Epilogue
The ceramic tile floor is cool under my bare feet as I walk down the hallway.
The terracotta walls are lined with my framed photographs of the island’s nature and wildlife, some award-winning, others taken for private use only.
Aron’s most recent abstract wood-and-clay sculpture flanks the arched kitchen entrance.
I round the corner, wondering when he’ll be back home. He had to drive all the way to the town to deal with errands, most of which he’d been postponing since we first got here, so as not to leave me alone for a full day.
I’m eager for him to get back, anticipation buzzing under the surface of my skin. But my rare day solo isn’t the reason.
About a week ago, I finally got around to organising our main bedroom wardrobe. I was putting away some of his clothes when his skull balaclava fell to the floor from in between the folds of his old leather jacket.
Aron’s hands closed around my hips when I bent to pick it up, but then he froze behind me when he saw what I had in my hands.
“I should throw this out.” His hot breath tickled the side of my face.
“See, I was just thinking ... that you could put it on again. On occasion.” I turned around to face him, tilting my face up and biting my lip.
He grinned at me, and the glint in his eyes told me he understood my meaning perfectly.
“Give me a reason, then.” He traced my cheek with his knuckles.
“A reason?”
“Yes. I can’t be that way with you when you’re such a sweetheart all the time. Show me you want it. Be a brat.”
I know it’s a test of trust. Ever since we got here, Aron’s been nothing but patient and gentle with me, letting me heal at a pace I needed.
After a few months, I stopped flinching when he accidentally moved too fast. I stopped agreeing with everything he suggested, and instead asked for what I wanted—as evidenced by the hideous living room curtains I only purchased to see if he’d let me.
Gradually, we both stopped having nightmares.
Cross me, was what he really said when I asked him to put the mask back on for me. Show me you trust me enough to do that.
And so today, I did. And now I’m waiting for my reckoning.
Lost in my thoughts, I enter the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. And then I yell and nearly drop it when I turn around.
He’s there by the door, like he’s just materialised from the shadows, his large frame blending into the darkness. His fitted black tank shows off the outline of his abs, tattoos crawling up his arms and neck.
He’s wearing the balaclava. He advances towards me, his steps deliberately slow. I back into the counter, set the glass aside.
“Aron. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Good. You should be scared.”
He’s close enough for his smell to envelop me—fresh and masculine, like pines and mint and leather. He grips my chin to force my gaze to clash with his.
“Did you think there’d be no consequences, Hotshot?”
His eyes give away nothing—I can’t tell if he’s amused or angry. I can’t tell if it’s just make-believe. My heart’s speeding up, and my knees turn to jelly.
“Aron,” I plead, my voice shaky.
Instantly, I’m regretting everything and craving the safety I’ve learnt to associate with him over the past few months—the cocoon of his warm embrace, the words he whispers in my ear every night, the way he likes to wake me up by bringing me to an orgasm with his tongue.
I wanted this. But maybe I’m not ready. Maybe I will never be. And what if I took it too far, pushed him too far, and brought out that long-buried wrath of his back to life?
I’m sure my turmoil is clear on my face. I’m hoping he’ll comfort me, seeing how scared I am.
“Those puppy eyes won’t save you,” he assures harshly instead. “You’ve been a very bad girl.” His hands close around my waist. “And I plan on spending the rest of the night punishing you.” He squeezes hard enough to leave bruises. “Slowly. And thoroughly.”
“Aron ...”
The eyes in the slit of the mask stray towards our back porch doorway, currently closed off by the security metal grille. He chuckles faintly. The sound carries a faint but unmistakable sadistic edge, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
“Aron,” I plead more insistently.
“Grab the bars and bend over. Legs apart.”
He whips me around, pushing me to the grille.
“Fuck, Aron ... can’t you take it easy?” I dig my heels in, refusing to budge.
“Not a chance in hell, Hotshot.” He growls in my ear, and I whimper.
“Not as the Necromancer.” He grabs my ass, roughly, kneading the sensitive area with his fingers.
“But as your husband who loves you more than anything in the world?” He rubs his masked cheek against mine, nudging me playfully, and I nearly topple with relief. “Sure. If you say your safe word.”
In other words, you can either opt out or take whatever you’re given. Damn it.
“Are we going to have to do this the hard way, then?” he croons maliciously. “As you wish, but it’s going to hurt more,” he threatens. “I said, grab the bars and bend over.”
