Chapter 7A: The Price of Possession
Yuri caught up to Zigi a block down, where the flickering light of a broken streetlamp cast their long, thin shadows. Zigi was still fuming, rubbing his knuckles.
"What was that for?" Yuri asked, adjusting the collar of his jacket. "That threat? You know Eli won't like you pushing his sister around."
Zigi snorted, spitting contemptuously onto the sidewalk. "It was a fluke, just to scare the bitch. She won't stop mocking us unless she knows the consequence is real. I know damn well Eli is protective of what is his."
Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Protective? Eli? The guy who lets his own girlfriend wander off all week?"
"It's not care, Yuri. It's possession," Zigi clarified, his voice dropping to a low, cold register that showed his intelligence. "Eli doesn't love the girl, or the sister. But she's in his space. She is his to deal with. It's the same reason that thug is now sleeping under a bush—he tried to take what belonged to Eli. That's a line you don't cross, even if Eli himself hasn't bothered to define it. He's territorial, not emotional. I wouldn't touch that pale, cocky little thing, even if he gave permission."
Yuri nodded slowly, digesting the parameters. They walked in silence for another minute, the night air thick with the damp scent of asphalt and distant garbage. Their footsteps echoed softly on the pavement.
Zigi shrugged, dismissing the topic. "Besides, you know Latinas are my type. Tan women. You should know since you've seen the stash."
Yuri jabbed him playfully in the ribs, snickering. "Right, right. My mistake. Now, back to the problem. That associate from the Celnili crime family... he's been still waiting. The one who took notice of us at the ring. The same one who wants to invest in us, use us as his secret side crew to make his dirty jobs easier."
Zigi kicked a loose chunk of asphalt into the gutter. "The fat one with the cigarette burns? Yeah, the fucker thinks we're desperate." His grin turned sharp and cold.
Zigi waved a hand dismissively. "No hurry. The man wants us more than we want him. We have the upper hand. Let him wait. We aren't in a rush to climb into the deep end of the underworld right now. Patience is what makes Eli successful."
With Yuri nodding in agreement, they turned the corner and disappeared into the night.
The scene cut away abruptly to Vanessa's small, humid bedroom.
Elijah stood over the bed, his free hand holding his phone, the camera aimed at Vanessa. She was wearing only a lace mask and some baggy clothes, kneeling on the damp sheets. Slowly and deliberately, she began to peel away her baggy clothes to reveal the curves beneath.
Her hips swayed gently as she peeled away the fabric inch by inch. Her breath hitched in her throat as she glanced nervously towards Elijah, who nodded curtly. With trembling fingers, Vanessa lifted the hem of her oversized shirt, exposing smooth skin beneath. The flash of the camera illuminated her cheeks flushed crimson.
Biting her lip, she ran her hand on the voluptuous swell of her breast held by sheer lace. Vanessa arched her back, pushing them forward—pillowy softness straining against the flimsy material. Elijah watched dispassionately through the phone screen, his thumb tapping the shutter button in rapid succession, a phone feature that took photos while recording simultaneously.
The bright flash caught the sweat beading along her collarbone, the tremble in her thighs as she shifted her weight. Through the thin strip of fabric stretched taut, her nipple hardened visibly—a small, stiff peak betraying the tension underneath her practiced seduction.
She hugged herself, her hands tracing her belly to her willowy waist, resting near the strap of her black baggy pants. Elijah smirked as she pushed the fabric over her curvy hips, letting gravity drag them down her thighs, showing the lace underwear that clung damply to her curves.
With the heavy clothes gone, she crawled across the rumpled sheets, the mattress springs groaning under her weight, her gaze fixed not on Elijah's face but on the glowing eye of the phone recording every deliberate sway of her body. She stopped just short of his knees, kneeling upright, her palms resting heavy on her bare thighs.
With his free hand, Elijah caressed the mask covering her nose up to her forehead, tracing the rigid curve of the material before sliding his fingers down to the swell of her lips—still visible beneath the edge. Vanessa instinctively leaned into the touch, her breath hitching in the confined space. He tapped the mask twice, a silent command.
She understood instantly: the eyes, the mouth. That's what the audience wanted. She arched her neck, letting the overhead bulb catch the sheen of sweat along her throat as she parted her lips in a practiced, breathless O, her teeth biting down softly on the lower one.
