He never was.
And as my fingers brush the stitched word on the blindfold?—
as the photograph trembles in my lap—as the steam closes around me like warm hands—I realise with a sinking, terrifying certainty:
I’m not afraid of choosing Noah.
I’m afraid of what Kai will do if I try.
Kai
The jungle doesn’t just grow; it rots. It’s a cycle of slick, green life and the black, wet smell of decay. I’m sitting in the shadows of a lean-to shack just deep enough into the brush to smell the salt of the resort and the ozone of the infinity pool, but far enough away that I’m nothing but a ghost in the trees.
The morning light is a jagged yellow blade cutting through the canopy, but I’m focused on the glass in my hand.
A small, clinical vial. It looks innocent enough to the untrained eye, but inside, it’s heavy. Milky. Swirling with the liquid proof of exactly what I did to her while her “fiancé” was busy playing king of the island.
I unscrew the cap, and the scent hits me like a physical blow. It’s her. It’s the musk of her fear-slicked skin, the metallic tang of the ocean, and the heavy, sweet scent of her climax. It’s the smell of a woman who was claimed by a monster while she thought she was sleeping in paradise.
“Good morning, Scarlett,” I rasp. My voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel.
I have a bowl of dry, generic cornflakes in front of me. I don’t give a fuck about the food. It’s just a vessel. A canvas. I tilt thevial with a steady hand, watching a thick, translucent glob slide out and coat the flakes. It’s pearlescent in the sun, beautiful and vulgar all at once.
I dip the spoon in, making sure it’s coated, and slide it into my mouth.
I close my eyes. I don’t just chew; I savour. The taste is complex—the salt of her, the honey-sweetness of her surrender, and the sharp, raw flavour of my own release. I swallow, feeling it slide down my throat, a physical tether between my gut and her body.
“I fucking love tasting you in the morning, baby,” I growl, the words vibrating deep in my chest.
My cock is already a thumping, heavy weight in my combat trousers, straining against the fly. I reach down, unzipping with a slow, deliberate hiss of metal teeth. I pull myself out—thick, angry, and pulsing with every beat of my heart.
I wrap my hand around my length, my skin dark against my own pale, spent fluid. I start to stroke, my movements slow and rhythmic, my thumb tracing the sensitive ridge of my head. Every slide of my hand is a memory of her. I can still feel the way her ass gripped me when I forced my way in, the way she shook when I filled her twice over.
“You like that, don’t you?” I whisper to the empty air, imagining her standing right in front of me, blindfolded and trembling. “Knowing you’re inside me now? Knowing I’m eating you alive while you sit at that table and pretend to be his?”
I pick up another spoonful, dripping more of the mixture onto my tongue, licking the silver clean. I taste the salt of my own palm, the musk of the morning, and her. Always her. I’m a fucking addict and she’s the only hit that matters.
I stroke faster now, my breath coming in jagged, animalistic hitches. My hand is slick, the friction generating a heat that rivals the tropical sun. I’m not just pleasuring myself; I’mworshiping the violation. I’m celebrating the fact that Noah is currently touching a woman who is still overflowing with me.
“Fucking look at me, Scarlett,” I groan, my head snapping back against the wooden post.
I imagine her eyes widening as she realises what’s on my tongue. I imagine the heat that would flood her pussy if she knew I was out here, in the dirt and the heat, consuming her. I’m a beast, and she’s my kill.
The pressure builds, a white-hot coil in my lower belly. I’m close. So fucking close. I can feel the come-up, the way my muscles lock and my toes curl into the dirt.
“Say it,” I command the silence. “Say my name while he kisses you. Tell him who really owns your throat.”
I hit the peak with a guttural, primal roar that scares a flight of birds from the trees. I don’t pull back. I watch as I spill over my hand, over the table, a violent, messy reminder of the animal I am. I’m panting, my chest heaving, sweat dripping off my chin and into the dirt.
I’m a fucking mess. A dark, dirty, beautiful mess.
I look down at my hand, then slowly bring my fingers to my mouth. I lick them clean, tasting the raw, copper tang of my own cum mixed with the lingering sweetness of her. I don’t miss a drop. I consume every bit of the evidence.
I lean back, my cock still twitching in the cool air, and pick up the binoculars.
I find her on the balcony of the villa. She’s in that blue dress. She looks like a porcelain doll. I can see her fingers trembling as she touches the glass. She knows. Somewhere deep in her lizard brain, she knows I’m watching. She knows I’m still inside her.
“Six days, Scarlett,” I murmur, my tongue sliding over my teeth, tasting her one last time. “Six days until I turn that white dress red. Enjoy your lunch, baby. I’ve already had mine.”
