Chapter 13: Meeting Obligations

The mattress sighed under our weight as she sank onto me, that silk dress pooling around her hips like liquid moonlight. Her skin burned against mine, expensive floral perfume wrapping around us. Her trembling hands mapped my chest, fingers tracing the roadmap of scars she’d never asked about.

“You’re handsome,” she whispered, breath hot against my jaw. “So perfect.”

I brushed her cheek. The gesture felt hollow, like polishing a tombstone. “So are you.”

She leaned down, dark hair curtaining our faces. “Tell me what you want.”

The truth, I thought. Instead, I said: “I want you here. Really here.”

Her eyes snapped shut. For a heartbeat, I saw the crack—raw, wet fear. Then it vanished. When those lashes lifted, it was all smoke and mirrors. That smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“I am.”

Bullshit. I felt the chasm between us, wide as the Pacific outside this gilded room.

Her fingers worked my shirt buttons, cool against the ridges of old knife wounds and bullet kisses. She pressed her lips to each one, soft as moth wings. “Very strong,” she murmured. “Manly.”

I hooked a finger under her chin. “Lila.”

“Yes?” Her gaze flickered, a caged bird.

“Why are you doing this?”

Silence. Then her mouth grazed my ear, the words a ghost: “Because I have to.”

I pulled back. “You don’t.”

Her laugh scraped like sandpaper. “Oh, señor. You have no idea.”

Suddenly, she shoved me flat. Her mouth crashed onto my neck, my collarbone: ****, hungry. The dress slithered to the floor. No hesitation. Her hands dove for my belt, zipper hissing. Cool fingers wrapped around me. I gasped.

“You like that?” Her whisper was velvet over steel.

I nodded, jaw locked.

“Good.”

Then she was sliding down, taking me deep. Too deep. Too perfect. Her tongue knew every trick, every rhythm. Professional. Soulless. I fisted her hair, yanked her head back. “Lila, stop.”

Confusion flashed in her eyes. “Don’t you like it?”

“I do. But—”

She kissed me hard, swallowing the protest. “Then let me.”

Her body pressed flush against mine, skin slick. Moonlight gilded her curves as she guided me inside. A sharp gasp. Then the act began.

“Oh, god. Yes!” she moaned, loud enough to rattle the palm fronds outside.

I moved slow, watching her. Eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. Hips rising to meet mine. But those sounds- rehearsed. Like a dime-store phonograph.

“You feel so good,” she panted. “So big.”

I gritted my teeth. “Lila...”

Her nails bit into my shoulders. “Fuck me hard.”

Hell. I did. The heat, the tightness- it unraveled me. I drove into her, the bed frame groaning like a dying man. She screamed, back arching, nails carving trails down my spine.

“Yes! Like that!” Her voice shredded the night. “You’re amazing!”

I buried my face in her neck. Salt. Sweat. Perfume. Her body clenched around me, muscles fluttering. Too quick. Too clean.

“Oh, god! I’m coming!”

Liar. I felt it-the performance, not the release. But the beast in me didn’t care. I hammered into her, lost in the rhythm, the raw friction. Her cries pitched higher, jagged and wild. Or was it fear?

“Fuck me! Harder!”

I hauled her hips up, slamming deeper. Her legs locked around me, heels digging into my ass. Her eyes flew open—wide, dark, ****. Lost? Or found?

My own end roared up, a freight train in the dark. She raked her nails over my ass, urging me on. “Come for me,” she rasped. “Please.”

I did. A guttural groan tore loose as I emptied into her. She held me tight, trembling. Or shaking?

We collapsed. Sweat stung my eyes. Moonlight bled across the sheets, silvering her skin. Silence, save for the ocean’s endless sigh.

Then she moved. Nuzzled my jaw. Her hand drifted down my chest, my belly, finding me soft and spent. She teased, fingers light. Kissed my neck. My chest. My belly. Then lower.

I groaned. “Lila, I can’t.”

She lifted her head, eyes black as oil-slick. “Yes. You can.”

Her mouth closed over me. Slow. Deliberate. Tongue swirling the tip before taking me deep. Against all sense, I stirred. She smiled around me, a predator’s curl.

I dragged her up, kissed her hard. She tasted of salt, sex, and secrets. Rolled her under me. Sank into her heat. She gasped, legs cinching my waist.

This time, I set the pace. Slow. Deep. Watching her face. Her gaze held mine, unreadable. But her body sang truth—wet, tight, alive.

I thrust, deliberate. Her moan was softer now. More real. Her hands roamed my back, pulling me closer. Lips brushed my ear: “Harder.”

I obeyed. The bed protested. Her cries fractured—less scream, more shattered glass. Her back arched, fingers clawing my skin.

“Oh, god,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

I didn’t. Drove into her until the room, the world, the whole damn island ceased to exist. Only her. The clutch of her. The raw sound she made when she came—sharp, sudden, real. I followed, emptying into her with a groan that felt like my last breath.

Afterward, we lay tangled. Sweat cooling. Ocean murmuring. She rested her head on my chest, fingertips tracing idle circles on my skin.

I stroked her hair. “You okay?”

No answer. Just closed eyes and steady breath.

Moonlight slid across the floor. Shadows danced like restless spirits. I held her, feeling the weight of her, the warmth. And the distance. That cold, dark space between have to and want to.

I kissed her temple. “Whatever it is,” I murmured, “we face it.”

She tensed. Just a flicker. Then gone.

I stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathe. Because I have to. The tremor in her hands. The fear she’d swallowed like bitter medicine.

I pulled her closer. Storm coming? Fine. Let it. But tonight, she was here. In my arms. Alive.

For now, it’d have to be enough.