Do it.

It's just one more step.

Just one.

End this lingering heartache.

End this torture.

End this life.

This life without him.

This miserable life.

Just one step, and it'll end right here.

The provocative thoughts return to me like a dear old friend as I stand in the same place where I stood the last time I contemplated ending my life. It's the same place where my Mama once stood when she contemplated ending her own. Sometimes, I wonder if our traumas are a part of the genetic code and if we parents pass it to their children. Why else would I be in the exact place Mama once was, regardless of the reason, and feeling the exact way I am—lonely?

I became the center of her world because I arrived at a time when she was lonely and was battling depressive thoughts. She was at a point where she considered dying a better temptation than living. I felt the same temptation several times ten years ago, and now those seem to be testing my willpower by knocking on my door again as I stand here. I haven't experienced them in a long time. However, it doesn't mean I do not recognize those with a distressing familiarity.

Just like Mama got a reason to live because of me, I was gripped by a similar longing to have a child who'd give me a reason to smile again. A longing that was crushed yesterday when I got my period. The more I stare below, the more I find the height whispering to me, trying to dare me to take the step. The emptiness within me is adding to the lure.

Everything looks just the way it was when the last time I was here. The starless, ominous-looking night sky is the same. The vast land of this island, merging with the water surrounding it, is the same. The calm Atlantic and its sounds are the same. The darkness is the same. The invisible abyss on the ground I'm staring into from this vantage point of The Bacchanal Club's terrace is the same. The pull enticing me to take a step further to the edge of oblivion, promising me freedom from this life, is the same.

But despite all the similarities, I am not the same. Doesn't matter how painful the situation in which I've been locked in for the past few days feels, I don't feel the compulsion to end my life. Even the provocative voices in my head from the past are unable to make me feel that way despite my depressive state.

Just take the plunge, little doe. It'll set you free. When you're in the air being pulled by gravity, that's when you'll feel the happiest. When your skull cracks into pieces upon collision with the ground and your soul pierces out of your body, that will be your sweet freedom. The stranger with a golden dragon mask had said.

Hoping to find him again, I look behind me just like I had back then when I'd heard his mechanical voice, devoid of emotion. It was so cold that even if it wasn't modulated with the help of the built-in voice changer in the mask, I have no doubt it'd have sounded just the same.

My throat tightens as I remember that night. He was terrifying. Despite the black tuxedo that should've hinted at suavity, there was nothing sophisticated about him. He felt inhumane. The sharp features of the mask, the unnerving stillness he effortlessly projected as he stood against that black door, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed, watching me from afar like a creep, waiting for me to either jump myself to death or flee, had made him appear like God of Hell himself.

He had saved me.

The situation is no longer the same. The lure of death isn't tempting anymore. But the weight of emptiness is stifling.

Would he be here to save me from myself again?

I exhale and stare at the sea. My hand automatically moves to touch my other wrist as the old, vanished cut scars flare beneath the skin. I close my eyes, feeling the crisp breeze wash over my skin, and find myself relaxing for the first time since waking up alone in bed this morning, thinking my husband had deserted me as per my request.

I felt awful and cried. I should've felt relieved he was giving me space I'd fought him for, but I didn't. Areston De L'Aquila wouldn't be who he is if he'd give me what I beg for so easily. He hadn't deserted me. I found him in the kitchen dressed for work, making breakfast for me.

We didn't talk. Didn't kiss. Nothing. We didn't even greet each other with a simple good morning. He asked me, or more like commanded me in his usual dominant, not-to-be-messed-with voice, to sit and have breakfast. Like a robot, I obliged because I was hungry. He watched me eat with his soulless, emotionless eyes, creepily watching me with zero expression on his face. Once I was done, he kissed the top of my head and asked me if I was still in pain, and when I said I wasn't, he just nodded and kissed my right brow and left, just like that.

For the first time since he started courting me in the beginning to accept his ridiculous one-week-as-his-mistress proposal, he didn't send me flowers in the office. Even Shukura was flabbergasted. It's no surprise that something's wrong.

My husband can be a serious pain in the ass because of his dominant nature, but he is not petty. Nor does he throw a tantrum. That's not just him. I'd like to believe it has nothing to do with those bruises on his knuckles, which he thinks I didn't notice, but I did. He'd promised me never to do bare-knuckle boxing again, but he broke it. I am just glad he didn't bruise it, punching Zayd, or I'd have gone ballistic.

I savor the emptiness around me as my fingers flex around the railing as I watch the rippling sea waves clashing against the shores. The Bacchanal Club remains as exclusive as ever, haven catering to the deviant tastes of the 0.01% of the top 1% richest elites of this world—as unreachable and impenetrable and unhinged as it always has been. Things that happen on this island remain on this island. Claire has been nagging me to tag along, and today, I gave in. I'm prepared to do anything in the attempt to fill the lingering void in me, even the deviance of this secluded playground of the billionaires.

