2. Deirdre
Deirdre
E lio holds my hand the entire way up the stairs and into my room, and I can tell that if I make one wrong move or even stumble slightly he’ll be scooping me up into his arms again. But it feels good to walk on my own, even if my legs are wobbly.
It feels good to hold his hand too. I can’t deny it.
We walk through Elio’s room into mine. The bed draws me towards it like gravity, but despite how bone-tired I am there’s also a buzz of nervous energy in my brain and I don’t know if I can sleep right away.
“I’m going to have a bath,” I announce. Yes. That would be good. Wash the night off of me.
“Fine,” Elio replies. “But no holding your breath this time. Just a normal, relaxing bath, you got it? Put some bubbles or some other shit like that in there.”
I nod, because I’m pretty sure if I try to hold my breath for any significant period of time in my current state I’m just going to pass out.
I head into the bathroom. It’s almost funny, or maybe kind of sad, how my natural impulse to reach out and close the door is entirely gone now.
Just like the door itself, I suppose. I peel off my hoodie and let it drop to the floor.
Bare and braless, I turn on the light, only to let out a strangled yelp when I see the huge, hulking silhouette in the mirror, standing directly behind me.
“How are you so quiet?” I gasp, spinning to face him and clapping my arms over my chest. “You’re like a hundred feet tall! You should make at least some kind of sound when you enter a room. It’s got to be against the laws of… I don’t know, physics or something!”
I’m babbling. I know it and Elio knows it. But he doesn’t try to stop me, just listens quietly.
Or maybe doesn’t listen at all, tuning me out as his gaze roams over my exposed skin. I assume it’s in a sexual way, but then I see the slight tightening of concern around his eyes, and I realize that he’s once again checking my skin for injuries.
This is only confirmed when he takes me by the shoulders and turns me around so that we’re both facing the mirror once again. He keeps one hand on my right shoulder, the other skimming between my shoulder blades, slowly tracing the line of my spine until it comes to rest on my left hip.
“All in one piece,” I murmur, my eyes on his in the mirror.
“We’ll see,” he says. He gently squeezes my hip. “Pants off.”
“Oh, come on! You know nothing happened to my legs!” I snap. Unlike the sleeve of the coat, there’s no ripped fabric or singe marks. Just a few wet spots from the snow.
“Either I check every inch of you here and now, or I do it with you laying sprawled and naked in my bed.” His tone is darkly menacing, and once again it doesn’t seem as if it’s intended to be sexual, just a simple threat.
But the words go straight to my tender pussy, because that part of the night is resurging to the forefront of my mind now.
The memory of him slamming into me, claiming every part of me, telling me to come on his cock like a good fucking girl.
Which I did.
And I guess I’m still his stupid good girl, because I hook my thumbs into the waistband of the sweat pants and let them fall without further argument. Elio stands back slightly and then bends to examine my legs, his cool, leather-clad touch sparking sensations that I try and fail to ignore.
“Good,” he says. “Now those.”
There’s nothing left but my panties.
“No way,” I say quickly. “What, you think I’ve got a bullet stuck up there or something?”
“You planning to wear them in the bath?” he counters.
“Obviously not.”
“Then off.”
My face flames. It’s not like I haven’t taken off my panties for him before, but I can feel the damp pad against my skin, and there’s something extra humiliating about letting him see that.
“ Now , Deirdre.”
Oh, screw it. He’s not going to leave me alone until I do it. Letting out a huff of irritated breath, I shove my panties down and then I step out of the whole heap of clothing, keeping my arms crossed tightly over my chest as I do it.
Elio’s gaze falls to the bloodied pad, and the muscles go rigid in his jaw.
When his eyes lift to mine, I inhale sharply, because his gaze is so fierce and heated it feels like a physical touch.
That look claims me with just as much need and force as his cock did earlier, and I hate the way my insides curl needily in response.
Scowling, I stoop and swipe the panties and pad up, hustling over to the garbage can. I’m about to toss it all in when Elio stops me with a word.
“No,” he says, his voice thick with something I can’t identify. “Not the panties.”
I peel the pad off and throw it away, keeping the panties in my hand. I didn’t position the pad far enough forward when I put it on earlier, and there’s a small area of now-dry blood remaining on the underwear’s fabric. A damning splotch of dark red on the white cotton.
Shouldn’t have worn white underwear when I’m bleeding. That’s just asking for trouble.
“Now to me.”
I look over to see Elio with a hand outstretched, eyes hungry.
Of course he wants them. Of fucking course he does.
“You have a serious panties fetish,” I say, shaking my head.
“Nope,” he responds, not appearing even the slightest bit embarrassed by this situation. “Just a Songbird fetish. Now hand them over.”
I make a fist, crumpling the fabric possessively in my hand. In Elio’s twisted brain, these ones have to be extra special. They’re the ones I wore right after he claimed my virginity. They’re marked with my blood.
“What are they worth to you?”
Something flashes in his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s surprised or impressed, but either way he recovers quickly.
“We’re back to bargaining, are we?” he asks.
“Yup,” I reply. As insane as it is, it feels safe here. Safe in the dangerous place where I still owe him millions. Because money is just money.
But marriage is…
Elio shrugs his good shoulder. Then he turns and takes out a couple of bottles from under the sink, squinting at the pretty fonts with so much focus it’s as if they’re written in a foreign language.
He must have found what he’s looking for, though, because he takes one of the bottles – a container of bubble bath – over to the tub and turns on the water.
He bends to put in the plug, then unscrews the bottle’s cap, dumping some of the bubble bath liquid into the roiling water.
Scents of vanilla and lavender bloom in the air.
Elio puts down the bottle then turns back to face me.
I’m extremely aware of my nakedness, and I clutch the panties in front of me like some kind of shield.
I want to dive into the protection offered by the thick layer of bubbles forming in the tub, but I’m strong enough to at least finish out this conversation first.
“So?” I ask, and I want to freaking applaud at the way my voice doesn’t shake. “How much?”
Elio rubs the scarred part of his jaw as he stares at me, his look calculating. I wonder what mental tallies he’s conducting in that messed-up head of his. Which sums he’s putting up against which others. Blood and money and what it’s all worth.
“All of it,” he suddenly says as he holds out his hand once again. “The entire sum of your debt. Null and void.”
He says it so casually. Like he didn’t just make a bomb go off in my brain.
“What?” I breathe the word, sucking it in on a hissing inhale. I narrow my eyes at him, because I know him and I’m certain there has to be a trap in here somewhere.
His face gives nothing away. He takes one huge step towards me, plucks the panties from my hand, then says, “No point in owing millions of dollars to myself. What’s yours is mine and all that jazz.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your debt, Songbird. I will take control of it, and since it doesn’t make sense to write my own damn self a seven-figure-cheque, I’ll wave it all. You can consider the figure paid in full.” He leans down, brushing a stray curl behind my ear before adding in a murmur, “When we’re married.”