front of my friend." She paused, letting the horrifying image sink in. "Let her know Bonnie can never have what we have." Jasmine answered.
The declaration landed like a physical blow. Derrick stared up at her, trapped beneath the weight of her fury and her body, the awful certainty crashing over him. Bonnie was coming. And Jasmine intended to use them both. His pulse hammered in his throat, a frantic drumbeat against the suffocating silence. The sharp scent of her arousal mixed with the lingering turpentine, acrid and demanding. He could feel the damp heat of her through her panties pressing against the growing hardness beneath his boxers – a sickening counterpoint to the icy dread flooding his veins. The low hum of the laptop fan suddenly sounded like a countdown.
The low hum of the laptop fan suddenly sounded like a countdown. Jasmine didn't flinch, her stare unblinking. "Text. Her." The command was a shard of ice, final. Her weight shifted, grinding down once more, a deliberate, torturous pressure against his trapped arousal. Denim gone, only thin cotton and heat remained between them. His phone screen glowed accusingly from the nightstand.
Derrick’s hand shot out, fumbling blindly. His fingers, slick with nervous sweat, slipped across the cool glass. Finding the messenger app felt like navigating a minefield. He typed three jagged words: Bonnie. Come now. Jasmine’s gaze, sharp and assessing, tracked every tap. He hit send. The soft whoosh sound sealed his fate. His phone clattered back onto the cheap particleboard.
His mind went blank. Jasmine’s scent – leather, turpentine, and something fiercely, undeniably female – filled his senses, thick and cloying. He was utterly at her mercy, pinned by her fury and the terrifying, unwelcome heat building where her body met his thin boxers. He felt her lean back slightly, a predator surveying its claim. Her green eyes, catching the dim streetlight, held no warmth, only a cold, calculating fire. The air crackled with unspeakable tension.
He heard it then. The faint, distant thump-thump-thump of footsteps ascending the narrow stairs to his building’s third floor. Fast, familiar. Bonnie. Jasmine’s lips curved into a slow, chilling smile. She knew that rhythm too. Derrick’s breath hitched, trapped in his chest. He wanted to shout a warning, to push Jasmine off, to disappear. He did nothing. Paralyzed. The footsteps stopped outside his door. A pause. Then, the hesitant rattle of the cheap doorknob turning.
The door swung open, revealing Bonnie silhouetted against the brighter hallway light. She looked rumpled, her fiery hair a messy halo, wearing sweatpants and an oversized band tee – probably just thrown on. Her eyes, wide with confusion and a dawning horror, scanned the dim room. They darted from Derrick’s panicked face, frozen on the bed, to Jasmine astride him, clad only in her t-shirt and panties. Bonnie’s expression shifted rapidly – concern dissolving into shocked disbelief. "Derrick? Jas? What the hell is—?"
Jasmine didn’t turn her head. Her gaze remained fixed on Bonnie in the doorway, a predator locking onto prey. A low, scornful scoff escaped her lips. "Should have known you'd watch our family while they slept, pervert." Her voice was pure acid. Her hips moved then, subtle but devastatingly precise. With a fluid, practiced motion she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down just enough. Her other hand reached back, finding the hard bulge straining against Derrick’s boxers. A sharp tug, a brief adjustment beneath the cotton. Derrick gasped, a strangled sound, as Jasmine guided him, positioned him, and sank down. Slowly. Deliberately. Her eyes never left Bonnie, boring icy daggers into the frozen figure in the doorway. A tight, sharp inhale escaped Jasmine as he filled her, the slick heat an electric shock for Derrick. She held herself poised for a second, vibrating with contained rage and vindication. "So addictive," Jasmine hissed at her.
The slick heat enveloped Derrick completely, a shocking counterpoint to the ice in Jasmine’s stare. Bonnie stood frozen in the doorway, her face a mask of shattered disbelief, the cheap hallway light etching harsh lines around her trembling form. Jasmine rocked, just once, a slow, deliberate grind that pulled a choked gasp from Derrick and made Bonnie flinch violently.
