I shrug. “Maybe he will stop if you knock me up.”
“No, Ronnie. I'm just the lesser evil. You don’t want this. I know if we were out there..."
“But we aren't,” I quickly snap back. “We are here. And you promised.” My eyes widen in surprise at the volume and anger of my voice.
“This isn’t right.” He sighs, running his hand down his hair.
“None of this has been. Since the very start,” I mutter silently, admiring the man in front of me. Hoping he can see everything I’ve held back from him. Despite the circumstances, Isaac is beautiful. Even now, with his hair matted and unkempt, it frames his face perfectly. His hazel eyes, once full of life and mischief, now hold a deep sorrow that makes my heart ache. And those lips that I love, even though chapped and cracked from dehydration, are the only ones I would rather kiss. “Isaac,” I whisper, causing him to glance up at me. “You wouldn’t be raping me… I want you… I’ve wanted you for so long.”
He shakes his head.
“No. This is settling. This isn’t right.”
I laugh once again, reiterating, “None of this is right, Iz. We are chained like dogs in a basement. We smell. Dehumanized. Should I continue?” He frowns and takes a bite of his egg, and I can see him wrestling with his emotions. He’s a good man, morally strong, and the idea of taking me in such a way is tearing him apart. I know that much. Isaac would much rather hurt himself than hurt me, that much is certain, and I wish he could see that I’m okay with this. He’s the lesser evil, but I welcome him. Ineedhim.
Being locked up in this basement with Isaac has made me realize two things: if we do get out of this situation, I want to let him in, really let him in. I want to love him openly with no shame. But right now, we’re fighting for survival, and desperate measures call for absurd solutions. And two, if I’m going to have a baby with anyone, let it be the man I’ve always wanted. The man I fell for long before I realized I had fallen. “Iz… It’s okay.”
“I…” he stutters. “What about… after?” he asks quietly, his voice hoarse with fear and uncertainty. His question dangles in the air, unanswered. I take a deep breath.
“We don’t know if there is going to be an after,” I say. That is the truth, and if there isn’t going to be an after, we might as well live for the small moments. “We might not even get pregnant, and we might die. And fuck, Iz, if I'm going to die, I’d rather it not be Harry’s dick being the last I feel.”
His face contorts in pain at my words, but he gives a solemn nod of understanding.
For the next two weeks, my torture continues, but so does Isaac’s. He thinks I’m unaware of her visits and how he pukes once he finishes inside her. I feel the same repulsion when I look into his eyes. When Harry finishes inside me, it’s the same devastation. Unlike every other morning, today is different. We’re going to be showered, along with the basement. In other words, we will be hosed down while we clean the basement. I can’t say that I’m mad about it, though.
“It reeks in here,” Harry comments, like he’s not the reason we are living in such conditions. He drags a meaty hand down his face, murmuringsomething about not being able to stand the smell that came from me, as if I could. I watch as Priscilla walks over to Isaac and hands him his breakfast, then walks towards Harry just as he turns to me.
“I’m going to release you, and I need you to wash him and then yourself. Then you both can begin trying for the next couple of days.” I nod as he continues to explain the plan. “I won’t touch you.”Liar. “Just so I can know who the father is for genetic purposes, but let’s pray this works. If not, we will have to start looking for others.”
His words hang heavy in the stench-filled air. I see a flicker of fear in Isaac’s eyes as they meet mine, but I give him a reassuring look, hoping to put his worries at ease. He unfastens the chain that holds me to the wall and ground. Then he hands me a bucket filled with water and what looks like dish soap to shower with, and a sponge. Grabbing the chain, he leads me toward Isaac, and I almost cry when I feel his warmth. My eyes tear up, and my hands twitch with the need to touch him. Isaac stands before me, now completely stripped of his clothes. I can’t help but tense up at the sight of his still-defined muscles, though he appears thinner than before. All his tattoos, including the one on his cock, are visible now. I take a deep breath and close the distance.
“Alright,” I say quietly, dipping the sponge into the water and squirting some soap into it. My breath hitches when I start to scrub him. His breath matches my own. Through hooded eyes, he gazes at me as if I'm the most precious thing in the world. Anxiety takes over me, the oddness of the situation weighing heavily on my mind, but I shake that away and focus on Iz. I continue my movements until they become more fluid. Isaac doesn’t flinch, even when the cold, soapy water trails down the intricate design on his side—a large scorpion with ram horns, the stingers twisting in vines of thorns. The water glistens on his skin, highlighting the dips and hollows of muscle and bone. It’s one thing to see Isaac in all his glory, but it’s quite another to touch him.
My skin burns from the contact. Every nerve in my body burst into small sparks through me. It’s not just the physicality of it, but also the emotionalundercurrents coursing through me. Guilt, sadness, fear, and, inexplicably, some remnants of desire intertwine in a turbulent tempest.Love. Isaac’s hands stop me when I press the sponge against his cock. Noticing the feel of him against my hand and seeing the star tattoo at the base. His sharp intake of breath echoes off our confined space when my grip tightens around him. Something feral spreads through me. For a moment, I forget about those watching us from behind, until Priscilla lets out a cough. But I don’t care about them. If we’re going to die in this godforsaken place, we might as well indulge in what we’ve been denying ourselves—each other.