My phone vibrates. It's a text from Areston.

I showed you my worst.

Then another.

You didn't run.

Then another.

You stayed.

Then another.

I kept testing your love.

Then another.

But you didn't give up on me.

Then another.

You see me for who I am. You know who I am.

Then another.

But you choose me.

Then another.

Over and over again.

Then another.

I am the monster that should've scared you.

Then another.

But you chose to continue falling deeper in love with me.

Then another.

I pushed you past the edge of patience.

Then another.

But you didn't abandon me.

Then another.

You have never attempted to fix me.

Then another.

Because you accept me just the way I am. Love all my worst parts equally.

Then another.

You have had several chances to choose Princes and Knights.

Then another.

But you chose this beast.

Then another.

And you keep choosing me.

Then another.

Above all else.

Then another.

Over and over again.

Then another.

You will always choose me.

Then another.

I am a fucking idiot who doesn't deserve you.

Then another.

But you're the only one I've ever wanted.

Then another.

My universe begins and ends with you, Belle.

Then another.

Forgive me.

Then another.

In this lifetime and the rest to follow...

Then another.

I trust you.

Then another.

I will always trust you.

"Old habits die hard, don't they, little doe?" The familiar modulated voice, as indifferent as last time, arrives from behind just when a hand restrains my hand, startling me.

My hands jerk upward, sending my phone flying out of my hands. Acting out of instinct, I leap to catch it when my feet slip and the wooden box beneath me tips. I lose balance. I am about to fall off the railing, but the hand clenching mine steadies me. It's the same hand whose wrist, had I succeeded in cutting, I'd be long dead by now. It's like the person knew this would be my reaction, which is why he went straight for my hand to keep me from falling to my death.

"Oh, my goodness!" I shriek, my free hand shooting straight to my chest as I stare wide, scary-eyed, at the ground below.

The blood is roaring in my ears at a deafening pace. My heart is in my mouth as I turn to face him. Same mask. Same black tuxedo clinging to his mighty, warrior-like frame. Same inhumane aura.

"You saved me again." My voice is barely above a whisper.

"Here to accomplish what you failed to last time?" There's no hint of mockery in his question. It's flat indifference. Robotic.

"No. "

"No?" He lets go of my hand.

"No." I swallow, climbing off the box and then looking behind me. The height is terrifying.

"Interesting." His voice, even though mechanical, makes my stomach twist.

"I was hoping to see you tonight."

He pauses a breath away. We're close enough for me to feel his heat seeping into my skin. His scent that fills my nostrils is synonymous with darkness, sin, and temptation. The sharp notes of bergamot hit me. It's just as intoxicating as my husband's signature one if not more.

"Looking for one final nudge to end your life?" There's a faint amusement in those words as he muses, tilting his head slightly while his hands travel to his pockets.

There's something about his presence that feels like it's unraveling me and grounding me at the same time. I know. I just know why I feel this way. There's a sense of conviction—a very strong conviction. I cannot believe this.

"To thank you for making me realize I didn't want to die," I admit with a shaky voice.

He invades my space further, eating up the distance between us with one step closer. Every nerve in my body invigorates with an electric-like charge as his awareness clouds all my senses. His tall height is dwarfing me even with my 5-inch Vivier on.

A dark, low chuckle escapes him. "The urge to escape flows in your blood, little doe. It's an integral element of who you are. Something beyond your control to restrain. It's what tempted you to stand on the same box and give up your life years ago."

I swallow at his calculated jibe to test me. "And yet I am here, alive and in front of you, aren't I? The temptation wasn't strong enough to shred my restraint over myself. I chose to live instead of escape. That's why I've been wanting to thank you."

"I see you haven't gotten rid of that habit," he says.

"What habit?"

"Touching your wrist."

I squirm under the weight of his gaze. My hand stills immediately. "I have managed to curb the urge to a great extent."

"But it's impossible to, yes?" He counters, studying me from behind that dangerous-looking dragon mask. "It's an addiction. Those scars still throb with imaginary pain. And you need to feel it, relive the feeling of experiencing that pain as much as you pretend to have moved past it. It steadies you when your mind is troubled. They're the reminder that you can control the situations even when they seem uncontrollable. Just like you repressed yourself from slicing just enough to feel the pain, but not so much that it would end your life."

True. My breath hitches in my throat, but I manage a smile. "How can you dissect me so well?"

"I enjoy the process of dissection, little doe." He lifts his hand, bringing it close to my face. It's covered with black latex gloves.

