Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Flora
I fell asleep, but not for long. I’m still tired, but it’s more emotionally depleted. I lie in bed as I consider everything that’s happened in the past couple days.
Humberto and I had a conversation that opened my eyes to family history I didn’t know. I also wound up with a bounty on my head for arguing with him.
I went to my club and fucked my former Dom and pictured Pablo the entire time. I nearly said his name instead of sir.
Pablo broke into my apartment, kissed me, threatened me, carried me out to his waiting car, kissed me some more, and nearly fucked me before taking me on a private plane to an isolated-as-fuck fortress.
He finger fucked and ate me out and made me come harder than I ever have in my life.
He held me and gave me aftercare like an experienced Dom.
We already agreed at some point to a twenty-four seven D/s relationship when I barely know him. I barely remember when that happened.
It took me months of meeting Roberto at my club and scening with him before I was ready to agree to a monogamous agreement.
I was with two other men during that time, but only ones I scened with regularly.
I hate knowing Pablo’s had ménages, but so have I.
I don’t know how well that’ll go over when it eventually comes out.
From the way he was talking, he sees there being an “us” after all this fucked-up shit ends—assuming we both survive.
I agreed to submit sexually and even emotionally to a man I’ve barely known three days.
I’m fucking certifiable.
But something about him makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.
Maybe it’s his aura of self-assuredness.
He radiates confidence that he can control any situation he’s in, that any and everyone will bend to his will.
He exerted that when he hefted me over his shoulder and basically kidnapped me.
But he did it because I refused his help.
It wasn’t because he’s using me as a pawn.
It wasn’t just because he wants to fuck me—though it would be hot if that was part of it.
Hot in a fucked-up and warped kind of way.
He’s told me several times he’ll protect me and take care of me.
What makes him different from everyone else who’s made that promise is that he’s actually proving it.
He doesn’t say it just to say it—he means it.
Mamá’s taken care of me all my life, and I know she’s protected me as best she could.
She thought not telling me the truth about my father’s past was the right thing to do.
But she also did that to protect herself from talking about something that’s painful to her.
She gave in to my abuelo when he demanded I serve as repayment to that old debt.
She didn’t protect me from him or from Humberto.
Pablo is.
My grandparents on both sides didn’t tell me the truth either, making my father sound like nothing short of a superhero.
I knew they exaggerated, but clearly, I had no clue just how much.
Abuelo indentured me to Humberto. I’m certain he knows about the hit, but he wasn’t the first to warn me.
Maybe he’s tried and can’t because I don’t have my phone.
Maybe he sent someone or even went to my apartment and didn’t find me.
But deep down, I know he didn’t. It’s not that he wants me dead.
At least, I don’t think—don’t want to believe—he does.
I just don’t think he’d do half of what Pablo has. That’s a painful realization. One that creates a gaping hole in my heart.
Now that I know Luciana broke the engagement because she fell in love with Esteban on her own and chose him, it paints my father’s choices in a far different light.
He could’ve married Mamá, but he kept her as his mistress instead.
He knew she was pregnant when he died. He could’ve provided better for her and for me.
He didn’t, so my grandparents on both sides stepped in to help. I know I’ve always been in danger because of him. I just didn’t know how grave it was until recently. His decisions have haunted me.
This is a lot of introspection, and it’s making me feel worse rather than better.
I push back the covers and look around for my clothes.
I remake the bed before I slip them back on and open the door.
I hear nothing, so I close it behind me.
That’s how it was before Pablo took me inside.
I bet the stars are brilliant out here with no ambient light to hide them.
I wander out to the pool and sweep my gaze around the lawn. There are men patrolling the property, but the ones back here are at the far end of the yard. This place is several acres. It’s probably large enough to have half a golf course. The men I can see are little more than dark shapes.
I roll up my pant legs and sit on the edge of the pool.
I stick my toes in before putting them all the way in.
I’m surprised to find it’s heated. I wonder if someone else in the family has been here recently or if it’s kept this way in case someone shows up.
