Page 51 of Muerte

“No.” He grinned wickedly. “In fact, I believe it’s in our best interest to establish free use.”

“What is that?”

“It doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing; whether you say yes and beg for it or plead for me to stop. When I want to fuck you, I will.”

I dropped my fork onto my dish with a clatter. “How is that in my best interest?”

“Because you’re going to be the only woman coming all over my fingers, tongue, and cock. Repeatedly.”

I diverted my gaze and picked up my glass of water, mainly to calm myself and do something with my hands to stifle their shaking. “I believe your doctrine implies two different meanings for how we worship one another then.”

“Not really. Just think of me as your everything, the reason you live and breathe.”

“You make that sound so easy,” I deadpanned.

“It is.”

I gave him a look that caused him to laugh.

“Love me as much you pretend to hate me. And fuck me as hard as you wish you did.”

Words eluded me, leaving me speechless in the face of his comment. His status as my captor, a reality I couldn’t escape, only amplified my discomfort. I remained silent and he spared me by picking up the slack.

“Tomorrow should be less strenuous for you. I thought it would be good for you to explore the town, become familiar with the surroundings and some of the locals. You may find it enlightening."

“You’re letting me out?” I tried to keep the surprise from my voice and failed. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. The idea of leaving the house and venturing to where the tourists were had not crossed my mind. I didn’t think he’d ever allow that.

“You say that as if I’m keeping you in. You’re not a prisoner, Lolita.”

My eyebrows knitted in confusion. I frowned, perplexed by his assertion. His words were almost ironic. "That's a strange way to put it, given how I ended up here. Everything about this place feels like a cage." I caught myself just before I brought up the brand. A mark he had imposed on me, a symbol of his ownership.

He chuckled lightly. "We have a prison. You're not in it. If I wanted you confined, deliciae, your ankle would still be adorned with a chain."

Without thinking and sarcasm dripping from my lips, I replied, "Thanks for the reminder, Alex."

I could see the surprise in his eyes, mixed with something else. Happiness? Amusement?

"I like that," he mused, looking at me as if trying to decipher a puzzle. “You don’t have any problem affectionately shortening your jailor’s name.”

I met his gaze, my heart racing, a defiance bubbling up. "I thought I wasn’t a prisoner. Now you agree?"

“If it makes you happy, I’ll pretend to be whatever and whoever you want me to be. So long as at the end of the day you remember exactly who and what I am.”

“That wouldn’t make me happy.”

“I know.”

I slightly pursed my lips, sliding him a sidelong glance. “Would that still be your response if I said the opposite?”

“No.” He leaned closer, the look in his eyes flickering with a strange blend of honesty and something more enigmatic. "Some find comfort in illusions, Lolita. They'd rather wrap themselves in a lie than face the harshness of their reality. You, on the other hand, have been living a lie all your life without even realizing it."

“Yeah…maybe,” I replied quietly.

His smile widened just a fraction, revealing a hint of something untamed. "I'm glad you don't want to play pretend. Our life is a fairytale in its own right."

I scoffed, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. "A fairytale? Is that really what you’d call this?"

"We have those too, you know. And trust me, ours are far more enthralling than any story you've possibly heard before. They are woven with truths and shadows, desires and fears—a blend of the real and the unimaginable."

---