13. Chapter Thirteen

The day was warm, as all days seemed to be here. Rylan wandered the lush gardens of Casa del Rey in a daze. His thoughts buzzed like the bees in the beds. The scent of roses hung around him, but all he could think about was Bautista—his captor, tormentor, and whatever else they were.

Yesterday had been…oh, it was hard to say. None of Rylan's lovers had ever taken charge of him like that, had made it clear that he was at their mercy. Because he hadn't been, not with them. Always, he had been able to walk away, to shut them out, to keep some barrier up between them, and refused to surrender himself to them.

Bautista had not allowed that. He had forced Rylan to declare himself as belonging only to Bautista. Then he had claimed Rylan's body as his own.

Rylan felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he remembered how Bautista had fingered his asshole, silent and confident. The sensation had been overwhelming; Rylan could hardly stand the intensity of Bautista's touch.

The whole scene played out in Rylan's head: Bautista fucking him powerfully, thrusting into him with a fierce dominance that left Rylan gasping for air. It had been unlike anything Rylan had ever experienced before, his body writhing and arching beneath Bautista's unyielding grip.

"God," Rylan murmured, lost in the memory. He remembered the moment he had come, his dick jerking beneath him, still untouched. The pleasure had been so intense it had stolen his breath away, leaving him panting and shaking in the aftermath. He blushed at the thought, his body flush with embarrassment.

Rylan bit his lip, torn between the desire that still burned within him and the chilling realization of what he had allowed to happen. He knew he shouldn't have let himself be taken like that, but there was something about Bautista that drew him in, made him relinquish control despite his better judgment. He was unable to tell whether he felt violated or freed by what Bautista had done.

After, Rylan had felt stripped back, raw and naked, his emotions visible, all his secrets revealed. And Bautista had touched him, gentled him. Just one touch, and in it a wealth of answers to questions Rylan did not know how to ask.

Bautista had left after that, hadn't said a word to him since. But Rylan played that moment over, reading into it a tenderness that he knew wasn't really there. Still, elation washed over him at the memory, though tinged with a strange melancholy.

The scent of roses clung to him. The ones in the bed before him were crimson, their red petals echoing the red inked roses that decorated Bautista's torso.

Was that intentional? It seemed a strangely sentimental thing for a man like Bautista. Red roses in his gardens, red roses on his skin. And that tattoo over his heart—a human heart caged in thorny vines. It was impossible for Rylan to ignore the symbolism. Bautista's heart was guarded and could not be touched without gouging yourself on his thorns.

Rylan turned away from the roses, looking out over the garden at large. It was a lush oasis that cloaked dark secrets. "Oh God," Rylan murmured to himself. "What am I thinking?"

It was impossible to ignore the pleasure he had experienced the day before. His body still hummed with the aftershocks of Bautista's touch, the memory of their encounter seared into his mind. But he knew this was a distraction. He was a prisoner here, nothing more than a slave to Bautista, a man who despised him and was simply using him to entertain himself.

There was no fooling himself. Bautista didn't care about him as anything more than a prisoner to humiliate, a body to be degrade, a hole to fuck. And as soon as Rylan was no longer entertaining or useful, well he had no illusions about that.

Remember the story about his wife and the crocodiles.

Gruesome as it was, Rylan found it hard to believe. He couldn't reconcile it with the memory of Bautista from yesterday, or the man who had ordered Rylan to suck him off in his study. Bautista had looked so unguarded then, so uncertain, as if putting his cock in Rylan's mouth had revealed something about himself he had wanted to keep hidden.

That man wasn't the same man who could feed Carmelita's mother to a crocodile while she was still alive, was he?

Dammit, Bautista,he thought with frustration. Why must you be so complicated? Can't you simply be a brutal monster so I can hate you properly?

But he couldn't hate Bautista. He didn't even want to. All he wanted was to throw himself at the man's feet and beg for another touch, another moment in which he didn't have to think of the world he was trapped in.