Our every touch, whisper, and movement is part of a twisted performance for their sick pleasure. The realization briefly causes my hand to falter, but Isaac’s grip on my shoulder strengthens. “It’s okay,” he whispers. His words bring me back to myself, and I straighten out my back and take hold of my emotions. It’s been so long since I’ve touched him. I’ve felt the butterflies dancing inside my stomach due to his proximity. Not even when he took my virginity did I indulge in this. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his intense stare, filled with unspoken desire. Blocking out any distractions and focusing solely on mapping him and tracing him. Each touch elicits a symphony of soft groans from him, quiet enough for only me to hear. His head falls back against my shoulders, his body shivering from his restraints. Priscilla clears her throat, her envy apparent. But I refuse to be swayed by her disapproval. Isaac is mine, and I’m his. I’m tired of holding back. I will claim what’s mine before I die. If this is the only life I get with him, then I’ll die a happy woman knowing he’s mine. They have taken so much from me, but not this. Not him. His love belongs to me alone. I press a finger to Isaac’s lips, silencing him mid-moan. His wide eyes meet mine. I feel an overwhelming surge of possession. She couldn’t have this—not his pleasure, not his love. Once I finish rinsing and bathing Isaac, he stands before me, his cock hard and his breathing erratic.
“Bathe her now,” Harry demands.Sick assholes.We comply, of course. This part wasn’t about them. We are so lost in each other that they cease to exist. Mypulse spikes when Isaac steps towards me, his eyes asking for my permission to touch me. My lungs cease to expand, words fail me all I can do is give him a small nod. He takes a moment to roam over me, his gaze soft and cautious, before he reaches out and helps me undress. Gently, he brings my tattered shirt over my head, tossing it to the side. He swallows hard when I unclasp my bra and expose my bare chest to him. His hands move down to my pants, his fingers slowly unbuckling them. One by one, I free each leg.
Once I’m naked and exposed to him, he bends down to pick up the sponge. His movements are slow and careful, each glide of the sponge over my skin going over the tattoo on my left arm. The movement acts as an apology for the situation we’re in. Isaac’s hands are gentle, his gaze never leaving mine as he soaks them in the dirty water. All noise from our captors dims as I focus on the cool trail of water making its way down my neck and chest. I bite down on my lower lip, fighting back a moan as his fingers graze over my sensitive areas, turning what began as a grotesque command into a moment of intimate connection. Something I’ve been longing for far too long.
The sponge moves lower, pausing at my hips before he glides it carefully down my thighs. His eyes flicker up to mine, almost apologetically, as though the act of washing me is a violation. I can’t help but close my eyes as his hands move on to my calves, his touch feather-light against my skin. The cruel reality of our situation is momentarily forgotten as I lose myself in the gentle rhythm of the sponge moving over my skin. Suddenly, Isaac halts his movements, the sponge still resting against my ankle. His hands clasp around my foot as he tenderly massages it, his touch sending shivers up my spine. I dare to open my eyes and find him looking at me, a sadness etched deeply into his face. Once he is done, he places the sponge back into the water and stands before me. I don’t have to look down to know he is hard. I can feel the want and need that radiates like heat from his body, making me shiver with need. It’s a strange dichotomy, finding such intimacy in a place of such wrath and despair. His hand reaches out, fingers gently tracing the contours of my face before settling on my cheek.
“Go on,” Harry commands. “We don’t have all day. Fuck her.”
Isaac’s eyes flare with reluctant defiance, his gaze never tearing from mine. Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight it. He leans into me, the chains rattling as he rests his forehead against mine. “I never break promises.”
“Good,” is all I breathe out, leaning into his hand against my cheek as if to offer comfort at the brutal words. I see it in his eyes, the quiet desperation born of a situation he is powerless to alter. Isaac tenses, shaking his head. “Fuck, Ronnie. I don’t think I can. Not like this,” he mouths, my hand finding his cheek.
“It’s okay. I promise.” Still, he hesitates even as my free hand finds his cock and wraps around it, firmly gripping him. It’s so big and thick. “Isaac. Please,” I breathe out.
The sudden click of a gun being cocked startles me and snaps Isaac out of his denial. “Go on,” Harry commands. “Make us a baby, or you both die right here, right now. Make your choice.” Harry’s words hang in the air, a devilish ultimatum that chills the heart. Isaac’s jaw clenches tighter, his gaze cutting into me with an unspoken apology before he turns to regard Harry once more.
“Enjoy the show, maldito perro1,” he sneers before meeting my eyes, apologizing for what’s to come. I watch Isaac’s throat bob as he swallows hard, his knuckles whitening as he clenches his fists. Harry walks away and resumes whatever he is doing with Priscilla, but I don’t turn to look, too scared to break the moment. The weight of his gaze is a silent commiseration. His fingers, cold with despair, trace a path down my cheek to my lips, where they linger for a moment too long. He bends down, his lips brushing against mine.
“Perdóname2, mami,” he whispers against my lips. “Te amo.3”
Myknees almost buckle under the intensity of his touch. It’s a promising kiss. A promise of unwavering loyalty, a promise of breaking barriers. A promise that he will do anything for me. He pulls away just as I begin to melt into him, the taste of him still on my lips. His eyes are full of unshed tears and emotions he dares not express verbally. A moan escapes my lips, but it drowns in his mouth. Whispering against my lips, he says, “Don’t make those sounds.Please,” before his fingers thread through my hair, as if he could block out all the eyes watching us. His lips firm against mine, a battle for dominance erupting between our tongues. Isaac’s hands, assertive yet gentle, drift from my hand only to tighten around my waist. His touch is both an anchor and a sanctuary, pulling me closer to him, away from the cold reality of our situation. I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline. Once again, he threads his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer. While his other remains on my hips. His lips move with mine, drawing out sighs and whispers unheard by anyone but us. The bubble around us momentarily shatters, and I tense under Isaac’s touch.
