Page 87 of All The Pretty Little Lies

I cling to him, my fingers curling into the soft material of his shirt as he carries me away from Oscar, who is sleeping soundlyagain. My tears have slowed, but my breath still comes in shuddering gasps. Zaire's heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear, a rhythmic counterpoint to my ragged breathing.

We move through the warehouse, past stacks of crates and forgotten machinery, until Zaire pushes open a heavy metal door with his shoulder. The room beyond is sparsely furnished but undeniably his. The walls are adorned with intricate sketches. I recognize his artistic hand in the bold lines and delicate shading. A well-worn leather jacket is draped over a chair.

Zaire sets me down gently on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath our combined weight as he sits beside me. His eyes, usually so guarded, are open and vulnerable as they search my face. I can see the pain reflected there, mirroring my own.

"Vesper," he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. "I promised you no one else would make you cry."

His words, meant to comfort, only serve to open the floodgates once more. Fresh tears spill down my cheeks, and I can see the anguish in Zaire's eyes. “Tell me what to do, moya koroleva. Give your monster a purpose. I’ll do anything to not see you in so much fucking pain.”

“Make it go away. Make the pain go away, Zaire. I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

Zaire's eyes darken at my words, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling in their depths. His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening visibly. For a moment, he's utterly still, like a predator poised to strike. Then, with a gentleness that belies his fierce exterior, he cups my face in his hands.

"Vesper," he breathes, his voice husky and strained. "You're hurting. You're not thinking clearly. We don't have to rush into this."

His thumb traces the curve of my cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear. The tenderness of the gesture contrasts sharply withthe raw hunger I can see simmering beneath the surface of his control. It makes me ache for him even more.

I reach up, running my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble against my skin. "I need you. I need to feel something other than this pain. Make me forget, even if it's just for a little while."

Zaire's breath hitches, his pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains. His hands slide down to my shoulders, gripping tightly as if to anchor himself. "You don't know what you're asking for, moya koroleva," he growls, the endearment slipping out almost unconsciously. “There are ways to make the pain recede, Vesper. Ways I know intimately. But it's not simple, and it's not for everyone." He pauses, his gaze intense as it locks with mine. "I'm what's called a Dom. It means I take control, provide structure, and offer a different kind of release. But it also means I bear the responsibility for your well-being, your pleasure, your pain."

His words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and something else, something electric. "What does that mean?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even in the quiet room.

Zaire's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his touch gentle despite the calluses on his fingers. "It means you would be my submissive. You would give yourself over to me, trust me to guide you, to push your limits, to give you what you need – even if it's not always what you think you want."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. "I would worship every inch of your body, learn every sound you make, every shiver, every gasp. I would take you apart piece by piece and put you back together again. I would be your anchor in the storm, your safe harbor."

His words paint vivid pictures in my mind – images of hands bound, skin flushed, pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Ican almost feel the ghost of a touch trailing down my spine, the whisper of silk against my skin.

"But it's more than just physical," Zaire continues, his voice a low rumble that I feel as much as hear. "It's about trust, about letting go completely. It's about finding freedom in submission, peace in surrender. When you're with me, you won't have to think, won't have to decide. You'll just feel."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "I would take care of you, anticipate your needs before you even know them yourself. But I would also challenge you, push you to your limits and beyond. It can be intense, overwhelming even. But the release, the catharsis – it's unlike anything else. I'll consume you, possess you entirely. Are you sure that's what you want?"

The heat in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire low in my belly. I meet his eyes unflinchingly, letting him see the desperation, the need burning within me. "Yes," I breathe. "I want all of you, Zaire. Every dark, dangerous part. I trust you."

"You need a safe word."

The concept isn't entirely foreign to me, but hearing it from Zaire's lips sends a shiver down my spine. He continues, his voice taking on a softer edge. "If you use this word, everything stops. No questions asked, no matter what's happening. It's your lifeline, your way out if things become too much. Choose something you'll remember easily, something that has no connection to what we're doing. It should be a word that won't come up accidentally."

I think for a moment, my mind racing through possibilities. Finally, I settle on one. “Sunflower,” I say, thinking of the bright yellow blooms that used to grow in the garden under my window.

Zaire nods, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "Sunflower," he repeats, committing it to memory. "Remember, moya koroleva, this word gives you all the power. Use it, and everythingstops immediately. No consequences, no judgment. Do you understand?"

I nod again, more firmly this time. "I understand, Zaire."

His hands move to my shoulders, squeezing gently. "Good. Now, tell me your safe word one more time."

"Sunflower" I say, my voice stronger now.

"And you'll use it if you need to, won't you, moya koroleva?"

I nod again, my breath catching in my throat at his proximity.

"I need to hear you say it," Zaire growls, his grip tightening slightly.

"Yes," I breathe.

"Let’s begin, moya koroleva," he breathes, his voice husky with desire. His calloused hands caress my thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. My breath catches in my throat as he leans in, his warm breath ghosting over my sensitive skin. “We’ll start slow. Don't move," he commands, his silver eyes locking onto mine. "Keep your hands on the bed, and don't you dare look away."

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