His eyes roll up to meet mine, and he begins to laugh. “Please, I have no aims at violating that sacred bond you and your body have with Christ our Lord and Savior, at least not physically.”
I don’t back down, not even remotely calmed by that reassurance, especially with that ambiguous qualifier at the end of it.
“I was thinking more along the lines of photographic insurance.”
Before I can even process that statement, his hand whips out as quick as a cobra. The next moment, the sheets are off me, and I’m once again naked.
By the time the panic sets in, thinking the absolute worst, he has his smartphone out and snaps a photo.
I screech out something, which is fortunately incoherent. But the tone certainly gets the point across.
“I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” he says, sounding like a smug teacher who has finally managed to quiet a disruptive schoolgirl.
But I’m more than disruptive now, I’m absolutely wild. I lash out with every free limb, bearing my teeth again as I growl in anger.
“I’m glad you find this so upsetting. It gives me certain guarantees that you won’t talk. Consider this my insurance against you finally deciding to open your mouth, especially to the wrong person,” he says, completely unaffected by my outrage.
He ignores me to do something on his phone.
Oh no!
Is he sending the photo to someone?
The shame and humiliation only add fire to my rage.
But there’s something else there as well. Something that sets a deep and forbidden part of me to boil. It’s the same sick thrill that ran through me the first time I dared to swim naked in that lagoon. Doing something so taboo, especially with the slight chance I might get caught?
And now there is a naked photo of me on this man’s phone, sent to God knows who. A picture of me with nothing but a simple gold cross adorning my neck, which makes it so much more sordid. The idea that other men might be looking at my naked body, getting off on it, probably even masturbating to it…
I clamp my thighs together, stemming the sudden heat that erupts between them, even as my head fills with dread.
He looks up from his phone, having finished whatever it was he did. “That was just me saving the photo in case you should somehow get a hold of my phone to try and delete it. Once I find a new hiding place, you have my complete assurance that I will delete all traces of the photo.”
I give him a look that tells him exactly what I think of his assurances.
“Mira, I understand your anger—being a woman of God and all.” His eyes are touched with humor now. “But I have my own interests to protect. And I think we can both agree that you have secrets of your own to protect? Perhaps if you told me what they were?”
I go perfectly neutral at that suggestion.
“As I thought.” He considers me for a moment. “The picture would be strictly a quid pro quo. You don’t tell on me, and I don’t send the photo to anyone. Unfortunately, you’ve come into my possession with no other bargaining chips. Of course, if my secret hiding place should become public…” He shakes the phone in his hand as a warning to me.
I couldn’t give a flying fuck about his stupid hiding place or whatever it is he was hiding there. I lash out some more, not caring that I’m no longer covered, and he can see everything. Why should I? He’s already saved it on his phone for posterity.
I last long enough to realize that he’s just standing there, patiently waiting for me to tire out. That puts a stop to it, leaving me limp and breathing heavily.
“Good girl,” he says in a patronizing tone.
When he settles on the edge of the bed near me, I scoot back, drawing my legs and arms back up to hide as much as possible again mostly for my own sake.
“Now, I’m going to go get your clothes and uncuff you. If you try anything, that photo gets sent to places you don’t even want to think about. I’m pretty sure even the Pope himself might run across it.”
Once again, the shame, and worse, a sick thrill overcomes me. I’m not the most observant Catholic but just mentioning the Pope is enough to stir up that good old-fashioned guilt inside of me.
And isn’t it my own damn fault for swimming naked in the first place, right next to a convent of all things?
While he goes to retrieve my clothes, I wonder if they’re missing me on the island. By now, my absence has to have been noted, though I doubt they’ve raised the alarm yet. No need to make waves sooner than need be. But it won’t be long before it eventually finds its way to my father.
That’s when the shit will really hit the fan.
A rush of satisfaction rolls through me at that. Once this man lets me go, I’ll find a way to get word out about where I am. Then, he’ll be sorry he ever met me. Once my father is done with him, he’ll wish he’d never made an appearance at that lagoon.
Until then, I’ll behave myself.
He comes back with my clothes and shoes and tosses them on the bed. Before unlocking my cuffs, he raises one eyebrow in warning.
I roll my eyes in exasperation, nodding as though to let him know that his threat has been drilled into my head to the point of overkill.
He chuckles and reaches out to free my wrist. Once free, I shake the arm, trying to get some more feeling back into it.
“Have you ever been to Ibiza?” he asks as I reach for my underwear.
I think a moment, testing the question out for any traps before shaking my head no.
I can probably count the number of times I’ve ever even been outside of California, never mind outside