Could he do that? It was mad to think it, and yet now the thought had occurred to him he could not shed it.

His heart thrummed, an insistent beat that seemed to echo the rhythm of his circling thoughts. Finally, he couldn't deny it any longer; he had to see Bautista, regardless of the consequences.

He breathed out, steeling himself as he made up his mind. He knew he was playing with fire, but the pull of the forbidden was impossible to resist.

Gathering his courage, Rylan made his way towards Bautista's study. The guard on the door glanced at him but said nothing, nor did anything to stop him. The door was slightly ajar, and Rylan hesitated for a moment before finally pushing it open.

Music greeted him as he stepped inside, soft Latin folk and a singer crooning in Spanish. Again, it seemed at odds with the image of Bautista the murderer, the tyrant, the beast.

Bautista himself was seated behind his imposing mahogany desk, his attention wholly absorbed by the papers spread out before him. His dark eyes flickered up, saw Rylan, and then dismissed him, returning to the documents and betraying no acknowledgment of Rylan's presence.

Feeling a familiar surge of anxiety, Rylan slowly approached the desk. He took a moment to examine Bautista's suit. It was khaki brushed cotton, cut to accommodate rather than restrain Bautista's broad shoulders. The snowy white shirt beneath was open at the collar, showing a hint of dark chest hair. Rylan wanted to touch it, to feel the fabric between his fingers. Instead, he knelt beside Bautista's chair, his knees weak with nerves.

Bautista did not react. He continued to focus on his work, leaving Rylan to grapple with the intensity of his emotions on his own.

Rylan focused on Bautista's shoes. Brown leather, which no doubt matched his belt. The shoes were handsome and hard wearing, well cared for. Someone polished them. Not Bautista, Rylan guessed.

Did Bautista care about clothes? He did not seem the type. But someone did. Rylan glanced up, examining the cut of Bautista's trousers. They fit exceedingly well, and even seated, they did not pull in the wrong places.

Bautista had a tailor. That much seemed obvious. Which meant that even if Bautista himself did not know or care about clothes, he employed someone to do that for him.

He didn't know why this thought affected him so much, but it did. Rylan bit his lip, thinking about Bautista being measured for this suit, of the fittings and adjustments. Choosing his shoes and his belt. How Rylan would love to dress him, to fit his frame in fabrics and cuts that said more than simply, "I have money."

If Bautista would ever allow such intimacy. Rylan glanced up. Bautista was ignoring him. He tried to steady his breath, but the anticipation of what might come next only made him more anxious and needy.

The silence hung heavy between them, punctuated only by the soft rustle of paper and the occasional scratch of Bautista's pen. Rylan ached, willing Bautista to look at him, knowing all too well that such attention might go a way he did not want. But he was willing to risk it.

What if he never acknowledges me?Rylan wondered, his chest tightening with fear. What if he leaves me here, humiliated?

As if sensing Rylan's turmoil, Bautista finally paused in his work, his dark eyes flicking down to where Rylan knelt before him. The intensity of his gaze sent a heady mix of fear and excitement coursing through him.

"Lock the door," Bautista ordered, his voice low and commanding.

Rylan scrambled to obey, his heart pounding as he quickly rose and locked the study door, ensuring their privacy. As he turned back to face Bautista, the man had already risen from his chair, watching Rylan like a predator stalking its prey.

"Strip," Bautista commanded, his voice dripping with authority.

A small whimper escaped Rylan's lips as he began to undress, his fingers fumbling in his haste to comply. He felt vulnerable under Bautista's unwavering gaze, and yet his body sang with excitement.

"Good boy," Bautista murmured.

He stepped closer, reaching out to run his fingers through Rylan's ash blond curls, gripping the strands tightly as he pulled Rylan's head back to expose his throat.

"Kneel," he ordered.

Rylan dropped to his knees without question, the cold hardwood floor pressing into his bones. He stared up at Bautista, elation filling him as he saw the raw arousal in the other man's eyes.