He doesn't touch me. His index finger lingers just close enough to give me the impression that he's about to touch my bottom lip. He doesn't, of course. I keep holding my breath and dare to look into those dragon eyes. They are veiled with a mesh-like structure to forbid everyone from seeing the real eyes inside them. My throat feels so strained that there might as well be a noose around it. We stay quiet. His hand continues to linger for a few seconds before he represses whatever urge he likely seemed to have when he brought it close to my face, and shoves it back in his pocket. He takes a step back, freeing me of his suffocating presence.

"Follow me," he says in an unmissable command. The deep rumble, despite the mechanical modulation attached to it, makes my heart flip.

"What?"

"I'll show you how to thank me for saving your life, little doe."

My pulse quickens. I have to inhale deeply to keep myself steady. "I don't trust you enough to follow you. Even if it is to thank you for saving my life."

"Good," he chuckles again. "You mustn't trust strangers. But there's nothing you can do. You are obliged to submit to my commands, little doe."

"And why would that be?" I cross my arms in defiance.

"Well, we're in a game."

"What game?"

"The game you consented to be signed up for this game the moment you stepped on this island."

Blood starts roaring in my ears. My hands fall to my sides as a gasp escapes me. "I had no idea."

He remains silent, continuing to watch me through that unnerving, ominous-looking mask.

"I don't want to be a part of whatever this game is!" I shriek

"You have no option but to play it, little doe. Now, I am not a fan of force, but I have zero qualms and conscience about asserting it if you defy me. There's no escaping," he asserts smoothly.

"I will not follow you. Please stop asking me to! I am not a slave."

"You're my little lamb. That wristband you have on says so. The red light that's blinking indicates I've accomplished my task."

"What are you talking about?" I gasp, lifting my hand that carries a diamond encrusted band I was asked to wear at the entrance of the club. "What is this?"

"Consider it a leash. Wolves and lambs is the name of the game. Each wolf has been paired with a lamb. It was your destiny that bound you to me, little doe," he muses.

I look up. "What was your task?"

"To increase the heartbeat of the lamb assigned to me without the involvement of physical touch. Now that I have succeeded, you're mine for the night to do whatever I please."

That's why he hasn't been touching me except when he saved me from tripping over and falling down the building. He was repressing because of the task!

"What if I say no to participate? I didn't consent."

"You consented the moment you donned that band on your wrist."

"I had no idea!"

"Willingly or unwillingly doesn't matter. This is The Bacchanal Club. You consent to whatever happens here the moment you step on this island. The wristband is an additional consent."

I think my heart has just stopped beating. "So, when you say you can do whatever you want to your lamb, does it include killing?"

"Nothing is off limits."

Oh, my god. What kind of deranged stuff goes on here? "How do you even know my heartbeat increased?"

"That tiny light in your band has been blinking red. That's how."

"I was just following my best friend! I had no idea!"

"You should've known better than blindly trusting your best friend then, little doe. She shouldn't have brought a weakling here. Perhaps she doesn't care about you as much as you think, or she wouldn't have dragged you into something dangerous without your consent."

I scowl at him. "She only dragged me here because I wanted to see you once. I've been hoping to see you one more time. I told you I wanted to thank you."

"Well, you have accomplished seeing me again. Now, you'll also accomplish thanking me, but the way I want to. Follow me. It's better if you don't make me repeat myself. If you do, there shall be consequences you won't like."

"Consequences like you'll force yourself on me?" I speak in a whisper-like tone.

"Worse," he pauses, angling his head again as if to dissect me. "That innocent facade doesn't fool me, little doe. I know it'll only turn you on if I force myself on you. More than you are already. Is that the reason why you're throwing those provocative suggestions?"

This jerk! "How dare—"

"Come," he instructs and walks out of the black door without waiting for me. The bastard.

My robotic steps drag me to follow him. He enters the elevator, and so do I, trapping myself with him in the confined, dark space. My heart has been beating erratically. "I will make you regret every second you breathe if something were to happen to me. It's not fair that I don't even get a chance to have my say in this deranged participation."

"Noted." That's all he says as he presses a button that has the word "The Koh-i-Noor" marked on it.

I don't know where it leads except for the fact that it's the basement. Each floor is labeled with expensive diamond names, but the one we're headed to is the most exclusive. I read it once in the history of The Bacchanal Club from its archive library. Very few people have access to it, and no one knows who. But apparently, I am about to see it.

As the elevator descends, my pulse keeps skyrocketing. The confinement and the darkness of this space only seem to be heightening the oppressive feeling that has been clawing at me since he showed up. I don't dare to look up. I know he's looking at me. Reading me. Dissecting me. Savoring my inner conflict and enjoying my helplessness.

When the door opens, I feel like I've entered a different universe. It's vast. Dark. Sinful. Luxurious. And above all, it's foreboding. It's a space designed to scream pain and pleasure. The low-lit red lights, the shadowy effects, and the maze-like structure... all of it makes it too eerie. There are massive sculptures of different shapes and sizes filling the space. It's like a mix of a dungeon and a museum.

