Whisper My Name Read online

  Whisper My Name

  Celia Crown

  Copyright © 2019 by Celia Crown

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are from the author's imagination or folklore, legends, and general myths.

  The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, and locales, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

  For inquiries: [email protected]

  Cover Editor: Designrans

  Mailing List

  Contents

  Whisper My Name

  WARNING

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s other works!

  Mailing List

  Follow the Author

  Whisper My Name

  by Celia Crown

  As a successful businessman who owns a vast amount of café shops across the world, Jackson knows his way around delectable desserts, and nothing is sweeter than his Lolita.

  He’s a little obsessed with the strangely adorable young girl that the only thing he craves more than her love is what’s between her supple thighs. If she wants a particular dessert, he will gather the freshest ingredients to make it because his darling deserves the best.

  His pretty Lolita breaks the stereotype of tattoo artists; she has no ink on her delicate skin, she’s a good girl who listens, and she’s more of a flower girl than an edgy statement-driven trendsetter.

  She’s too precious, so innocently trusting. Lolita is a delicacy on her own, he’s going to be the one to devour her and watch her get defiled by his possessiveness.

  His hands are not only for making desserts, but they can also bring ultimate pleasure too.

  If anyone dares to make his darling shed a tear, they need to know that Jackson is skilled with knives.

  Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. Figure I should try some new ideas that came to me. Saw a poster about breaking stereotypes and one week later, this story happened.

  WARNING: This contains some spoilers for my other book Marionette, I suggest you read that first for the sweet connection between the characters. However, for you brave fires, read if you dare. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  Chapter One

  Lolita

  “How is it?”

  I moan around the melting chocolate in my mouth, it’s heavy with the bitter-sweetness coating my tongue as little crunches from the macaroon mingle with the chocolate.

  “It’s so good!” I squeal, wiggling in my seat and humming happily behind my hand.

  The man sitting in front of me chuckles huskily, I gaze at him with a blush on my cheeks. How embarrassing, I basically devoured the sweet treat in front of someone I have a massive crush on.

  He pushes a drink of cold tea to my hand, our fingers touch and a shiver roll down my spine. I take the drink and the crisp sensation wash away the thickness from the treat. It’s an amazing combination and I wish I had more.

  I set the cup of tea down and look at him.

  Jackson is his name, I call him Jack. He doesn’t allow anyone else to call him that only I have the privilege to call him so intimately and get drunk off the closeness we have.

  “I’m glad you like it,” his deep voice rumbles in laughter.

  This is our thing. He makes desserts at his coffee shop and lets me have the first taste to see how it is and my opinion on it. I work as a tattoo artist at the shop right next to this café and the first time I saw him was when he walked into my boss’ shop to get a tattoo.

  He specifically requested me when I have never seen him before, but I did the work and I’ve never been so nervous in my life. People come to me for my skills and creativity, they know what they’re getting into when they say they are leaving the designs in my hand. Jackson is different, he came in with an air of confidence that had me ducking behind a counter.

  I didn’t know why I did it, but I did, and he yanked me out and demanded I be his tattoo artist.

  Kelly, my boss, was also a tattoo artist and he could have gone to her, but he came for me. In the end, I worked on his body of perfection. He trusted me, a stranger who looked way too young to be legal, to permanently mark his body without any questions or hesitations when he threw off his shirt.

  Safe to say that my face bled more than his skin.

  The thick muscles and hard lines of his back still make my hands tremble when I meet him every day.

  Our routine is meeting in the morning with a cup of coffee ready in his hand when I come into his shop, we chat until Kelly comes to get me because I lose track of time when I’m with Jackson. He would bring me lunch when he steps into the tattoo shop and we would eat together with Kelly gagging behind us, and then he would tell me to come to his shop when I close for the day. A new treat would be waiting for me when I get to him and nothing can stop the love I feel when he caresses my face like I’m a delicate little doll.

  I love him. I really do, I think he knows, but that’s still up in the air. He hasn’t said anything, and I haven’t said anything either. I like this comfortableness, we’re more than friends, yet we’re not lovers. Sometimes I have to physically fight myself from throwing my arms around him and kiss those teasing lips.

  “Lolita?” he calls my nickname.

  Lolita isn’t my name, but we established from the beginning that Jackson is only his last name and Lolita is the name that everyone calls me by. He wants to keep this game of guessing between us, one day he would tell me his name and one day he would whisper my name on his lips softly as he kisses me.

  For now, he only knows me as Lolita. The tattoo artist girl with no ink on her skin and a peculiar personality. Many customers thought I was the assistant to Kelly, but when they found out I was the Lolita they were looking for, they were all shocked beyond words.

  I know the name Lolita originated from the street rumors of a girl so gifted that it’s a waste in a small shop. I like being here, Kelly is a great boss that takes good care of me and Jackson doesn’t mind my odd behaviors, he says they make me who I am and he likes me for me.

