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
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.
I’ll do exactly what I’m told. A quick learner, the workings of his dubious business will be my new study. Patience is my only advantage.
A light tap sounds. I rush back inside and hurriedly dress in the ill-fitting uniform. I’d go as far as saying the standard size is unisex, not stitched for a shapely female figure like mine. What should be straight legs cling to my thighs, and the shirt snuggles into my breasts, straining too close.
I peer around the door frame, finding a willowy man who greets me with a friendly nod. “Salvador.” He pokes out his hand. “Call me Sal. I’ll show you around today.”
Tightly wound curls are close to his head, and molasses rich eyes sparkle with hospitality. He’s wearing a uniform not too dissimilar to my own, with narrow hips and thin legs, so the material hangs rather than restricts. A warm amber complexion is smooth and unblemished, not a whisker or wrinkle in sight.
“Iris.” I offer a smile, accepting his courteous handshake.
“I’ll get you a better fitting uniform, miss.”
“It’s Iris, not miss.” My thick Scottish brogue blends the sounds.
His lashes lower. “You are not Iris. El Fantasma was very clear about that.” His gentle tone hints at compassion.
A hot temper zips through my veins. “He won’t let you call me by my name?”
Sal shakes his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “You will work alongside me tomorrow. This morning, I’ll show you the key areas. An induction of the oasis.”
“Where is he?” I demand. “I need to talk to him. This is nonsense. He can’t expect to take away my rights as a human being and my identity, then ignore me.”
Sal’s brow furrows. “You don’t want to make an enemy of el Fantasma. He’s firm but fair if you do as he asks.”
“You’re actually sticking up for him?” I pinch the top of my nose to steady my whirling mind. “Are you brainwashed? I didn’t apply to work here. I need to go home to my family. That man has trapped me against my will for some sort of ego trip.”
I watch Sal’s slow intake of air. “You’ll have the afternoon off. For now, I’ll give you a guided tour of the oasis.” He does his best to sweeten the day ahead. “I’m responsible for your wellbeing during your employment. If you need anything, come to me. Do not try to find him. Do not approach him. Do not ask about him, and definitely do not speak of him to anyone.”