"Run, little doe," he commands from behind me.

My heart starts hammering so hard, and my hand shoots up to my chest from being startled. When did he move there?

"What?" I gasp, turning to face him.

"You needed a chance? Wanted this to be a fair game? I am in the mood to grant your request," he points at the obstacle-filled, labyrinth-like space. "You have five minutes to escape me."

"What?"

He lifts his hand, but this time, he touches me—with his thumb. He skims it along the length of my jaw. "I'll chase you through this maze. If you manage to remain uncaught for five minutes, you win, and I'll let you go," he pauses, his hand slipping down to my throat. I think I've stopped breathing. "But if I win, I'll fuck you like an animal and revel in your cries. It won't matter if you put up a fight. I am not opposed to raping you."

A shiver crawls down my spine, and my eyes go wide. "I am—I am married. I have a husband."

"What does that have to do with this?"

"I love him."

"Love has nothing to do with this game. Right now, on this island, you have no identity of your own. You're just a little lamb who's supposed to escape this wolf successfully," he chuckles, gently choking my throat and causing a jolt to shoot through my body. "Run."

I shake my head, looking ahead. "I can't do this."

"Very well. I'll consider your reluctance to run as your consent to be fucked by me."

"No."

With one hand in his pocket, he places the other behind my back and gives me a little nudge to move forward. "Then run, little doe. Consider this the last opportunity I'm willing to offer. Either run and try to escape me just like you escaped the lure of death eleven years ago. Or be my lamb and accept whatever I'll subject you to till the stroke of midnight."

I'm shooting out of the door before my brain even has the chance to comprehend his unveiled threat. Panic clouds me. I'm running, and running, and running. There are several Greek statue-shaped obstacles filling the narrow path, making it almost impossible for someone to escape it, let alone try attempting it in five minutes. He desires to watch me panting, gasping, and vulnerable, which is why he challenged me. He's like a sated cat toying with a mouse for fun before he's hungry again.

"Crap!"  I wince when I almost trip over an obstacle.

My heart is pounding in my chest as the fear of being yanked by him at any instance nearly chokes me. I look around in the dim lights, trying to search for an exit. I am unable to find any. It's nearly damn impossible to breathe properly.

My fear of dark, confined spaces starts growing the more I drag myself inside the maze-like structure. Goosebumps over my skin have started prickling me. The deeper I go inside, I find the walls growing narrower.

What?

It's like the walls are moving closer to crush me between them. That makes me run even faster, tripping and getting up and running back again. My legs are burning from the minor injuries that I've received from my skin having rubbed against the obstacles.

Just when I have crossed a door, thinking it's likely the exit, though I know it's ridiculous even to think there would be an easy escape, I find myself in a space that's smaller than the one I just exited. And it's unlike that one.

There is no museum-like quality. This is a hallway—a narrow one, and it's an embodiment of oppression and suffocation. It's dark, except for the flickering silver light that strikes against the ornate mirror-lined walls and checkered marble floor, giving it an eerie vibe. There are candles all over the place around the boundaries of ornate mirrors. It's scary. I feel like I've landed in some haunted house.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I turn my head toward my right and catch my own reflection in the cracked-style mirror. It's then I realize, this is a trap. He's going to catch me eventually, and he's going to pin me to the ground and fuck me. There's no escape. No matter how fast I run or how far I reach, I'll always be within his reach.

The moment I take a step further in, out of nowhere, thick smoke from the bottom starts rising in curls and fills the air.

I'm panting frantically as I sprint further. The more the walls shrink inch-by-inch, the more my phobia claws at me, amplifying my fear. A strange kind of pressure grows around my neck, strangulating me. I am dripping sweat despite the air-conditioning. It's like witnessing a live nightmare.

My chest is flaring from so much panting. Muscles are begging for relief. I give up and lean against a mirror when I feel like I can't keep up. I feel so exhausted when I've barely run—and I am someone who never feels exhausted despite completing two consecutive loops of the reservoir. My knees give up, and I end up kneeling against the cold marble floor.

I'd once read a book that said that whenever paranormal activity happens around you, or a ghost comes into your periphery, you experience a measurable temperature drop. A wave of cold air chills your skin.

That's precisely what happens next. And that's when he appears out of nowhere, his steps deliberate like a predator. An audible gasp escapes me when he pauses right behind me, his frame looming over me.

"You smell like my best fantasy come alive, my little lamb," he mocks darkly, his voice laced with sadistic delight.

His hand reaches out for my hair, his fingers splaying over my strands, and then he tugs at it roughly, yanking my head back so I see him upside down. His grip on my hair is painful.

"Look at you. Slick with sweat, fear, and exhaustion. Trembling and panting." He crouches behind me, tilting my head further toward the back. When he leans forward, it's his mask touching my nose. "You're the embodiment of aphrodisiac. Ripe for fucking."