I saw the solar panels when we arrived. I guess electricity isn’t scarce here.
It makes sense, so they remain off the grid.
I look up, half expecting to see some satellite orbiting the place.
“Chica?”
I twist to see Pablo coming through the French doors I passed through.
Fucking hell.
He really is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
He took off his suit coat at some point and rolled up his sleeves.
His tats peek below his cuffs, and I wonder what I’ll find when he takes off his shirt.
The material strains across his broad shoulders and chest and—dare I say it—bulging biceps.
It’s true. They are. Cliché, but honest. His trousers hug his slim waist, and his torso tapers to make his body a perfect triangle.
As he walks toward me, I can tell how athletic his legs are, even if I hadn’t felt them beneath me—between my legs.
Fuck. That was so damn hot.
I was nearly out of my mind with need earlier. The way he edged me—he clearly knew what he was doing. I was barely clinging to the little control I had. I definitely didn’t control the scene, but I maintained enough control over my body to not come until he gave me permission.
Scene.
The idea that it was something performed dampens my feelings.
“What’s wrong?”
“Huh? Nothing.”
“Yes, there is. Your expression changed. You withdrew.”
He comes to stand beside me. When I pull my feet in, he presses his hand to my shoulder as he toes off his shoes. He lets go to take off his socks and roll up his pants. He sits next to me and sticks his feet in beside mine.
“You thought of something that bothered you, chica. I’ll never insist you share your thoughts with me, but I hope you will. Something’s troubling you, and I’d like to—help.”
Did he want to say fix it?
Does he need that much control over everything?
No.
His expression tells me he’s worried. But is he worried about what’s upsetting me or worried he can’t fix whatever it is? Is he worried I won’t tell him?
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and draws me against his side.
He kisses the top of my head as I lean it against him.
He says nothing more. His strong, silent type is comforting now when it was frustrating earlier.
I wrap my arm around his waist. I watch him swirl water around his ankles, and it makes me smile.
I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s such a relaxed thing to do. He’s truly happy here.
“Pablo, was earlier a scene?”
“No.”
He’s so quick to answer some questions. It’s not that he’s shutting me down or shutting me out. He just knows the answer without thinking about it. He’s unwavering about it.
“Flora, we’ll agree when it’s a scene.”
“But if our dynamic is nonstop, then doesn’t it make everything some sort of scene?”
“I don’t see it that way. Just the opposite. I think an around-the-clock dynamic means most of it isn’t a scene. It’s just how two people are when they’ve agreed to that relationship.”
He twists to see me better, so I have no choice but to lift my head. I turn to face him more.
“Little one, I told you I don’t see us having this same dynamic once the imminent danger is over. I told you I want to be your Dom, and I do. That won’t change, but when Roberto asked you if you were ending things for a romantic relationship, you looked at me and I nodded. It can be both.”
“I know.”
He watches me for a moment. “Do you not want both?”
“I don’t know.”
“I won’t press to be your boyfriend or anything more than your Dom if you don’t want that.”
“Why do you assume I only want you as my Dom?”
“You trust me with your body, but you don’t trust me with more.”
I shake my head.
“Pablo, you’re intelligent, but that’s absolutely a stupid assessment of how things are between us.
I know what I said earlier, but it turns out I was wrong.
I trust you with my life. Not because you forced me to come with you, so I have little choice.
I told you I could’ve put up a far greater fight.
I wouldn’t have gone with you—at least not without you forcing me—if I didn’t want to.
I could’ve shut myself in that guest bedroom and refused to talk to you, refused to come out.
You could’ve forced me to. I’m a willing participant.
You may have given me little choice about coming with you, but you gave me some.
If I’d really fought you, you would’ve taken me to my mother or my grandparents on either side.
Your idea of taking care of me isn’t some twisted Stockholm Syndrome because I don’t feel like your captive.
If I insisted upon leaving, you’d try to convince me otherwise, but I don’t believe you’d imprison me here.
You’d take me somewhere else safe. You wouldn’t agree with my choice, but you’d respect it. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not.”