"Get off him!" Bonnie’s voice cracked, high-pitched and raw, tearing through the thick silence. She took a jerky step forward, hand outstretched, then recoiled as if burned. Her eyes darted wildly from Jasmine’s fierce, triumphant glare to Derrick’s trapped, panicked face beneath her. "Jas, stop! This isn't... this is insane!" The scent of Jasmine’s arousal, mingling with leather and turpentine, seemed to choke the small room.
Jasmine didn’t stop. She held herself poised, a dark statue radiating contempt. "Insane?" she echoed, her voice dripping with scorn. "Like setting up your best friend to get fucked by your crush while you jerked off in the corner?" Her hips shifted again, another torturous slide that drew a ragged moan from Derrick despite his terror. "That kind of insane, Bonnie?" Bonnie’s face crumpled, tears welling, her earlier bravado dissolving into pure anguish. She looked physically ill, swaying slightly, one hand clutching her stomach.
Derrick felt like he was drowning. The conflicting sensations – Jasmine’s punishing heat, Bonnie’s visible agony – warred inside him. Shame burned hotter than any arousal. "Bonnie," he choked out, uselessly. "I’m sorry…" Jasmine’s hand clamped down hard on his shoulder, silencing him, her nails digging in through his thin t-shirt. Her focus remained laser-sharp on Bonnie.
"Sorry?" Jasmine spat the word like venom. "You’re both pathetic." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze pinning Bonnie. "You wanted a show? Here it is. Front row seat." Another deliberate, grinding roll of her hips. Derrick whimpered. Bonnie made a small, wounded sound, pressing her fist against her mouth. The orange streetlight glinted off the wet tracks on her cheeks.
Bonnie’s breath hitched, a ragged sob escaping. She wiped furiously at her tears, smudging mascara like war paint. Her voice, when it came, trembled with a desperate, wounded defiance. "I-I CAN HAVE HIM ANYTIME I WANT." The declaration hung in the thick, charged air, brittle and unconvincing. BUT TO WHO. The unspoken question echoed louder than her words. DID ANYONE BELIEVE THAT ANYMORE? The image of her furiously pleasuring herself while Derrick moved inside Jasmine flashed, undeniable. DID BONNIE? Her own certainty fractured, crumbling under Jasmine’s icy stare and Derrick’s trapped silence.
Jasmine laughed, a short, sharp bark devoid of any humor. It was the sound of shattering glass. "Anytime you want?" she mocked, her voice low and lethal. She lifted herself slightly, then sank back down onto Derrick with deliberate, crushing slowness, her eyes never leaving Bonnie’s. Derrick arched, a strangled cry torn from his throat. "Looks like I have him now," Jasmine hissed. "Looks like he’s mine right this second. While you watch. Again." The cruelty was surgical, precise. "How’s the view this time? Clearer without the blindfold?"
Bonnie flinched as if struck. The raw truth of Jasmine’s words, the horrifying tableau before her, was too much. Her defiance evaporated, replaced by pure, gut-wrenching humiliation. She stared at Derrick, his face twisted in a mixture of shame and unwanted sensation, then back at Jasmine, perched atop him like a vengeful queen. A choked sob escaped her. She turned abruptly, stumbling back into the brighter hallway light.
The cheap apartment door slammed shut with a force that rattled the flimsy frame. The sound echoed in the sudden, suffocating silence of Derrick’s room. Jasmine remained motionless atop him, her breathing shallow and rapid, the only sound besides Derrick’s own ragged gasps. The weight of her fury, her betrayal, pressed down on him heavier than her body. The scent of sex, leather, and tears hung thick in the air. Jasmine finally looked down at him, her green eyes cold and unreadable in the gloom. "See?" she whispered, the word slicing through the quiet. "Easy."