Chapter Forty #4
Something about his blasé attitude toward all of this, while I’m standing here in a dress that he gave me to wear, sets off my frustrations like a timer.
I’m too vulnerable. Flushed and itchy and insecure and I simply cannot…
“What do you even want right now, Diablo?!” I bark. “Like, what do you need? Honestly, you have me locked up in a fucking cage, just like you wanted! Are you going to stand in here hassling me the whole time, or are you just going to get it the fuck over with already??”
His facial expression shifts fast. There are still loads of emotions there, but indignation seems to be winning out. “Get what over with, pajarito?”
I swallow rough, like a mouthful of sand.
“Listen to me, and listen closely, Angel.” He lines our faces, barely breaking a growl he’s so collected. It’s terrifying. “You… are not like them.”
I’m about to ask who he’s referring to, but he gives me a look, and I think I get it.
He means… the prisoners? I’m not like them?
“Had I known you were here, that it was you sneaking all over on my island, you wouldn’t have set foot in that fucking cell, do you understand?
You are different, and you’re mine, and that alone is why you’re here, Angelito.
Because I’ve wanted you back since you ran away from me…
” His eyes fall over me once more, and he licks his lip.
I shift, fighting to remember that resentment. I know it’s still in there somewhere…
“So I’m a more precious addition to the collection?” I breathe. “The valuable piece that needs to be kept separate from the rest.”
His jaw tics, frustration lining his eyes, still glinting delight. I think because he likes when I clap back at him. “You, my sweet little bird, are priceless.”
“Is that so?”
He nods. “I can’t bear to think about you being in the Tomb, and yes, I realize that makes very little sense when I have you locked up in here, but I promise it’s for your own safety.
” He frowns, shaking his head. “Okay, that’s not entirely true, but regardless of all that, you have to believe me.
I didn’t know about you being in the East… ”
I bite my lip to keep from accidentally grinning. I can’t fathom that I’m finding this vile human charming right now, but I can’t help it.
He’s staring at me like he’s desperate for me to believe him, and I think I do. Maybe that makes me an idiot, but I’m pretty sure we passed that exit miles ago.
“I believe you,” I hum.
He visibly relaxes, just a bit. Still tense, and I wish I could hear what he’s thinking.
“So, you were the intruder all along…” His eyes dip over me slower, light eyebrow arching. “You were the girl Carlito found in the prison?”
I know this question is rhetorical, but I nod anyway. “Si. It would appear so…”
This is the part where I expect him to mention what Ari got up to during her time here… I’m fully prepared for him to scold me endlessly for all of my time spent bent over, or on my knees for various members of his staff.
I’m worried about it, maybe even scared shitless. But ready.
Yet, he doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t seem angry, nor does he appear to be judging me at all.
In fact, he’s looking at me like I am every bit that priceless work of art; fascinating and complex.
Beguiling, but so utterly entrancing, he wants to spend hours studying it.
Overwhelming it its own right, my reflex is to grab the nearest giant piece of boxy fabric and throw it over myself.
That is, until he whispers, “Dime…”
Tell me.
It’s a soft command and a desperate plea together, paired with the way he’s marveling.
This entire visit is throwing me for a loop. Not at all how I expected my first interaction with my captor to go.
“Tell me about you,” The Ivory whispers.
I’m trembling all over, heat rushing to my face. I’m not sure why this is stressing me out so badly, but it is.
“I… I don’t…” I shake my head.
“Dime, pajarito,” he purrs, taking my hand in his, playing with my fingers. “Dime su nombre… at least.”
Tell me your name…
I swallow hard, once again baffled by his behavior. His attention held captive by me. By the beautiful, and the broken, and everything in between.
Still, this is difficult, and I don’t know why. I was Ari for months on this island; for nearly a year, in front of all kinds of people. But something about telling him feels different. I can’t put my finger on it.
Still, I close my eyes, and take a breath. And I tell him…
“Arianna,” I croak softly. “Ari.”
Ivory hums, a vibration from within his chest. We’re so close I can feel it.
“So… Ari.” He lifts our joined hands, nipping my fingertip playfully. I gasp as his dark eyes meet mine. “Can we drop the act now?”
My stomach falls, and I’m a breath away from smacking him when he adds, “Me extranaste… Didn’t you?”
You missed me.
I’m gaping at him, lips parted while he waits, patiently. Warm and inviting, that goddamn power over me that I’ll never understand urging only one response.
A subtle nod of my head, and a hushed, “Si, Diablo.”
He looks elated, but not surprised as he kisses my fingers. “Are you… mi chiquita mala?”