"Please... no." My chest heaves. It's a struggle to snatch breath in this position.

"You had your chance. You missed it." His other hand comes around my throat, his fingers flexing against it, gently choking it. "Now, you're mine to do as I please."

"I—"

Before I can finish, he forces me against the floor with his hand in my hair. I gasp as I notice that the checkered tiles have transformed into mirrors, and I am now looking at my own terrified form in it. Why the hell am I so aroused by this state?

"Do you see what I see, little doe? You're trembling and pale with fear and excitement.  It's such a turn-on." He's towering over me like a monster and then flips me over, pressing me to the floor, and straddling me.

"Please, don't!" I pant. My chest is having.

He is not listening. He yanks his bowtie and secures my wrist with it before pinning it above my head and tying it to the chain attached to one of the mirrors. "You did a good job tonight. You tried to escape, but you didn't succeed. Do you know why? Your destiny has bound you to me."

"I am only bound to my husband."

"A husband who's not here to save you. No one can." From one of the tables, he grabs a sharp knife. The blade gleams under the candlelight.

I shudder under my breath. The panic inside me growing and twisting.

He presses the pointed edge against my stomach. The contact makes me shriek out of fear. He laughs, relishing my fear, and drags the knife upward, tearing the fabric of my little black Prada dress. He does the same to my bra and panties, leaving me stark naked and shivering. I am writhing and begging to be freed, all for it to fall to dead ears.

"Delicious. All of you," he hums, the sound rumbling deep in his throat as he sits straddling me, drinking in the sight of my exposed, vulnerable state as I lay bare beneath him.

Leaning forward, he captures my jaw to keep my face in one place while his other hand dops between my thighs. Without warning whatsoever, he parts my folds and jams two of his glove-covered fingers in me.

"So fucking ready for me. You're a dirty little lamb who loves a forced, rough fuck."

"No... please—" I writhe underneath him.

"Hmm. So, you want to put up a fight?" He murmurs, tightening his hold on my jaw. His thumb rubs my clit while his fingers remain inside me. Not moving. Just staying there. Stuffing me. "Shall I gag you and rape you, then?"

My eyes part wide. He lets out a satisfied chuckle, watching my reaction. He moves his hand from my jaw to my breast. Squeezing it rough with no tenderness. The friction of his glove against my skin heats me up and makes my nipple feel hotter. It burns. I cry from the pain, which makes him pull my nipple harder, drawing more painful cries out of me.

"You love this," he whispers. "Don't try to resist this, little doe. You crave for your husband to take you like this, don't you?"

I whimper, crying. My hips buckle when he starts moving his fingers inside me, his thumb flicking my clit. "Leave me. Please."

"Wrong kind of begging." He reaches for one candle and tilts it on my collarbone.

The molten wax burns my skin. The sting, making my body jerk. Then it falls on my breast. On my stomach. And then on my vagina. He drops it in a deliberate measure, enough to make it sting me but not enough to burn my skin. It's like he's marking me in his own way. The wax feels both painful and heavily arousing at the same time. My body trembles in response.

"That's it. Enjoy the pain. Feels good, doesn't it, little doe?" He whispers, drawing a circle around my belly with molten wax.

"Please—it hurts."

"You love it," he grabs the knife again and positions the edge at my nipple. I scream when it pierces me. It's not too deep, but it's painful. He watches as a few beads of blood ooze on my nipple. "Perfect."

"Let me go, you sadist! It's hurting me!"

He lowers his head and shifts his mask a little up so he can taste my blood. The moment his warm tongue touches me, I start trembling. He laps at my blood, flicking his tongue against the nipple. A sick kind of desire pools between my legs. My head falls back. I cannot believe this is turning me on.

You love this. A voice inside my head says.

He pulls back, his mask intact in its place. "You taste so sweet, little lamb," he says with dark satisfaction. The sense of anonymity due to the mask only heightens the tension. "Makes me want to tear you apart and eat you up. But don't worry, I won't."

He pauses, his fingers gently moving in and out of me while his other hand drags the knife lower between my breasts. The blade doesn't pierce me as deep as it pierces my nipple, but it's just enough to tear my sin. Small, dotted lines of blood form along the line of my cleavage. The dull throb in between my thighs grows.

"If I do that, I'll lose your voice. Your warmth. Your submission. Your fight," he adds, drawing the knife to my stomach and causing the  tiny blood droplets to ooze around my belly. "I cannot let that happen, so I'll repress."

"Argh!" I let out a frustrated yelp as he lowers his head and adjusts his mask once again so he can lick my blood without letting me see his face. The deep hum that erupts his throat thrills me. It's not mechanical. It's real because his voice is not being modulated by the voice changer right now.

