Now free from the leafy canopy of ironwoods, Iris hesitates under palm fronds. The constellation Sagittarius gleams overhead in the twinkly canvas, while the ubiquitous disk of the Milky Way lords over our Earth. As she weighs her only option, her head tips upward to the black hole hidden behind a thin layer of cosmic clouds.
My hardened layers weaken, the glue softens, and I see her for what she really is—an elegant queen.
But even a queen must kneel to her king. The consequences of her return to my oasis will be catastrophic if not controlled. She’s chosen to stay. That’s her decision, no matter how bleak her choices are. Would I rather send her away on the next ride out of here? Absolutely. However, this is my concealed nirvana, and I won’t risk losing sight of the ultimate target. Not for anyone. Not for her. My face is stored in her gray cells. My recognizable scars are hers to recall. A detail she could divulge.
I make a promise to myself then and there, watching her hop onto the solar lit pathway. Our lives will never tangle. The woman will become a figment of my imagination. She won’t learn a single thing about el Fantasma, the untouchable ghost.
I’m not rewriting the course of fate for my benefit or for her. I’m doing it for my sister.
Iris glances over her shoulder one last time, silently bidding farewell to freedom. What could be thought of as an inconsequential act makes my blood scorch with uncomfortable arousal. My dick rests thickly against my zipper. The swell of lust unfurls in my core like a waking alligator after months of sleep, demanding instant gratification. A slick of sweat coats my spine. If there wasn’t a guest in the neighboring suite, I would strip off my restrictive garments and embrace my own freedom.
Only something doesn’t sit quite right. The burning urge inside of me refuses to be ignored. She’s coaxed out a beast from within me that won’t listen to reason, won’t bow to my request, and won’t be satisfied until it’s released.
Returning from the shadows, my fists curl, and my boots hit the wood, matching my heart slamming against my ribs. The thirst to fuck overpowers my senses. It’s only her I visualize, only Iris that I crave to taste.
I battle the demolishing need, slaying the desire inside me with memories I shouldn’t relive. They strike a match of hate and deaden my pulse. Shaky legs carry me to her cabin where I fall back into my comfort zone. Darkness casts its secluded blanket over my edgy muscles.
I designed the cabins for an authentic tropical experience, unifying the inside with glorious shades of nature. At no point did it occur to me that this particular suite would double as a glass cage, housing a rare and beautiful species.
My head of staff removed the blackout blinds and drapes at my request, opening the aspect to the elements. She has nowhere to hide, not even in bed. A waterfall shower has glass screens with zero privacy from the millions of creatures on the other side, including me. Timber-clad outer walls are hedged by multiple trees laden with coconuts, secluded at the end of a single walkway. Solitude is virtually hers, except when I’m camouflaged, studying my new uninvited guest.
She paces back and forth with rounded creamy buttocks and those womanly hips. A guttural groan mingles with cicadas when she snatches the sheets off the bed and swaddles herself like the goddess Aphrodite.
I curse the sheets for hiding her body as she takes solace behind the fabric. Leather-bound fingers drag down my face when she marches to the bathroom like a battle maiden after war. The sheet drags along the tiles until she reaches the shower and flicks on the water. Instead of stepping under the powerful spray, she walks to the glass window and presses her palms to the clear surface. The decor lighting from inside ensures the glare prevents her from seeing the full picture. She has no idea I’m stalking her or stuffing my hand into my shorts to pacify the stony erection. Nipples skim the glass. I stop myself from growling when she backs up.
I fucking hate how I’m losing control. How a dark desire is powdering my sight, so only Iris is visible. The sheet slips away, and she steps beneath a multitude of jets. Nakedness. Breasts. Nipples. Hips. It’s all there. I envy the warm water sluicing over every dip, clinging to her skin without my permission. Quick strokes lather foamy soap. Innocent hands wash away the earthy tones of survival and salty perspiration.
I fist my solid length, brutality giving in to what it craves. My fist pumps faster, shooting my heart rate to the treetops. Soaking lengths of vermillion pour down the bend of her spine as she reaches for the shampoo. That slow fold. Those firm buttocks. The parting gap between her thighs.
In a surge of adrenaline, the skin around my balls cramps, and my blood catches fire. A carnal snarl rumbles free from my throat, startling nearby wildlife. I sink to my knees before her, spurting my seed to the soil.
Self-loathing fuels every sharp exhale. I gave in to Iris. An imposter. A possible informer. Unbeknownst to her, she’s unlocked emotions so primitive that even I doubt my ability to resist.
There’s only one thing to do: make sure she stays the fuck out of my sight.
7
Iris
I wake up to an ideal summer temperature under a curtain of white gauze crowning the king-sized bed I’m curled up in. Loose sheets drape to the tiled floor. A result of my less than rested sleep.
Bruce continues to haunt me with his mud-spattered appearance and muted concern. The man is trapped between this world and the next. His soul is lost in limbo without a proper burial. It’s too late for him now, and after last night's escapade, I’m well aware my days could be numbered too.
Escaping the mosquito net, I inspect the triple aspect view. A brass platter tiered with fresh fruit awaits on a rattan table with a jug of icy sunset yellow juice. How it got there without me waking up is a puzzle.
Bruised feet twinge, and my insides clench from a lack of sustenance. I can’t recall when the last morsel of food passed over my lips. My empty belly concaves and ribs protrude. The damage of illness and stress are obvious on my body. I’m drained, mentally and physically.
Barefoot and stiff, I sample the colorful produce. Tangy pineapple cleanses my palate, and the chilled liquid has a tart sweetness like nothing I’ve ever tasted before.
Black trousers and a cotton shirt are neatly folded and waiting on a woven chair. A pair of sandals with padded footbeds sit below. I grunt at the basic uniform.
The outfit makes my temper simmer. I didn’t study at school to wind up as a servant.
Using what little energy I have in reserve, I shunt a hefty glazed door to the side, welcoming the stifling outdoor temperature to attack with moisture. It’s only now, in the light of a new day, that I notice a sunken aqua blue plunge pool with toughened clear boundary screening and a long deck decorated with pastel pink orchids.
If I weren’t a prisoner, this setting would be blissful. A stark reminder of my predicament catches in the reflection of the glass pane. White gauze protects an injury. In the grand scheme of things, I got off lightly compared to Bruce, yet it’s symbolic of the struggle I’ve yet to endure.
My heart dives. I’m so very far from home. Everything I thought I knew is unimportant. Everyone I’ve ever loved thinks I’m dead. El Fantasma has forced me into slavery, to wither and decay. Worthless. Penniless. Unloved.
Well, I’ve got news for him. He hasn’t met Iris Kitson. I pray for bolts of lightning more lethal than an atomic bomb. I beg for a storm of hellish proportions. I petition a wildfire to burn his oasis to its fragile foundations. But mostly, I curse his stoic arrogance, his body of sin and that mountainous ego daring to believe I belong to him.