The sex on the bench ended up not being a quickie. Much like the rainstorm before, he indulged in her, nibbling and kissing her burning flesh without care. He knew the island was filled with life, whether landscaper or guards, yet she didn't pay them any mind, so why should he?
He held her close, trembling as he spilled himself inside of her, afraid to speak. All he wanted was to feel that gulping, gushing abyss greedily swallow the only thing he had to give her. Sweat smeared their clothes against their skin and he was sure that another of her dresses were ruined. When their lips pressed together, he felt like they were melting into each other.
Were they becoming one? Like described in so many of the novels he poured over? Was this how it felt every time he fucked her? Like he was sinking into her body and they were becoming some Cronenburg fusion of rage, pain, love and pleasure?
She told him she loved her, and he believed her. She wanted him to have everything, and he was so tired of fighting off her promises. His conscious, his logic, was shouting at him, but it was so shrill and loud that he was doing everything in his power to ignore it. To dull and silence it.
Whether it was sex, drinking, or the rare sparring session, he did it just so it could shut the fuck up.
Ira's proposal hung between them. Unlike that judgemental bit of his brain that was telling him to GET THE FUCK OUT, her proposal stayed quiet in the background. It floated in and out of the dark corners of his mind, weaving between in his thoughts and lisping behind every single kiss.
Ira was remarkable in her determined patience. She did not push or punch; she did not beat an answer out of him. Instead, she would wheel in luxurious meals, nuzzle affectionately under his chin, and spoil him with wine, rum, and, of course, her body.
Her chiseled body that yielded only to him and it was addicting. She was truly an addiction, and it was tearing at him, splitting him in two.
The side that talked about survival, morality, and sense and the proposal. The proposal that danced and cooed. That sung to him and comforted him when the sensible said screamed just a little too loudly.
One side said No. Absolutely not.
The other sang, Why not? What's the harm?
Everyone here wants you dead!
She doesn't. She loves you.
She can't be trusted! She will hurt you!
She giving you so much and wants to give you even more.
Except for freedom. This is a prison.
Is it though? Not even heaven could match this place.
Heaven or not, this is a cage.
Filled with beauty, money, power. Just say yes.
Do you even have a choice?
There it is.
The proposal, hiding within every moment between him and Ira, could not argue against that fact. If he said yes, it wasn't because he was making a choice. It wasn't because he could choose a life back with Evie and the teens in a shitty row home. No, if he said yes…
It was a surrender.
He closed the book in his hand, rubbing his eyes. Even though the foam mattress molded to his body and gifted him the best sleep surrounded by a sea of silk sheets, the under lids of his eyes felt heavy. He looked down at his lap and sighed, watching as the lion opened her mouth, a loud roaring snore escaping her thick, luscious lips before she nuzzled further against his stomach. To be honest, he wasn't a big fan of this one. It was some limited hardcover edition of a novel he had been eying before, signed by the author just after the film premiere. How Ira got the author to sign it was a mystery that he knew involved bribing and sadistic 'promises', so he didn't ask.
It didn't help that the plight of the heroine and her unstable, kinky-fuckery relationship with the ridiculously rich CEO mirrored his own situation. Unlike that book, however, his reality did not have the prose or marketing that would come with a "Perfect Romance."
No.
He looked down at his fingers, his eyes drifting from one scar to the next, as if his fingers were that of an articulated doll.
His contract was to be signed in blood, his soul on the line while the lion on his lap devoured his heart. There were no safe words, no escape clauses and each gift of passion, each bauble of diamond, cost a pound of his flesh.
Surrender. The proposal sang. Surrender or die.
Do you even have a choice?
He ran a hand through his bangs, futilely trying to push them away from his eyes. His shoulders slump and he leaned back against the head of the bed, the book sliding from his marionette fingers and falling to the floor with a graceless thud. He closed his eyes as the thud was followed by a yawn, and a weight lifted from his lap. "I completely understand sleeping during that one."
The sheets rustled as Ira groaned, lifting her arm behind her to stretch. Multiple pops from her neck, shoulder and back echoed through the room like hail, "God, that was dull. I never knew that a subconscious could be so loud." She snorted, rubbing her head and tilting her head side to side, her mane cascading back and forth.
"At least her subconscious had a personality." He leaned forward, watching her. His expression was unreadable, a blank slate, eyes glassy. His joints were pinned together by wires; he could tell where each piece connected by the scars.
If he surrendered, he would become her obedient little doll and she would play with him over and over until he broke.
Would she put him together again? Would she fix him?
Can he be fixed?
"There is nobody more precious to me than you."
"A better personality than the stalking rapist leading man." She huffed, not even acknowledging the hypocrisy. "It's called a romance, but clearly it was made as a horror. A bad horror."
He turned his head to the window. He could hear his neck creaking, "As a romance, it's pretty shit too."
"No shit." Ira sat up, kicking her legs over the edge of the bed before picking up her phone while dismissing the book. She looked at the screen and ran her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Fuck. It's late." She stood up, grabbing a burgundy blouse with one mustard leather sleeve, "I have a meeting in the morning and I don't need Greed giving me another lecture."
He blinked, his eyes widening as he watched her reflection get dressed. When she pulled up her underwear, he turned and lunged for her. He gripped her hip tightly, panic rushing through him, "N-no!"
An electric shiver traveled up her spine, and she tilted her head against her left shoulder, gazing at him, "I have to get up early."
Sweat dripped down his chin as her gentle demeanor calmed him, the panic slowly subsiding, though his grip did not release. Not yet. "Why-why don't you stay?"
His fingers ran against her hip when those red eyes softened, sparkling with gems. That small smile graced her lips. "Do you really want me too?"
His heart clenched, and it felt as if there was a belt tightening around his neck, cutting off air. He fought through it, nodded, "Yes. I...I want to…wake up next to you."
Her eyes misted over, and her lips trembled when she pressed them together. "Does that mean…you'll say yes?"
His fingers dug into her hip. The belt wrapped a notch tighter. He was choking at her words, eyes growing heavy behind his bangs, "Just…stay. P-please stay."
He could feel the disappointment weighing down on them. He could hear her sniffling as she pried his hand off her hip. Yet that sniffle was accompanied by a sigh and she sat down next to him, her hand reach over, fingers intertwining with his. "I'm not…the best sleeper."
His fingers tightened around hers, his arm trembling, "You nap so easily."
She let him squeeze her hand as much as he liked, "Napping is not really sleeping." She leaned her head onto his shoulder, wild orange curls cascading along his side, lapping at his scarred side, "…I'll stay though. With you, I'll sleep."
"W-will you…hum too?"
"If you want me to."
He gulped, shuddering as he rested his head against hers. He closed his eyes, nodding, trying to will himself to calm. "I do, Ira."
She kissed his shoulder, her nose nuzzling against the mottled wound she left. "I'll hum as much as you want tonight, sweetie."
She called him Sweetie and his heart slowed, his breathing settled and he closed his eyes. She kissed his scarred shoulder, and the world was far away. Her proposal settled in the recesses of his mind, seeing his acceptance, his surrender close at hand. In the morning, when they woke up, he would give in, say yes, and accept a luxurious life as her lover, pet, whatever he would be to her. He could live like this; showered with affection from a beautiful woman who adored him. His pride, broken long before he met her, can adapt.
However, his vigilant as always and powered by spite, waited for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Tristan to realize the mistake he made.
***
An intrigue with a pinch of horror, are you ready to make your Confession?
Link in the Description!
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