ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

Chapter 51

HELENA

Their home is beautiful.

I step into the mansion, a broad smile stretching across my face as I swivel my head from side to side, drinking in the surroundings. Their home is beautiful — breathtaking, really.

The entire interior is a meticulous design in black and white — cold, hollow, lacking a woman's touch. It feels so... masculine.

Frowning, I pivot on my heel and shoot him a questioning look. "Rita is a woman, right?" I ask, my voice teetering between suspicion and curiosity.

He stares back at me, incredulous, his mouth twitching as though he's restraining some ornery retort. "Yeah," he huffs, looking personally offended. "Last time I checked, she had a pussy."

I blink at him, taken aback by his bluntness. "Why are you so mad? It was just a question," I say, raising my hands defensively.

He snorts, folding his arms across his chest. "Because it was an insipid question. How the hell do you think she got pregnant if she had a dick?"

I shrug, unbothered. "I don't know. According to studies, some people are born with both." I gesture vaguely, as if eluding the complexity of the subject.

He groans in exasperation, as if my asinine remark gives him a headache. "She only has a pussy," he states with meticulous finality. "What's with you and the sex of my baby mama?"

I throw up my hands. "It's just..." I groan again, letting the sound ripple through the room. "...is she a tomboy or something? This place is so insipid and masculine."

"No," he mutters, shaking his head. "She's very feminine. Loves dresses. And skirts. Her favorite color is lilac — trust me, I had to elicit patience while she dragged me through endless racks of violet nuances. And green."

"Then why does this mansion feel like a nefarious villain's mancave? Like... crafted by you?" I purse my lips, puzzled. My arms sweep around the stark room, exuding virility.

"Because... when I took over ownership, the place was almost empty. I decorated it myself," he admits, scratching his head, suddenly looking guilty. "Got rid of most of the stuff she picked out after I turned her in..."

My jaw drops. "Well, she's back now!" I declare. "So bring her style back too! It's not just your home — it's hers! Make her feel welcome! Knucklehead..." I shake my head.

"As you wish, Madam," he says as he lets out a dramatic sigh and dips into a low, mocking bow. "Anything else, or shall I also fetch your dick?"

I laugh, waving him off. "Nope, that's all for now! You can suck it later. I'm just so excited to be here!" I squeal, bouncing slightly on my heels.

"Yeah, you're the most excited hostage I've ever had," he remarks dryly, trailing after me as I roam the halls with his arms crossed.

"Guest. And friend," I correct him with a firm nod. "You said I'm always welcome. So," I spin around, grinning mischievously, "I want the room next to hers!"

He raises a skeptical brow. "What about sleeping between us?" he asks, a sly, annoyed smile tugging at his lips, not liking me third-wheeling.

"Can I?" I chirp, clasping my hands together sweetly.

"You cannot," he deadpans.

"What a terrible host you are," I mutter dramatically, and mock-pout, plucking a porcelain vase from a nearby table, inspecting it. It looks fancy.

The vase is stunning — clearly expensive, delicate, and meticulously crafted. At least he has some taste.

"Don't touch the fragile stuff," he warns, swiftly taking the vase from my hands and setting it back with almost parental admonition, like I'm used to giving my kids.