"This is it," she whispered, her voice rough. She reached out and grasped the hem of Elijah's pants with slick fingers, her gaze pleading upward through the mask's eyeholes.
With a hesitant tug, Vanessa pulled his zipper down, easing his pants with his boxers over his hips. She gasped—a genuine sound of surprise and momentary awe. She looked up at him, her eyes wide.
Elijah smirked, a sliver of rare pride breaking through his usual shield of cynicism. "What? Too big for you?"
She nodded quickly, unable to look away, the reaction entirely instinctual. "B-bigger than... anyone I dealt with before."
Elijah chuckled, a low, easy sound, feeling a detached satisfaction that transcended the simple transaction. "Should've known. I'm not fully Asian. Got some African blood mixed in there."
Vanessa swallowed hard, forcing her gaze back down. She took a quick, sharp gulp of air, her determination renewed by the physical proof of his superiority and her dependence.
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continue the adult scene in the next ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )
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Elijah stopped the recording with a single, efficient tap on the phone screen.
"That's enough," he announced, his voice flat. He immediately began checking the file size and quality, reviewing the footage like a supervisor reviewing a data sheet.
Vanessa twisted away from him, curling into a tight ball on the damp sheets. Her shoulders shook silently beneath the crumpled mask. Elijah ignored her, pulling his pants back on without glancing her way.
"It will sell," Elijah confirmed, satisfied with the angles and the simulated intensity. "I'll upload it when I get home. Keep the burner phone close for the confirmation message. When you get the 100 Noxs, send me the 50 I gave you."
He grabbed Vanessa's face, pulling her into a kiss that was more teeth than tenderness. Vanessa bit his lip hard, drawing blood—a fleeting taste of copper mingling with sweat and salt. Elijah recoiled, slamming her head back against the pillow with a dull thud. Vanessa grabbed his hand and pulled him back down, kissing him fiercely, her tongue sliding against his with desperate aggression.
Her fingers dug into his scalp, drawing blood from the scratches. Elijah responded by biting her neck, leaving a bruise that bloomed like spilled ink. They rolled violently across the mattress, sheets tangling around thrashing limbs—a mess of dominance and defiance that smelled of sex and desperation. The bedframe groaned dangerously as Elijah pinned her down. He smiled looking at her.
"How was it, princess?" Elijah's voice was a low rasp, his fingers brushing the blooming bruise on Vanessa's neck where he'd bitten her. She stared up at him, her chest heaving, the sting between her legs throbbing in time with her pulse. Sweat plastered strands of hair to her temples, and the sour scent of sex hung thick in the air.
She sneered, wiping a smear of blood from her split lip, eyes burning with fury. "You're a monster," she hissed, shoving him off violently.
But Eli chuckled and kissed the bruised mark on her neck again, his tongue tracing the tender skin before pulling away. "But you liked it, didn't you? You were practically begging for it."
Vanessa shuddered, turning her face into the pillow to hide the hot flush creeping up her neck—the shameful truth twisting in her gut.
Eli snickered, planting a soft kiss on Vanessa's forehead before rolling away. Vanessa, however, grabbed him, pulling him into a snuggle. Elijah rolled his eyes and smirked. "So needy..." He whispered to her.
She hissed, "Shut up..." and buried her face deeper into his chest. He sighed and wrapped an arm around her. She sighed softly and kissed his chest. Elijah chuckled softly, "You know I got like… 10 mins, yeah?"
Vanessa growled softly, biting his chest lightly. She whispered softly into his chest. "Shut up…" Elijah smiled softly, kissing her forehead softly. He sighed softly, tilting his head to gaze at her face.
"That's enough," he announced, his voice now flat. He immediately began disentangling Vanessa's arms from around his neck. Her protesting whine was muffled against his skin as he pushed her firmly back onto the sweat-damp sheets. He snatched his discarded shirt from the floor without glancing back at her crumpled form.
With a groan, Vanessa buried her face in the pillow as the door clicked shut, the lingering scent of Eli's sweat and her own arousal thick in the stale air. She traced the blooming bruise on her neck—a savage memento—and shuddered at the phantom ache between her thighs.
Elijah moved to the window, peeling back a corner of the cheap curtain for fresh air. He pulled on his shirt, straightened the crumpled collar against his neck, and walked out without a backward glance.