Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I watched her, waiting, taking in the way her fingers twitched slightly, and her jaw tightened as she stared at her wrists. She was thinking about what happened in the Chapel, about the pain, the surrender, and the pleasure that had come with it. She was still battling herself, clinging to that last bit of resistance, but that too was slipping.
“How does your back feel?” I asked, knowing the answer but wanting her to say it aloud.
She glanced at me briefly before dropping her gaze back to her wrists. “Whatever gel you use works well. It only stings a little.”
I nodded, pleased. “Good. I’ll apply more tonight. What do you think of the estate?" I asked next, casually picking up my glass, and taking a sip while keeping my gaze fixed on her.
She blinked as if startled by the sudden shift in conversation. "It’s beautiful," she began, her voice soft but steady. "Large, though. Bigger than I imagined."
I smiled. "It has to be. We’ll need space for the family we’re going to have."
Her expression tightened; the subtle deflection obvious as she shifted in her seat. "Some of the doors stayed locked even with my key," she said hesitantly, avoiding the subject of the future I had laid out for us.
"Some doors are meant to remain locked until the right time. You’ll have access to everything eventually. Patience, deliciae."
She hesitated again, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin. Then, as if the words were drawn out of her against her will, she said, "I saw the nursery."
"Ah," I murmured, smiling as I set my glass down. "Yes, the nursery. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? My mother helped with the design."
Her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place—fear or denial. Both.
"I wasn’t sure if…" she trailed off, her voice shaky. "If that was for—."
"For us?" I finished; “It is.”
Her unease was palpable as the reality of what I had just confirmed sank in. A future that involved not just her, but our children—the legacy of the Isle itself.
"Don’t worry," I added. "You’ll grow into your role. It’s in your blood."
Silence stretched between us, but I could tell something was weighing on her. I waited for her to speak.
“Can I ask you something?”
I didn’t respond immediately, letting the tension build before nodding. “Of course.”
She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable. “You talk about my role here... about what I’m supposed to become. What about you?” She paused, as though gathering courage. “What made you like this? Why do you want this life?”
A smile tugged at my lips. She was always searching for answers, trying to rationalize something beyond logic and the ordinary. I leaned forward, my fingers drumming lightly on the table. “I never wanted anything else. From the time I was a child, everyone knew I would become Diabolus, just as my father was before me. There was no question of what my life would be, and I never desired anything different. I’ve always fully embraced who and what I am.”
Her brows furrowed slightly as she tried to absorb what I was telling her.
“This,” I gestured to the room around us, “isn’t just a choice. It’s in my blood, in my bones. It’s who I was always meant to be.”
I watched her closely, letting the silence stretch between us, watching my words take root. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, still clouded with uncertainty, that flicker of defiance she clung to like a lifeline. She still viewed me as her captor, the man who had taken everything from her. She hadn’t yet grasped that I was offering her more than captivity. I was offering her the world—as long as she knelt down in mine.
“And if you never found me?” she asked, her voice soft, searching, forever grasping at straws, looking for some other path, a reality where she wasn’t bound to me.
“I don’t waste time entertaining fantasies that will never happen, Lolita,” I replied flippantly. “Do you like the idea of me making another woman my obsession? Wrapping another woman’s legs around me? Making her scream my name?”
Her lips parted, a faint tremor running through her hands. She hated it. She didn’t want to admit it, but I saw it in her eyes—the way the thought made her unravel. She slowly brought her glass to her pretty lips, the movement betraying the calm she was trying to maintain. I let her drink, knowing full well what she didn’t: the sleep aid I’d had added to it. She needed rest, and I knew her mind wouldn’t quiet easily on its own after all we had discussed.
"And what about her wearing your clothes?" I pressed on. "Sleeping in your bed? Lying next to me at night while you're... elsewhere? Wiping piss from toilets and cleaning up after us once we've made a mess in those big beds you used to make, for example?"