  “More?” Jackson asks, his eyes glinting behind the neat frame of his glasses.

  God, he’s so handsome. He’s not only tall with thick muscles filling out his massive body, but his sharp nose also supports a pair of simple glasses that tugs on my heartstrings.

  He’s someone who uses his hands a lot, but the glasses show a side of sophistication and order. Sad thing is, he only wears them on occasions.

  “Please.” I bite my lips, shifting in my seat as he takes the empty plate from me.

  I zone in on the sleeve of tattoos that I did; it’s black and white with some grey coloring to blend in the sharp designs, it’s not an animal or any identifiable faces. They are a magnification of my thoughts of him when I first saw him; a force to be reckoned with and an innate animal of lust, stalking and preying on me with a fixated stare.

  He had a clean canvas of a tanned and strong body, it’s a surface that I love working on.

  He’s my masterpiece.

  Mine, my mind purrs.

  Little by little, I fill out the spaces on his huge body; touching the bulging muscles and car
essing his heated skin with my softest strokes.

  The new piece of treat slides in my vision and my mouth waters again, I want to sink my teeth in that fluffiness.

  A hand cups my cheek, dragging my eyes away from the dessert to Jackson’s handsome face. Dark eyes questioning my quietness, I’m always talking, and I don’t know how to stop. I think it’s an annoying trait; I talk to my customers when they’re laying on the table with the tattoo gun in my hand, I talk to the three cacti in Kelly’s shop.

  She said it’s aesthetics.

  “You’re awfully quiet, darling. What’s on your mind?” Jackson kneels on the floor; our eyes are aligning with electricity flying and the world fades from the corner of my eyes.

  I’m a talkative person, I always have something to say, but Jackson makes me speechless. I get shy around him, getting judged by him is the last thing I want.

  He probably sees me as a young and hyperactive girl with eccentric tastes, I can’t be the type of classy women a lot of men likes; for one, I’m way too short to rock a pair of killer heels and I could never speak elegantly.

  It gets worse when I’m nervous. Either I clam up or my mouth doesn’t filter anything from my thoughts and I end up embarrassing myself. I did it with Jackson during our first meeting, he asked what I needed to do before we began our first tattooing session.

  I told him I wanted to touch him.

  I believe I have died then.

  He calmly told me I could touch him if I wanted to get familiarize with his body as my canvas. No one understands my need to touch, it helps me visualize the big picture and know every aspect of my canvas to perform the best I can.

  “Darling?”

  Oh, the pet name. He calls me that with a voice of velvet, the fire in my belly lights up with heat oozing throughout my body.

  “I’ve been working on this new design,” I blurt, I lick my dry lips and his eyes follow my little pink tongue.

  I want to say that he’s affected by me just as much I’m affected by him, the thought of us cuddling and holding hands fill my mind, and my heart shudders in joy when those images show our wedding rings.

  I’m such a cheeseball.

  “Yeah?” Jackson purrs, he leans in until we are a breath away from kissing.

  I quickly add, “I-it’s not ready yet.”

  He’s always satisfied with my work on his body, but my insecurities don’t want him to see the work in progress on my papers. I fear that they’re not good enough and he won’t let me touch him anymore.

  I almost lean in when he tucks a piece of my brown hair behind my ear.

  “I can wait, darling. There’s no need to rush. You know you can touch me, you don’t have to ask.” Jackson reminds me, I could never forget when he told me that his body is mine.

  He would only let me touch him, and he promised that only I have the rights to his body and I’ve never been so wet in my life.

  My hands go up to hold his face, the scruff from his facial hair is stubbly and rough on my palms, and the strong jawline gets a slow trace from my fingers. No objection from him when I touch his lips or when my hands run down his neck.

  It’s warm and the pulses beneath his muscles are strong and steady, I rub the hot skin as the width of his neck isn’t possible to enclose my fingers around. I would never betray his trust in me, but his confidence in me goes beyond my comprehension.

  I don’t know anyone would be comfortable enough to let me near their neck when they’ve seen me in my natural habitat. Sometimes my subconscious would leak out and do things that people are wary of me, I would get raised eyebrows and bewildered questions.

  I might have eaten a full lemon on accident when I was too focused on my new sketch, I also may have not realized it until someone pointed it out. At least it wasn’t Kelly’s precious cactus, she would have avenged one of her children’s death by feeding me more lemons.

  I shudder at the tangy taste, I wonder why I hadn’t scrunched up into a prune at the bitter sourness.

  When I touch him, he is also allowed to touch me. He knows I don’t mind his big hands on my body, he takes up the chance to touch me when I initiate the caresses. He likes to remind me that I have the power to say no to him even if I have given permission, his gentleman gestures are well appreciated by Kelly as she approves of me liking him.

