I'm unreliable 🙃 Oops
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"What do you want your safe word to be, Lauren?"
She chokes on air, tearing her eyes away from the trees and slamming her hand against her chest as she splutters and chokes. Camila's smirk, while Lauren is distracted, falters as she watches the girl struggle, but she doesn't lift a finger until the man from earlier returns. He offers Camila an apologetic nod before turning his attention to Lauren and, with a small nod from his boss, pats her back to help her out. The moment she comes around, he swipes his hand away, holding it neatly behind his back.
"Lauren," Camila tries again, "Safeword."
Shawn, noticing Lauren's reddened cheeks, swiftly busies himself with 'tidying' the seating area, holding in an innocently whistled tune in case it's too obvious that he's listening in. He's worked for Camila long enough to know this conversation inside out, to know the struggle each girl has to think of a word and to know Camila's sceptical reaction when they answer too quickly. He must admit, he's curious for Lauren's response. It's impossible for him not to know who Lauren is, and he recognises the Jauregui name is not one which usually sparks any positive feelings in a Cabello, so he's been curious ever since Camila confessed in her desires one night while they shared a bottle of aromatic red wine in Camila's hot tub.
"Why, exactly, would I need a safeword?" Ah, the falsely-oblivious approach. He lets out a sigh, glancing at the pair who stand at the edge of the patio before making brief eye contact with Camila and gesturing toward the house. He slips inside, and Camila turns to Lauren, repeating what she's had to explain countless times before.
"A safeword is the only thing that'll make me stop. If you are unwilling to do what I want, you utter that word and I stop everything. All toys, all touching, anything you're uncomfortable with will be removed, switched off, whatever it requires." She takes a calculated step toward Lauren, never breaking eye contact as she glides her fingertips along the edge of the collar she wears, brushing raven hair behind a shoulder, "Begging me to stop will not work in your favour, Lauren."
Green eyes flick between Camila's dark ones, brows gathering until a deep crease forms between them.
"I can use it whenever?"
Camila nods, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a motion Lauren can't help but follow.
"Dragonfly," she finds herself muttering before she can really think about it. Camila's face contorts into one of amused confusion as she repeats the word, and Lauren nods, "Like my tattoo. It's for my grandmother. I won't forget."
"Dragonfly..." Camila tastes it, and nods too, satisfaction settling in as she announces, "I don't have anything called a Dragonfly so you should be okay to use that."
A moment of silence passes, the pair's attention landing back on the landscape before the butler returns, tray in hand and balancing a large bottle of wine and two pristine glasses.
"Camila," When they both turn to look over their shoulders at him, he nods to the bottle and announces, "Your sauvignon."
...
With half the bottle drained, the pair now perch on the sleek yet comfortable sofa of the outdoor dining set. A light humming seems to fill the air around them. Conversation has yet to strike up again, but they don't mind the unusually comfortable silence that seems to come with one another's company. As Camila tops herself up and pours Lauren another glass, however, the black-haired girl speaks up.
"Why me?"
Camila hums in question, not having heard her, or perhaps not wanting to answer.
"You've had others, right? So, why did you choose me this time?" Lauren clarifies, looking over to the woman next to her.
Camila's hand tightens on the arm of the sofa and she crosses an ankle over the other before turning to Lauren.
"I chose you," she begins, giving a dramatic pause as she picks her words wisely, "because I find it exhilarating that I'll be the one to break a Jauregui. I want to push you until you snap, and once you do-" she stops herself, shaking her head slightly and taking a swig of alcohol.
"Once I do...?" Lauren probes, however.
"Once you break, I'll decide whether or not I want to keep or replace you."
Lauren's hand returns to the collar. She traces its ridges and clasps with her fingertips as she observes the Cabello's side profile, the small dimple that sits just beyond her lips as she smirks, the way her eyes move so slowly over the landscape, drinking in every detail as she steadily drains another glass of wine, showing no symptoms of drunkenness despite the amount she's consumed.
She gulps, the safe word at the tip of her tongue. If she can use it whenever, surely she can use it now, to get out of this deal? But her family come back to mind and, while they're wealthy enough to sustain their life, for now, she's heard her parents uttering quiet confessions of debt, profit loss, and financial concern. The deal Camila made sure would help, and she wonders for a moment whether she knew of the Jauregui's secret struggles, but brushes it off as both families thinking the other were money-hungry pigs who'd do anything for an extra buck. So, despite her better judgement, she stays silent, even when Camila blatantly slides across the sofa and begins to massage her thigh with one hand, a little too high for her liking.
"I have hopes for you," Camila whispers lowly, "But I'm not sure you'll be able to reach them. You are, after all, just a woman."
Lauren almost snarls at the phrase, hissing, "So are you," but making no other move to stop the free hand that rose to her collar, holding her by the back of her neck like an animal and making discomfiture run through her veins.
"I've changed my mind," Camila's voice is low, almost aggressive, as her hold tightens, "You'll be wearing this tomorrow, for breakfast with my family. Maybe it'll help you learn your place."