He swirls his tongue over my skin. Tasting me, feasting on me, devouring me while his fingers keep moving in and out of me at a teasing pace. I writhe beneath him as I feel close. My traitorous body is betraying me. More than pain, it's the sharp arousal that's making me throb. He bites me, sucks me like a vampire thristy for my blood. He's like a man possessed. My body is pulsating with the desire to orgasm. I am on the edge. So close.

"I could go on like this and never get tired," he hums after adjusting his mask again and comes to lean on top of me. "Look at how turned on you are, little doe. You love feeling me drink you."

With his face hovering over mine, he draws the knife lower down my belly. Lower and lower. The kind of sensory overload that swamps me when the cold steel touches my clit, makes me freeze on the spot. I feel like I might explode. A soft moan wrenches out of me when he presses the blade, careful not to pierce me, but enough to entice fear in me.

"I know you want me to pierce your clit as well, little doe. But I am in the mood for something else," he says, his grin audible in his mechanical voice. He flips the knife so that the thick circular handle rests against my clit, tracing my folds with it, while he holds it using a sharp blade side. "Be still," he demands.

"Please..." I beg, crying this time. I have tears falling down my eyes. I don't know what it is that I am begging for. I have been pushed so close to the edge so many times and denied the climax I feel drained and frustrated. "Please."

"Be still," he demands again, roughly, and before I can even think, he rams the thick handle into me, filling me in one go. My entire body leaps forward at the impact. "Look at you so greedy to be fucked."

My thighs start trembling as he starts moving the handle in and out of me, fucking me with a rough intensity, relentlessly. It's overwhelming. My moans fill the hallway as the handle stretches me. My body arches, my thighs clenching around it.

"Ah! Please—" I whimper, my bounded wrists straining against the bowtie.

I feel like someone has lit my body on fire. I am right on the edge again. Pulsating. Aching. Needing. Each and every thrust more brutal than before.

"So fucking tight. You're taking it so well, little doe. You want to come. Your body is begging to be relieved," he praises me, thrusting his other hand behind my hair and pulling me forward in a painful grip. "Look how good you're swallowing it. How needy you are."

My eyes widen at the sight of his blood. Too much blood. The knife blade has sliced into his glove at the force of his grip, and his palm is dripping blood. However, it's not affecting him even a bit. Drop by drop, his blood is trickling down his palm and landing between my folds. My mouth has formed into an O.

"Your hand!"

"Don't worry about it," he says with a supreme sense of calm that I cannot relate to. The metal pierces deeper into his flesh as he holds the blade tighter and continues to fuck me hard with the handle. He doesn't flinch. He doesn't even react. It's like the sight of his blood mixing with my oozing slickness is only driving his own madness. "Don't come yet."

"I can't—" My body is teetering on the verge of collapse. I might just shatter any second now.

I am spiraling deeper into the abyss. His force is the only anchor keeping me grounded.

"Don't. Come. Yet. Hold the fuck back!" He demands.

I cry out of frustration. I try—and I try a lot, but fail to comply. Every thrust has me spiraling close to orgasm. Especially there's something about his blood in my pussy. The knowledge that he's unbothered about the prospect of the blade hurting his skin shows just how ruthless, inhumane, and sadist he is—and in a sick and twisted manner, that delivers that nudge that has me convulsing. My body shakes as I'm slammed with orgasm. It drives him nuts.

"You disobeyed me," he roars darkly and withdraws the knife with a sharp yank and throws it away.

"I couldn't—"

"Wait?" He finishes, shaking his head, probably from disappointment, as he undoes his zip with one hand. He smears the blood from his bloodied hand over my face before wrapping it around my throat while positioning his cock between my folds. "You're not a good girl, little doe. You weren't supposed to come this hard crashing on the handle."

There's something so carnal about being painted with his blood. I am sick.

My limbs are quivering. "I am—I am sorry."

"Now, you'll be punished the way dirty whores like you deserve to," he chokes the life out of my throat in a savage move while slamming to the hilt in me.

I gasp, but nothing comes out. The pressure of his hand choking me has me frenzied once again.

"Break for me. Cry for me, little doe," he grits with every thrust. "So fucking wet. So eager. So fucking ready."

My treacherous body doesn't know loyalty. It instantaneously responds to the lethal mix of pain, pleasure, dominance, sadism, and violence. The way he's behaving like a barbaric beast, pounding me hard with no care whatsoever, his fingers on my throat slowly draining the oxygen out of me, all of it starts igniting my nerve-endings and heightening my senses. A familiar heat starts pooling between my thighs.

"That's it," he slams harder, causing my body to arch. "Take all of me just like that. You were made for my cock. You were made to swallow me like this."

"Please... please... please." I beg. It's hurting me. The way he's stretching me with his merciless pounding. My head has started swimming. "No more."

