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Jasper's expression carried a touch of uncertainty as he glanced around. "Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, this is my first time attempting a romantic gesture." He ran his thumb over his lip. "I haven't done relationships before. What have I missed?"
"Nothing. You missed nothing, Jasper. It's perfect." She rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him. "You made it perfect."
"Yeah? You're sure?"
"It's the sweetest romantic gesture I've ever received," she assured him truthfully, running her hands down his back to hook her fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "It's okay to admit you haven't had relationships—my track record is pretty much zero."
He grunted. "What idiot would let you walk away? Oh, right, that was me," he muttered sarcastically. "What normal, non-sadist idiot would let you walk away?"
"None that I would've wanted to be with. Truth is, if this is my first real relationship, there's no one else I'd rather go through all the firsts with. I think we've covered a few already, but I want to remember them all. This is going to stay with me for a long time, Sir."
"You're good for me, too good for me," he muttered and kissed the top of her head. "One question before we settle in for the night. Someone said something and I...I just can't get it out of my head. Does the age gap bother you, Anarchy?"
Her head tipped back, a frown forming. "There's an age gap?"
"Cute. Yes, there's a gap. I'm talking about the fifteen years between us."
Fifteen years was nothing in the grand scheme of things, was it? Time was fleeting, yet infinite. If she was thinking long-term—marriage, family, a lifetime together—then the only thing that could upset her about the difference in their ages was the fact she might lose him years before she was ready to let him go. But that was life, wasn't it? A circus of life and death, living and dying. Learning to love, learning to grieve, learning to survive.
But that was morbid shit, she chastised herself. She was too happy to mire her good mood down in morbid thoughts.
"Fourteen, technically. No," she said with a shake of her head, "it never occurred to me to be bothered by something we can't change. I love you the way you are, even with the sadism and your decrepit state. I'm assuming it's not sitting well with you?"
Jasper sighed. "I can't help thinking I'm snatching you out of the fucking cradle. Fifteen years is..."
"Nothing. I grew out of diapers and pacifiers a long time ago, Jasper. Somewhere along the way, I became an adult woman, capable of making choices on the information at my disposal." She smirked. "My heart didn't even take age into consideration when it crawled from my chest and plopped at your feet. I'll bet yours didn't either."
He moved so quickly, she didn't have time to brace. Strong arms scooped her up, tightened around her, then she was flying as he carried her effortlessly to the couch. "No, it didn't. I was more worried about the sadist getting his hands on you, hurting you. That was the reason I walked away."
Archie bounced onto the makeshift bed on the couch, her stomach swooping low with the sensation of falling. Her dinner warned her that wasn't a clever idea. She sprawled exactly where she landed, relishing the heat of Jasper's gaze roaming over her.
"I don't give a shit about age," he decided and scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. "Your opinion is the only one that matters. Which means," he added, "you're going to be stuck with a cantankerous old man in a few years, who likes to use his walking cane for more than mobility."
"Promise?" Archie started laughing when he pounced playfully on her, shocked by his lack of restraint. She writhed as his fingers dug into her sides and found all the ticklish spots beneath her shirt. "No! I hate being tickled!"
Of course, that only made him attack her more, fingers dancing over her skin until she almost peed herself laughing. By the time he ceased the torture, Archie was breathless, sweating, and insanely aroused. She didn't argue when he peeled her shirt off, leaving her in just her bra and pants. There were no complaints when he shucked off his jeans, leaving him naked, then pulled hers off to reveal her good girl-bad girl panties.
She loved these panties. Black, proclaiming Good Girl in gold writing on the front, topped by a halo. On the back...they declared the wearer a Bad Girl in bold red letters, complete with a set of devil horns and a forked devil's tail underscoring the phrase.
Jasper traced the Good Girlwith a fingertip. "I like these. I'll like them more later when they're on the floor, out of my way." He eased her up and slid onto the blanket behind her. He'd laid the blanket over the couch, so it covered the seat and the back; when he settled into position and laid her down on her side in front of him, he simply flipped the blanket over them. "You fit me perfectly, kitten."
Anarchy had to admit she did. Her back pressed against him from her shoulders all the way down to where his erection was wedged between the protected crack of her ass. Thank God for panties, she thought. Without them, he'd have a clear route to her back passage, and she really wasn't prepared for that. "This is nice. Should do it more often."
"Believe me, it's on my schedule." Jasper sighed, but the sound was content. His arm curled over her waist and angled up so his hand cupped her breast through the bra. "Pick your movie, Archie. It's ladies' choice tonight."
"You're willing to risk a rom-com?" she asked incredulously.
"Kitten," he replied soberly, "it's not about the movie. It's about being here with you, like this, and enjoying it."
She snuggled deeper into him as he grabbed the remote and scrolled through movies, waiting for her to pick one. He was absolutely right; she was ready to relax and enjoy the intimacy of this moment. With the sadist she never thought would love her, but always wished he would.
Some dreams did come true.
*
The next morning, Jasper woke with Anarchy sandwiched beneath him on the couch. The blankets were twisted around them, keeping them close together as they slept. He was warm, comfortable, and remarkably content with the way the night had gone. No sex, no foreplay.
Just movies rolling into one another as the night grew long. Pretty Woman, he recalled as his brain woke up. Then Battleship, followed by The Hobbit. He hadn't seen any of them before, so it had been an experience to watch them. More importantly, to feel how energetically Anarchy's body expressed itself with each film.
