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That one ends up being the most animalistic, with my cute purple tulle shredded and scattered on the floor.
I have no clue how he got my stuff here, but he definitely had them from back in England. When I left Brighton Island, I didn’t pack everything.
A part of me hoped I’d go back.
That part never counted on this depravity.
I swear this isn’t what I meant when I told the girls that my fantasy was to be kidnapped.
Or maybe it is.
But his reasons have left a bitter taste at the back of my mouth.
I place lamb soup and fish and chips Creighton made on the patio table that faces the bright sea and he brings my salad.
We’ve fallen into this domesticated routine that would be a dream under different circumstances.
We do our morning jogs or swims together, sometimes fully naked. He fishes by the rock and I try to help but end up making it worse. Then we shower together. He watches me practice, makes lunch, and then we hike on the island's mountains to the point that every day is an adventure. We talk about everything, or more like I do and he reciprocates. We discuss school, life, art, like when we were on good terms, but he completely closes off when I ask him if we’re going back.
“I can cook sometime, you know.” I sit across from him and wince at the discomfort in my ass.
It’s impossible to move without feeling him inside me anymore.
A fact he notices and appreciates, considering the slight twitch of his upper lip. “I’ll do the cooking.”
“I thought you didn’t know how.”
“That was a month ago. I learned how.”
I nod and take a bite of my salad. “Can I have some fries?”
“Chips?”
“Chips. Fries, whatever.”
“You don’t have to ask.” He pushes the whole plate in front of me.
“Wow. You actually gave up your food. The first time we met, you almost killed me because I asked for a taste.”
That event feels like ages ago. I was infatuated with Creighton at first sight. He was silent, stoic, and the perfect recipe to pull on my heartstrings. Despite his broodiness, I yearned to bring out the man that lurked inside him.
I yearned to sink my claws into his skin and yank the secret part free.
But maybe I should’ve heeded his and everyone else’s warning and stayed away. Maybe I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m currently in.
“You were a stranger back then,” he says, scooping up a handful of fries and practically mounding them on top of my salad. “You’re not now, so you can have my food any day.”
I try and fail not to be touched, especially knowing how much he loves food and that he certainly doesn’t give it up, even to the people closest to him, including his brother and Remi.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I can’t eat all of that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want to make me fat.”
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Not since I got here.” I release a long sigh. “How come we never run out of stuff?”
He remains silent, seeming preoccupied with eating, but he just doesn’t want to answer me.
“Does someone bring supplies? When?”