I gulp, heat flooding me from head to toe.
“Do you want me to take these off?” I indicate my shorts.
“Did I fucking say that? Just do as you’re told.”
Nodding, I step to the grille and wrap my fingers around the thin, smooth metal bars—so different from the ones I’m seeing in my mind’s eye, recalling their rusty feel and the moist cave smell, so at odds with the warm, cypress-scented air carrying in from the outside.
Aron pulls my hips further back, then slowly drags the shorts down, goosebumps erupting over my exposed skin, dark excitement coiling in my core.
“Please ...”
“Hotshot, do you never learn?” His fingers trace my curves, their touch electric. “With me, you get what you deserve. Always.” He withdraws his palm and then brings it back, crashing.
My yelp barely dies on my lips before he does it again, the impact searing into my flesh.
“You can be loud all you want, but I’m not stopping until this ass is bright red,” he threatens, gripping my hip to keep me in place.
His slaps and my cries fill the air. My vision swims with the potent mixture of pain and anticipation.
When he’s satisfied, Aron rubs my tender flesh before reaching between my legs.
“You’re dripping all over the floor, you filthy slut.
” His words hit my bloodstream like a drug, potent and intoxicating.
“I’ll start with this pussy since it’s weeping so pretty for me.
I’ll make it cry even more.” His touch skates over my slit, and I almost black out.
“But then I want to finish by wrecking this tight little hole.” My nerve endings sizzle when he circles my other entrance with his thumb.
“Stay like this. Don’t move an inch.” He pats my hip in warning before walking away.
To comply with his wish, I barely dare breathe, my muscles locked in place and my thighs trembling.
“Fucking beautiful,” he drawls when he returns, setting a bottle of lube on the nearby counter.
The sharp sound of him unzipping reaches my ears.
“See, you can be a good girl.” My eyes roll back when he traces the tip of his pierced cock between my folds, over and over my clit. “You are a good girl. You just need a reminder sometimes.”
He barely enters me, and my walls are already spasming around him.
He reaches for the bottle and spreads the lube around my tighter, more sensitive entrance before pushing his thumb all the way in. His other fingers close around the swell of my hip, gripping my ass cheek.
A few thrusts are all it takes for me to crash over the edge. I come hard, my body convulsing, my vision blazing like burning magnesium.
Aron gives me no time to recover, rutting into me savagely, fingers digging grooves into my skin until he brings me back to the brink, bliss coiling through me.
I groan complainingly when he pulls out, then whimper when his piercing grazes my tender skin, trailing upwards towards my other hole.
He circles it, teasing me, drawing more sounds out of me.
“Fuck me, Hotshot, I forgot how pretty you sing when you’re scared.”
I am scared—scared that he’ll be rough, too lost in his own enjoyment. But when he starts pushing his cock into me, he’s slow and careful, stopping anytime my moans break into cries.
The first few thrusts are deliberate and unhurried, giving me just enough time to adjust. The pain is bearable, but intense enough to remind me with each stroke that this is a punishment.
Still, my overwhelming lust soon overshadows it and has me arching my back.
I’m rolling my hips to chase friction, trying to rub myself against him for relief.
“Greedy little whore,” he growls into my ear when he notices what I’m doing. “Who said you could come yet?”
His fingers close around my throat, squeezing hard, making me gasp for breath. I’m enveloped in his body’s heat as he continues slamming into me, stretching me, tearing me apart.
“Do you want to come?” He presses his finger against my clit, and the firm, motionless contact is enough for ecstasy to gather and grow inside me like a storm about to unleash its power.
“Y-yes.”
“Then beg for it.”
“P-please let me come.” My voice is weak and pathetic, unconvincing until I find words that will make him mine and much as I am his, the ones he’d do anything to hear. “Please. Let me feel how much I belong to you.”
Aron reacts with a guttural moan, slamming his hips into mine.
Electricity surges through me the moment he starts circling my clit, my climax building with blinding speed.
He claims it when he slips his fingers into my pussy, my walls pulsing around them, and I scream his name, letting the breeze carry it into the night.
With one more thrust and a violent shudder, he shatters too with a brutal, broken cry.
His fingers dig into my hips, and he fills me up with his cum until it overflows and runs down my thighs in cooling trails.
Aron tears off the mask and slips out of me carefully before pulling me backwards, letting me slowly fall into his arms.