"More," he replies, pushing me to the edge and drawing me back again so I don't orgasm this time. "You're enjoying having your body used by me. You'll be my cum vessel tonight, won't you, little lamb?"

"I can't anymore—"

"You can. You will."

My muscles clench around him. Before I can disobey him again, he has flips me over so I'm positioned on all fours. My limbs are shaking, so I have no control over my body, so he holds me as he slams into me once again from behind.

"Look at yourself, you dirty little lamb. You thought you could come again without my permission?" He laughs ominously.

His bloodied hand is now in my hair, pulling my strands hard, making me face the mirror in front of me. His other hand is around my stomach, holding me from falling.

"We start again," he says and starts slamming into me again with the stamina of a machine.

I watch my reflection. I am covered in his blood. My jaw. My cheeks. My throat. My collarbone. It's like I've been part of some murder. With every slam, I propel forward. It's brutal. It's painful. But he doesn't stop despite my begging. The vision of my submission is staring back at me through my reflection in the mirror, and it's a sight to behold. So is the sight of him behind me, obliterating me. 

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

I can't anymore.

I feel dizzy.

I feel close.

"You look perfect on your fours," he says, watching me through the mirror as he fills me, stretching me with the kind of roughness that makes me believe that he's set to break me into pieces.

"Too... too much." I gasp.

He wraps my hair around his fist, pulling it tighter and yanking my head back to face him. "Fuck, little doe. Come for me now."

He's slamming into me as I come crashing on his huge cock. I cry from the fullness, pain, and stretch as yet another orgasm hits me.

"Love that you're moaning like such a good slut. You love this, don't you?"

I nod.

"You love being ruined."

I nod.

"Words."

"Yes," I whisper.

"Good little doe," he hums, drawing his cock out and stretching my asscheeks.

My eyes grow wide. "What—"

"Thought we were done?" He laughs. "We aren't even close," he says, spitting on my asshole and smearing his cum from my pussy between my buttcheeks, and then positions himself there. "You'll take my cock in your ass now. You'll be a good slut for me. Won't you?"

I swallow.

"Answer me."

"Yes."

"Good," he grinds. "Shatter for me once again."

My breath hitches as his hand squeezes my throat, and he slams into my ass.

"So. Damn. Tight."

A sharp cry tears out of me. My body starts burning as I start trembling violently when his relentless pounding in my ass draws me close. The pain from the stretch and his relentless, punishing pace shoots through me. My ass is struggling to accommodate his girth. The absence of lube or prior preparation is adding to it. However, being the masochist that I am, it's only heightening my arousal. My fingers are clawing at the glass, and I'm slipping. I'd be on the floor face-down if it weren't for him holding me. I am sore. The sweet addiction of ecstasy and ache has me wanting more.

"Please—I can't. It's too much!" I cry, pushing my ass against his cock. Exhaustion is getting the better of me.

"I'm far from being done yet, little doe." He presses his hand on my throat like a vice, slamming into me deeper and harder. "Eyes open. Watch us," he demands, forcing me to look at our reflections in the mirror.

I try, but my vision keeps blurring. "I... I can't. Please."

I can barely breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. My mind is clouded with a thick fog of desire as he continues his pace. He truly does aim to shatter me to pieces tonight.

"Fuck," he groans, and his cock twitches inside me. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, little doe."

He lowers his head, resting his mask-covered face against my forehead as he holds my hand tilted back slams into me roughly, and empties himself into me. His guttural roar of satisfaction in that mechanical voice pushes me off the edge. My body jerks as I come along with him once again. His pace slows down. I feel him spilling himself into me, every hot seed.

His breath is uneven as he gently flattens me against the mirrored floor and collapses on top of me. "You're perfection."

I lie utterly spent beneath him. My body feels like it has been hit by a massive truck. It's aching, shivering, and completely wrecked. Areston loves it rough, so I am used to  brutal climaxes, but what I've experienced today is out of the world. I have never felt so claimed. So spent. There's a deep sense of satisfaction that washes over me as I close my eyes.

We remain like this for a while before he rolls me on top of him and envelops me in his arm while his one hand remains on my throat, his thumb skimming my pulse point. I put my face against his thundering heart. It's the only thing that tells me he's human. All of the rest is superhuman. With this kind of stamina, he definitely has to be.

Once my breathing returns to normal, I lift my face up. I trace the rough edges of his golden dragon mask. It's pure gold. I remember tracing my husband's face just like this that time when I had tried to imagine who that masked men could have been.

I open the first two buttons of his shirt and slip my hand inside it, placing it against his heart and smile. "I love you, your highness."

He lifts the mask off his face, and there he is. My beast. A smirk on his face. "Hello, Belle."

I feel so overwhelmed. I could have never imagined the dragon mask guy was him.

" I can't believe it was you who saved me. Did you know it was me?"