"Open your mouth," Bautista commanded, his voice thick.

Rylan parted his lips, his heart pounding in anticipation, and watched as Bautista slowly unzipped his pants, releasing his cock. It was half-hard, but as Rylan watched it thickened, pulsing with Bautista's clear arousal. Rylan moaned softly at the sight, his own cock throbbing insistently between his legs.

Bautista wasted no time, shoving his cock into Rylan's waiting mouth. Rylan closed his lips around it, sucking hungrily, feeling it swell in his mouth until it was full. Bautista thrust in, forcing him to take it deep. Rylan choked slightly, but he didn't dare pull away, his eyes watering as he struggled to accommodate it all. It was humiliating and degrading, and Rylan loved every second of it, with a shameful desperation.

Bautista let out a rough, raw sound and shoved Rylan away. His face was flushed dark, his eyes flashing with something like anger. For a dizzy moment, Rylan thought Bautista might strike him. But then, without a word, Bautista dragged Rylan to his feet and pushed him down onto the desk, the polished wood cool beneath Rylan's naked body. His breath caught in his throat as Bautista stared silently at his hard cock, a dark, predatory look crossing his face.

Without looking away, Bautista opened a drawer and took out a bottle of lube and a condom. Rylan's heart leapt in anticipation. Bautista kept his gaze fixed on Rylan's cock as he gloved up and slicked his own with lube, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The air between them seemed to crackle with electricity, so intense that Rylan felt like he would come if Bautista so much as touched him.

"Please," Rylan whispered, his voice shaky with need. "Please, Bautista."

He knew better than to think that pleading would sway the powerful man before him, but he couldn't help himself. The mere thought of what was to come left him weak and desperate.

Bautista's dark eyes lifted to his, boring into him. And then his hand lifted, reaching out to close on Rylan's throat. It wasn't a chokehold, just a possessive pressure, as if reminding Rylan of exactly who he belonged to.

Rylan pulled his knees up, spreading his thighs wide around Bautista's hips. He saw Bautista wet his lips, and then moaned as he felt Bautista's cock against his hole. It pressed in, slow but firm, a delicious ache that shuddered through him.

He couldn't help moaning again. The weight of it, the steady intrusion. He looked up at Bautista's face and saw both agony and ecstasy in him. The raw emotion in Bautista's expression made Rylan's heart race even faster.

"God, you feel so good," Rylan breathed, unable to hold back the words that spilled from his lips.

Bautista tightened his grip on Rylan's throat, holding him down as he began to fuck him, hard and merciless. The force of his thrusts left Rylan breathless, his body aching with desire as he surrendered completely to Bautista's control.

Oh, the pleasure of it, of being beneath Bautista like this, of seeing his face as he grit his teeth in a rictus. Bautista wanted this and hated that he wanted it. That much was clear. It gave Rylan a strange, heady glee to know that he was too much for Bautista to resist.

I'm yours,he thought and, You can't help yourself either.

As if hearing this, Bautista drove him harder, slamming into him with an aggressive abandon that none of Rylan's lovers had ever been willing to reach for.

Each thrust drove Rylan closer to the edge, the intense pleasure building to a breaking point. Just as he thought he might burst, Bautista's hand brushed against his cock, and he came so hard he thought he might black out, his voice breaking on a hoarse cry.

Bautista groaned and came inside him, his body vibrating with the intensity of his release. He braced his hands on the desk over Rylan, his chest heaving as he worked to catch his breath.

As their eyes met, Rylan saw a strange, haunted expression on Bautista's face. He looked tormented, like he foresaw his own doom in Rylan's eyes. Still panting from the force of his own orgasm, Rylan reached up to touch Bautista's cheek softly, his fingers trembling.

Instead of pushing him away, Bautista closed his eyes, breathing hard. For now everything was quiet between them. Everything was good. Rylan felt a connection. It could only be for this moment. Rylan wished the moment could last forever.