9- Eve

There’s no locked room, or window. The entire space is free and empty. Except of course the fact that in every room, each closet is filled with dresses. Dresses that are similar to the one he saw me wear at the engagement party. In every colour. And in my size. Nightdresses too. Jewellries. Shoes. Purses.

Almost as if he walked into a store and bought everything that they had all at once.

There’s toiletries too. Pads. Skincare products. Perfumes. There’s so many perfumes. The kitchen too is open and I’m apparently allowed to also hold knives— I steal one. Not even a cabinet is locked.

And the doors to the place outside the building are open as well. And there are boats, if I want to leave I imagine. But why? Why would he give me all this freedom? To catch me off guard? To punish me if I try something else?

‘I can get close enough to stab him,’

That’s the thought that plays through my head till it’s evening. Till I realize he’s not come close enough for me to even attempt doing what I need to do, till I understand that there’s no reason to stab him. That would be an emotional outburst and I’d like to believe that I was better than that.

At least that was what I was thinking until I saw him at the end of the stairs as I walked down to get a cup of water.

The whole house is dark so I can’t make him out clearly but I know that figure anywhere. I know that body like it’s ingrained in my head, especially now the shirt he has on has stuck to his body… like he’s drenched in something. I stop, staring at him, waiting for him to speak, but when he doesn’t, I say, “Damien isn’t with you,”

“No,” He sounds different. Off. Cold. I feel a chill climb up my spine as he begins to walk up the stairs, his voice low, “I thought you would have tried leaving by now. I stayed on a boat. Waiting to drag you back home even if I had to spank you doing it. Do you have any idea how cold it is here when it’s dark?”

I don’t move an inch. “No one asked you to wait,”

He hums.

It’s not soft like it was earlier.

It spreads a vibration through my body that suddenly makes me feel like I am the one standing in the cold, and it only worsens when I hear him say, “You say cruel things just like everyone else. And yet… all I want to do is touch you. I want to smell you. I want— Give me permission. Please. Would you like me to beg, wife? Go on my knees?”

He looks pathetic the way he’s staring up at me now. I can see his eyes and the devotion and madness in them— I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why he would look at me like that. I want to feel terror by it, yet instead, my entire body wants to see it.

This… Hellhound man, on his knees. For me. I can already imagine how exhilarating it would feel for me.

I mean, my middle is already responding.

And I don’t like it. “No.”

I watch as his eyes fall. There’s surprise, then hurt— and all of a sudden, I see joy slowly replacing it. My hand goes for the railings of the stairs, adrenaline suddenly pumping through my veins as he says softly, “You are going to run, Eve, and I’m going to find you. When I do, I will touch you,”

“W-What—?”

“You have to five,”

The words start to pour out of my mouth like vomit. “I’m not— I’m not going to—”

He takes a step closer. “Five,”

My body wins before my brain can. I’m suddenly running up the stairs, my heart beating out of my chest. I hear him say ‘Four’ so quietly that it’s almost as if I don’t hear him at all. Panic pushes through every nerve in my body as I hurry up to the hallway of rooms but the second I try one room, I realize none of the doors have locks.

‘Three,’

I take out the knife I have hidden on my body. It’s small and tiny— a pocket knife. I can try slashing him across his face. Or on his wrist. Or on his—

‘You are far too small and tiny against him. You know this,’

There’s a tiny part of me that wants him to come, to do whatever he wants because I don’t want to find myself in a position where I have to fight him. I don’t want to do that. I know I won’t win. I know he won’t let that happen. Physically, anyone with common sense knows I’m powerless over him—

‘Two,’

But mentally—

I take out the knife part as my focus turns to the door and I run to it. The second I get into it, I insert the knife into the key hole. It’s slightly larger but it works. I can hear him now walking up the hallway, his movements quiet. I move faster, trying to remember every time I’d managed to escape my room through this same technique, just backwards.

It’s only after I manage to lock it that I feel him suddenly barge into the door. I fall back, the knife falling to my side as I wait for him to try breaking through the door but he doesn’t. Instead, I hear the sound of his shoes shuffling on the door before he says ever so calmly, “Good girl,”

I’m panting, my chest heaving as I slowly rise from the floor and walk towards the door. When I’m close enough, I stop, waiting to hear him speak again and when he does, he sounds quiet, “Always stand your ground, Bianchi, no matter what. And use whatever chances you have to protect yourself, even if it has to be from me,”

This is… praise. Praise for… hiding… from him. Why? I don’t understand. But my body… I find myself getting even closer, all the walls I put up crashing almost instantly as I place my hand on the door.

I can hear him panting softly on the other side, like it’s taking all of him not to break down the door as he says, “We have to return back to the real world tomorrow. There are things I cannot… control, including myself. So you’ll be good just like how you were, wouldn’t you, Principessa?”

“I don’t want a nickname,”

“Not a nickname. A title,” He breathes it softly. “I will protect you from the world, and you protect yourself from me. Can we add that to the rules?”

“Will you be telling me what the clauses on the other side of the contract was?”

There’s silence for a few seconds then ever so softly, I hear him chuckle. “You’re smart. You’ll figure it out,” Then the amusement in his voice grows, “I’m going to touch myself to you tonight, by the way, and it’ll be best if you do not leave this room at all till tomorrow morning. Not sure if I will let you win this time,”

I wait for disgust to climb up my throat at his statement but that’s not what happens. Instead, something in me aches to hear him say more, to see him… in this state. An image flashes through my head… him at the door, his… member in his hand, and he’s thinking of me, and only me.

Something curls in my belly. Tight. And needy. I press my thighs together as I immediately jolt away from the door, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear how my body keeps responding to him.

And the worse part? I want him to.