Chapter 19 - Eve
The jet descends through clouds, and my stomach drops with it—though whether from altitude or dread, I'm not sure anymore.
Through the window, I see nothing but ocean. Endless, empty ocean. Then a sliver of land emerges, green and lush, with a single airstrip carved into the coast like a scar.
Nathan's hand tightens on mine. "Welcome home," he says softly.
Home. The word should sound welcoming. Instead, it sounds like a cell door closing.
I pull my hand away. "This isn't home. Home is where you choose to be."
"You chose this," he says calmly, but I see the flicker in his eyes. He knows it's a lie.
The jet touches down, and through the window, I see a black SUV waiting. Nathan helps me down the stairs, his hand on my lower back, and the air hits me—salt and something floral. Warm, almost violent sunshine.
Beautiful. Isolated. Impossible to escape.
I stop walking. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Where, Nathan?" My voice hardens. "I deserve to know where you've taken me."
He studies me, then relents. "A private island. About two hundred miles off the coast. No commercial routes nearby. No neighbors. Just us."
Two hundred miles. No neighbors. Just us.
Of course he brought me to an island. Of course there's no escape.
***
The villa appears suddenly, emerging from the jungle like something out of a dream. All glass and white stone, perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean.
It's stunning. Impossibly, heartbreakingly beautiful.
Of course it is. He wouldn't build me an ugly cage.
"You built this for me," I say, not a question.
"Yes."
I laugh, the sound bitter. "How long have you been planning this?"
"Two years." He doesn't even have the grace to look ashamed. "I wanted it perfect for you."
Two years. While I was building my company, fighting my battles, thinking I was free—he was constructing this.
A woman in a crisp white uniform appears. "Miss Sinclair, welcome. I'm Salomé, the house manager."
She leads us inside. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the ocean like living art. Everything is open, airy, beautiful.
But I notice the other things too. The security cameras. The reinforced glass. The cliff with only one road in or out.
A fortress. Just a prettier one than the penthouse.
When Salomé leaves us in the master bedroom, I turn to face Nathan. "You can't keep me here."
"I already am." He crosses to me slowly, and despite my anger, my body responds. Heat pooling low. My pulse quickening.
I hate that he still has this effect on me.
"This is kidnapping," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
"This is protection." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "You agreed to be mine, Eve. This is what that means."
"I agreed under duress—"
"You agreed because part of you wants this." His hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up to his. "Wants to be taken care of. Wants to stop fighting for just one moment."
His thumb brushes my lower lip, and I hate the way my breath catches.
"I hate you," I whisper.
"I know." He leans closer, his lips almost touching mine. "But you want me anyway."
He's right. God help me, he's right.
His mouth claims mine, and I kiss him back with all the anger and terrible, aching need inside me. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as I want to push him away.
He backs me toward the bed, his hands sliding down my body, and I let him. Because his touch sets me on fire in ways I can't control.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "Get settled. I have some calls to make. We'll have dinner at seven."
Then he leaves me there, trembling and furious and aching.
***
I spend the afternoon exploring my prison. Multiple bedrooms, a chef's kitchen, a library filled with books I've mentioned loving. A studio with natural light and drafting tables, and every supply a fashion designer could want.
He's thought of everything. Every detail designed to make me comfortable. To make me forget I'm a captive.
This is what he promised me, isn't it? The freedom to create without pressure. The space to be an artist instead of a CEO.
All I had to do was give up my freedom.
Dinner is a quiet affair on a terrace overlooking the water. Salomé serves exquisite courses, and Nathan watches me with that intense focus that makes my skin prickle.
"You're quiet," he observes.
"Just thinking." I take a sip of wine. "About how thoroughly you've won."
His expression doesn't change. "This isn't about winning."
"No?" I gesture at the villa, the ocean, the isolation. "Then what is it about?"
"It's about keeping you safe. Giving you space to breathe."
"A place where no one can find me," I counter.
"Yes. Because the people who would look for you would use you. Hurt you."
"Like you're using me?" The words come out sharp. "Like you hurt me by destroying everything I built?"
Nathan sets down his fork, his jaw tight. "Out there, you were vulnerable. Being attacked by people like Bryce and Fred."