  She’s secretly rooting for us, I just know it. That woman is not that subtle.

  My hands knead his shoulders, they’re broad and firm with his white shirt stretched over the bulky muscles. I remove one hand and uses both of my hands to trail down his arm to where the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbow.

  It’s heavy when I lift his arm up, another reminder of how much he weighs more than me. My goal is to reach his hand; those big hands with a prominent vein on his forearm, strong fingers are long and thick that can wrap around my head and crush me with a mere squeeze.

  His strength turns me on, which is why I’m praying so hard that I’m not soaking the chair through my panties.

  My next project is his hands, or one of them. I’m still deciding, but I have to ask for his permission. Jackson’s line of work consists of hand labor; he’s the owner of this café and he also makes desserts, they’re the best with people lined up down the street just to have a taste.

  “Can I work on your hands?” I ask tentatively, “It’s okay if you say no, I know you work with your hands and maybe you don’t want ink on them because your customers might—”

  He stops my nervous rambling with his smile, my throat closes because he’s so sinfully good-looking. I lose my train of thoughts when he moves his hand down to my neck just as I have done with him.

  He must feel the quick pulses under his hand, my wild heart is doing a rave inside my ribs and I do not appreciate the ringing in my ears that comes with it.

  “I’m yours, darling. Do what you want with me, I belong to you.”

  I swallow a screech as my heart swells with so much love for this man, my teeth clamp down on my bottom lip from smiling too much.

  “Thank you,” my voice is squeaky, quivering with breathlessness.

  He smirks, my heart gallops frantically and my cheeks flare with a blush.

  “Are there any special requests for tomorrow?” he asks, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb.

  He’s talking about the dessert selection, I know that and he knows that, but nothing goes according to the plan.

  My brain and mouth stop communicating for a brief moment, distracted by his tender actions.

  “I want you.”

  Oops.

  There goes my life.

  Chapter Two

  Jackson

  I watch as humiliation color my darling’s adorable face.

  I love this girl.

  Meeting her has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, I met her before I knew what she did for a living. On a normal day, I was closing the door to my café and there she was, having a heated conversation with a piece of paper and a pencil.

  I have heard of the talented tattoo artist around the neighborhood and the girl was in the shop, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. That same day, I went in and called for Lolita, which she got alarmed and squealed loudly when I shocked her that she scolded at herself.

  My little Lolita is such a precious girl.

  I walked out with a new tattoo on my back and a promise of her to come to my café for a treat.

  “I meant hands, yes hands.” she nods as she quickly corrects herself.

  Her mouth runs, I don’t stop her nervous rambling. I like it when she’s unfiltered, I can see where her thoughts are, and she only shows me this side of her. Everyone knows the unusual tendencies she has; she talks to herself a lot and people are put off by it, and Lolita has a terrible habit of ogling muscles on men.

  My jealousy is consuming when she accidentally stares too long, I can’t help that this green monster hisses at me to make her keep her eyes on me. Her thoughts should be fil
led with me and me only, I’m possessive over her and I will not tolerate any men trying to come between us.

  I’m done waiting, I’ve given her enough time to understand my intentions; I have verbally told her that I belong to her, she has marked my body with her art that chains me to her.

  Now, it’s my turn to do it.

  “I should—I should go back to the shop.” she squeaks, big hazel eyes scanning the darkened sky.

  My café is closed for the night, I close earlier than the tattoo shop because I want to be there to escort her home. I won’t be able to sleep at night if I don’t know she’s safe and the only way to do that is to personally walk her up to her apartment and give her a goodnight kiss on her forehead.

  “It’s late, I’ll take you home.” I take her hand, pulling her on her feet as my knees ache from the hard flooring.

  She hesitates and laughs brokenly with a hand rubbing the back of her neck, Lolita does that when there’s something on her mind.

  “Well…” her little throat bobs as she swallows.

  I bring my hand to her chin and lift her head to meet my eyes, “What is it, darling?”

  “It’s nothing.” she shakes her head.

  “Darling,” I firmly press her, “Is someone bothering you?”

  Her pink lips round and her eyes widen, “Oh! No, nothing like that! It’s just my apartment is being terminated for bugs and I can’t go back there. Kelly said I could sleep in the shop until it’s done.”

  The young girl smiles widely at me, my cock surges in attention while I stifle down a groan. She smells so good with her being so close to me that I could smell the sweet brown sugar from her lips and the natural scent of her delicacy.

  She must be protected at all cost.

  “Come stay with me,” I offer, I hope she takes it and sleeps between my arms.

  She’ll fit into my chest just fine with her dainty little body rubbing on mine, I most likely won’t get any sleep, but it’s a price I would gladly pay every day.