Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
The math was simple enough. How many humans would it take to fulfill the request? It wasn't just about meeting the numbers. It was about ensuring the balance remained—too much and the tourists might start asking questions. I also had to ensure my Isle natives got their personal orders fulfilled.
I forwarded the email to my brother, along with a note to check the inventory. I paused for a moment, leaning back in my chair again when a thought crossed my mind. Without a second’s hesitation, I pulled up Lolita’s ovulation chart, my eyes narrowing as I studied it. Tomorrow would be day 2 of her cycle. I had about a week before she’d reach her most fertile window, somewhere between days 10 and 14.
It wasn’t much time, but it was enough to keep her close and ensure everything fell into place when I needed it to. I’d told her I wanted her all to myself before I made sure she was pregnant, and I meant that, but I was factoring those nine months into the equation. Motherhood would be good for her. It would give her a purpose outside of me, that was still an extension of myself. I leaned back in my chair, a slow grin spreading across my face the more I thought about it.
A week to set the stage for what was to come. Timing. Patience. Control. These were all things I excelled at, and I had every intention of making sure this was no different. I checked her schedule, clearing a few things away. In the process, I recalled her tone and expression when I mentioned Selena. While I found immense delight in Lolita being jealous and possessive over me, I would never truly allow another woman to make her uncomfortable.
I pulled up the footage from the viewing room and began to review it. Nothing stood out at first. She sat with Osiris and Phoenix Electi, speaking to Pandora at one point to describe the service. I watched her distress as Nicolette and the others were punished, finding that harder to get through. She had to get to the point where she understood the punishments were for everyone’s benefit. The Chapel was part of her life now and all the services that came with it.
Just when I began to wonder if whatever happened with Selena was during an education lesson, I caught it. I dragged the cursor back on the video timeline and then slowed things down.
I was used to reverence; I’d been revered since the age of eight. I never failed to acknowledge it, letting my disciples know they were vital pieces of the Isle and Impío. Naturally, that included women. The look on Selena’s face, however, was something different.
I wasn’t expecting to see it.
There once was a time when I used her frequently. There weren’t any emotional stakes in the act. She was good at what she trained for, but I hadn’t touched her in years. Certainly not since she was taken from the Pleasure House to be an Acolyte at my order. The way she was watching me in front of my Lolita, my Electi, and the others, was unacceptable. It was not something to be taken lightly. As Diabolus, I prided myself on maintaining control over every aspect of religion, including the loyalty and submission of my followers.
I knew firsthand how power bred envy in even the most devoted followers. Selena had been there from the beginning, but I had chosen someone else to be my Electi. I was meant for Lolita and always would be. I understood her longing, wanting to be fucked by me again but I couldn't allow it. Just as I couldn’t allow her to get away with this disrespect to my Lolita.
If a man had dared to look at her like this, I’d have his eyes. Selena would have to be punished.
I glanced up when I heard the knock on the door. “Enter,” I called out.
Ambrose stepped forward, stopping at my desk to place a photograph carefully on top of the papers scattered across its surface. I recognized it instantly—the one Lolita had taken from the lower level of the estate. I had watched her do it when I pulled up the cameras at the Chapel earlier.
“Is that the only one?” I asked, already knowing the answer but seeking confirmation.
“Yes. She left it in the library,” he replied.
I leaned forward, picking up the photograph. It was of Clarice and Melanie, standing side by side. Two women—best friends, each connected to me in quite different ways. Clarice, with her flowing platinum blonde hair, and eyes like piercing blue ice, always had a way of commanding a room without saying a word. Beside her, Melanie was the complete opposite—dark-haired, her almond-shaped eyes soft and full of warmth, reflecting her quiet, submissive nature.