"And you're different?" I laugh bitterly. "You took everything, Nathan. At least Bryce was honest about wanting to destroy me. You pretend you're doing this for my own good."
He stands abruptly, moving around the table to grip my chair's armrests, caging me in. His face is inches from mine.
"I am doing this for your own good," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Whether you see it yet or not."
My heart is pounding, and I hate that it's not just fear. It's the proximity. The heat of his body. The way his intensity focuses entirely on me.
"Let me go," I whisper, but it comes out breathless.
"Never." His hand cups my face. "You're mine, Eve. And I will keep you safe even if you hate me for it."
Then he kisses me, hard and possessive, and I kiss him back with all the fury and terrible wanting inside me. My hands slide into his hair, and he lifts me from the chair, my legs wrapping around his waist.
He carries me inside, his mouth never leaving mine, and I lose myself in the heat of him. In the way his hands claim every inch of me.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard, his forehead against mine.
"I hate you," I whisper against his lips.
"I know," he says, and kisses me again.
He puts me down and takes my hand to lead me past the bedroom, down a hallway I didn't notice before.
To another black door. Another biometric lock.
My pulse kicks up as I realize what this is. The villa's version of the Dungeon.
I should say no. Should tell him I need more time. Should maintain some shred of autonomy.
"Show me," I whisper.
The door opens.
This room is different from the one in the penthouse. Larger. More... elaborate. The same black walls, but with more equipment. More restraints. More ways to render me helpless.
My heart pounds as Nathan leads me inside, his hand gentle on my lower back.
"I won't do anything you don't want," he says. "But I need you to understand what I need from you. What this part of our relationship means to me."
I nod, unable to speak.
He guides me to the center of the room, to a leather bench positioned beneath a suspension rig. My breath catches.
"Kneel," he says softly.
I do. My knees hit the padded leather, and I feel the power dynamic shift like gravity pulling me down. Above me. Nathan. In control. Completely in command.
He circles me slowly, and I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
"Your safe word is pineapple," he reminds me. "You remember?"
"Yes," I breathe.
"Say it. I need to hear you say it."
"Pineapple. My safe word is pineapple."
"Good girl." He stops in front of me, tilting my chin up. "We're going to go slowly. I'm going to show you what it means to surrender completely. And if at any point you need me to stop, you use that word. Understood?"
"Understood."
He reaches for leather cuffs, soft on the inside, secured with buckles. He fastens one around my wrist, then the other, his touch gentle and methodical.
"How does that feel?" he asks.
"Tight," I admit. "But not painful."
"Good." He clips the cuffs to the suspension rig above me, and suddenly my arms are stretched overhead, my body vulnerable and exposed.
Panic flutters in my chest, but underneath it is something darker. Something that thrills at the helplessness, at the trust this requires.
Nathan moves behind me, and I feel his hands on my shoulders, my back, my hips. Not sexual. Just... claiming. Mapping my body with his touch.
"You're shaking," he observes.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"I know. But you're also aroused. I can see it in your breathing. Feel it in the heat of your skin."
He's right. God, he's right. The fear and desire are so tangled I can't separate them anymore.
His hands slide to the hem of my sleeveless dress—one of the silk pieces he bought me—and slowly, torturously slowly, he removes it . I'm left in just my underwear, exposed and vulnerable, my arms still suspended above me.
The air conditioning raises goosebumps on my skin, and Nathan traces them with his fingertips, mapping every shiver, every tremor.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So fucking beautiful when you surrender like this."
He continues his exploration, and I lose track of time. His touch is everywhere and nowhere, bringing me to the edge of pleasure but never quite letting me fall over.
When his hand finally slides between my legs, I gasp, my body arching into his touch.
"More," I breathe. "Please, Nathan, more."
"Not yet," he says, and the denial makes me want to scream.
He brings me to the edge again and again, his fingers skilled and merciless, until I'm sobbing with need, my body strung so tight I think I might shatter.
"Please," I beg. "Please, I can't—"
"You can," he says. "You can take more. You're stronger than you think."
But I'm not. I'm breaking apart. "Please! Nathan, I’m yours."
And then he gives it to me. The orgasm crashes through me, claiming me in waves. And I scream, actually scream.
"Good girl. You okay?" he asks, his voice tight with control.
"Just...," I gasp. "I need a moment."