"Not until that night when you told me about it the first time," he lifts his hand resting on my waist and threads it in my hair. "Although I'd asked for information on the lost little doe back then, but didn't open the email until that day you narrated the story."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. I told you, baby. You were born for me. Of course, it had to be me who saved you."

"If I didn't believe it before, I do now. I was born for you, your highness." I take his hand in mine, tear the latex glove off his hand, and kiss his wound. "We need to get you first aid."

"No. Stay," he says, subtly forcing pressure on my windpipe. "It's been a while since I held you. Tell me, tesoro. When did you figure out it was me behind the mask?"

I grin. "You think I'd have let you fuck me if I didn't know it was you? I knew it was you the moment you touched me even with the gloves on. You did your best to trick me by not wearing your usual perfume and cologne, but you failed. Please don't ask me how I knew. I just knew it was you."

"I expected you to find out, but not that early."

"Our souls are connected, baby. I'd recognize you even if I were blind," I whisper, kissing his mouth. "What if I hadn't recognized and still let you fuck me, though?"

"That would have been a big, big problem," he laughs softly and kisses me deeply. We kiss like long-lost lovers, making up for all the kisses we've missed. The kiss is anything but tender. His tongue duels with mine, deepening the kiss. His teeth sink into it, and he bites me until blood explodes, and we both feel the metallic taste. Our lips move hungrily, bordering violent intensity, taking what both of us have struggled to survive without. It's dizzying, it's dominating, it's everything.

"I am sore."

"You'll survive," he quips with a smile. The rarity of it laced with purity makes my heart soar. It's beautiful. It's a sight to witness.

"What if you hadn't been there to save me that night?"

"I would have been. Destiny."

"I have a reason to believe it now," I smile, resting my forehead against his. "You know, this won't be the first time you saved my life from the same place."

"Enlighten me."

"Thirty years ago, mama stood in the same place and contemplated killing herself to get rid of the void she felt just like I did. Althea happened to walk in, and she distracted her and kept her talking until Papa arrived and saved her. She fainted on the spot and didn't know she was pregnant with me at that time. Althea was pregnant with you at the same time. Mama said that day in the restaurant when we had our reunion that she believes it was you who was saving his future wife. Fate it was," I smile, tearing off his torn glove and tracing his wedding band. "You went through such hassle to not get caught. Why didn't you remove the band then?" I tease him.

"I'm taking it to my grave, Belle. It's never coming off."

"Is that why you wore gloves?"

"Yes," he admits, caressing my hair. "I trust you, Belle. I will always trust you."

His words catch me by surprise. I wasn't expecting those words to come out like this. "Say it again."

"I trust you, Juliette Vivienne De L'Aquila."

"You trust me," I find myself repeating, still reeling from the admission.

"I do. Explicitly."

My heart soars. An unknown emotion tightens my chest. It's nothing short of a miracle. Smiling, I lean down to kiss him. "What made you believe so? Does it have something to do with your bruised knuckles and a trip to London?"

He sighs, his eyes burning with an emotion his face doesn't show. "Losing you is my worst nightmare, Belle. But losing you and hurting you because I am unable to trust you is the worst. I'll always have trust issues when it comes to you, tesoro. It's in my nature. Just as it is in yours to put me over yourself and risk yourself for my sake. You've said several times before that you would never hesitate to jeopardize yourself for me. I cannot imagine my life without you, so it's always going to be my major cause of worry, but it doesn't mean I can't trust you. You love me. I know that much. And I trust you to let me be a part of everything, so there never comes a time when you have to make a choice where you choose me above yourself."

"I vow to make you a part of my every decision moving forward. Will that help?"

"It will," he smirks. "Can I take my wife home now?"

"To our bedroom?"

"Yes," he husks, stroking my pulse point. His eyes darken. "You had one opportunity, wife. You have used it. No more space. Don't expect it in this lifetime or any other."

"I would never ask for space again. I have everything I need. I love you, Beast."

"I love you, Belle," he lowers my head and kisses me. This time with warmth, taking his sweet time exploring me, making love to me with his mouth. "Promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Never use our future children to compensate for any emotion I might lack offer you. I'll never be perfect. I'll always have flaws, but I'll do everything to ensure your happiness, Belle. I may lack at times and may fuck up, but please don't ever give my share of love and attention to our children. My share will always remain mine. I trust you not to become Jennifer and do what she did to Ramon."

I don't need to recall the reason he's saying this.

Today, for the first time, I was sad when I got my period. I was hoping I was pregnant. At least, I wouldn't feel so lonely as you're making me. I wouldn't have to beg our child to trust me. He or she would trust me explicitly. Maybe then I'd make peace with you not being able to trust me.

My eyes prickle with tears. "I promise."

How was the chapter?

What was your favorite part?

What was your second part?

Thoughts on Areston?

Thoughts on Belle?

What do you think is going to happen next?