My bad little girl…
Fuck.
My insides throb, and my breathing hitches. In an instant, I’m squirming, and he’s grinning. No need for an answer, I guess…
“Baby, this is what I wanted,” he croons. “Since the first night, at The Edge, I wanted you to understand… entiendes, mi carino. No one else will know you as I do.” He brushes his lips over mine, and I shiver. “And I didn’t need to feed you lines or try to pick you up.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t…” I utter hoarsely.
He rumbles, displaying a faux-pout. “I saw your face when the bartender touched you…”
Humiliation crawls beneath my skin. But he grasps my chin to hold me still. “It’s not your fault, beautiful. It’s everyone else. If they don’t understand you, it’s because they’re not meant to. No one else is meant to have you, precious. Only me. You are so very breathtaking, sweet baby bird. You.”
“I… I’m…”
“Dime,” he whispers, lips brushing mine. Then my jaw. Then my ear. “Cómo te sientes.”
Tell me how you feel.
“I’m not… sure.”
This is intense. It’s a conversation I’ve never even had with myself, though I’m desperate to have it with someone.
But he’s… El Diablo.
Why does he care?
Am I not meant to be just a sex slave?
Why is he acting like it’s more than that, dammit??
I just know I’m pink as fuck. But I blink up at him, because it’s all I can do.
He’s wearing even more wide-eyed fascination. “Are you sure… that you’re not sure?” I snort and he grins. “Never say what you think someone wants to hear… especially me.” He plays with my hair. “We both know you don’t care about my feelings.”
I have to chuckle at that, and the easy way his lips are sloped doesn’t even seem real.
“I just don’t understand why you… care. About how I feel.”
He frowns. “I captured you, didn’t I?” My lashes flutter in perplexity. “I want to know you, little bird. I want you to be exactly you, however that feels.”
“Um… okay,” I breathe. I guess we’re doing this. “It’s just that… well, usually it’s only sexual,” I admit my quiet, confusing feelings. “Sometimes… my body doesn’t feel… exactly right. During sex.”
I clear my throat, trying hard not to choke on the emotion, because I’ve never said this out loud to anyone before. But he doesn’t seem shocked, or creeped out.
He’s not staring at me like this is an interrogation, or he’s my shrink, or like I’m an alien from Mars.
He’s just quietly absorbing my words, and honestly, he looks kind of empowered for me.
The Ivory is listening.
“Continuas,” he rumbles, kissing my neck, gently. Still, playing with my fingers.
“It’s not that I dislike who I am or anything… I love Angel Alvarez. I just… sometimes, when it comes to being physical, I don’t feel like it’s the… right fit. Sometimes I want to be Arianna… to see how it feels.”
“Have you explored this with… anyone?” I can feel that it’s taking everything in him not to freak out thinking about the people I’ve had sex with.
It’s completely adorable. Great.
Now he’s cute as shit… That’s perfect.
I shake my head. “Not really. But then I only just started dressing as Arianna. I’ve done the… femboy thing a few times.”
I’m burning in humiliation. There are some Daddy issues at play here that I refuse to think about.
He pulls abruptly away from his incapacitating neck kisses. “And how was that?”
This time, I can’t hold it back. I grin. “Fine…”
His gaze narrows, so I narrow mine back.
We glare at each other for a couple of heated seconds, until he caves first and exhales roughly, running fingers through his ivory white hair.
“I only gave you the dress as a segue for you to feel more comfortable talking to me,” he says, with a mild, grumbly flutter to his voice.
It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
The Ivory… nervous.
“That’s okay,” I pacify him with my tone, and mirth on my lips. “I like it.”
I run my hand over the smooth material. He blinks, then huffs.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers regretfully. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know it was you.”
I give him a puzzled look. “How would you? I was hiding from you…”
“Yes, but I should have known.” He shakes his head. “Of all people, I should have known…”
“Why…?” My brows knit.
“From the moment I first saw you, at Edge, I knew there was something about you,” he says with surety. “Something that made you special, more than just your being Arturo’s child… I knew I’d made the right choice, leaving you alive. Because you’re perfect.”
It’s such an insane thing to say; reminding me that he could have killed me when I was a child. I should not be swooning… But I am. And I can’t help it.
He didn’t kill me. And clearly he’s happy about it.
Sill, I want to scoff in protest, fall prey to my insecurities and insist that there’s nothing special about me. But he’s The Ivory… If he thinks something is special, who am I to argue?
He really thinks that I’m perfect? Confusion, brokenness and all?
Wow…