Chapter 22: Marcus Intervenes
The air in the apartment felt different when Iris returned, still humming from the library’s charged silence and thoughts of boys still warm in her mind. The scent of her own arousal, mixed with expensive perfume, was a familiar blanket. Marcus was there, waiting in the living room, a crystal glass of amber liquid dangling from his hand. His posture was rigid, the usual ease replaced by a tightness around his eyes.
“Have fun studying?” he asked, his voice flat.
Iris dropped her bag, the sound too loud in the quiet space. “It was productive.”
Marcus took a slow drink, his gaze tracking her as she moved to the window, looking down at the city lights. “I spoke to Thorne today. He called to ‘check in’ on your progress.”
Something in his tone made her turn. “And?”
“And he spent twenty minutes detailing the ‘pollution’ of your spirit by external influences. Meaning me. Meaning anyone who isn’t him.” Marcus set the glass down on a side table with a sharp click. “Iris, some of the things he’s saying… they’re irrational. Unhinged. He kept referring to a ‘cleansing’ you might need. It sounded… violent.”
A cold knot formed in Iris’s stomach, but she immediately shook her head, her red hair brushing her shoulders. “He’s passionate. He cares. He’s the only one who hasn’t tried to shove me into a box, who understands the hunger isn’t a flaw, it’s a fact.” Her voice rose, defensiveness sharpening each word. “I owe him. He saw me when I was nothing.”
“Seeing you and owning you are different things,” Marcus said quietly. “I’m concerned he might cross a line. That his… fascination… could turn into obsession. He might get violent if he feels thwarted.”
“No.” The word was absolute. Loyalty, thick and desperate, clogged her throat. Without Thorne’s initial validation, where would she be? Still hating herself in silence. “He’s helped me. He’s my doctor.”
Marcus watched her, the concern in his eyes deepening into something like sorrow. He saw the blind spot, the dangerous gratitude. He let out a long breath. “Fine. Just… be careful.” He changed tactics, seeing the wall go up. “What did you need from Ben and Alan, then? In the library.”
The shift was a relief. Iris leaned back against the cool glass, a sly smile touching her lips. “I want them. Fully. No more hands and mouths and promises. I want their cocks. I want them inside me.”
Marcus didn’t flinch. He simply waited.
“I want them here,” she continued, the vision unfolding as she spoke. “All the time. They can move into the guest rooms. They can act as bodyguards here in the apartment. They can cook, clean, shop. Take care of my schedule—driving me in the new SUV, managing the appointments for my hair, nails, gym, massages, everything. All of it. So all I have to do is fuck and study.”
“What sort of image will that create?” Marcus asked, a faint, humorless smile on his lips. "Two scruffy student slouching around...'
“They'll have haircuts, makeovers,” Iris said, her eyes glinting. “We'll kit them out in uniforms... Chauffeur... Butler... Black suits, tuxedos when appropriate. They should look… impeccable.”
Marcus was silent for a long moment, considering the logistics, the control, the sheer theatricality of it. He gave a single, slow nod.
“Yes. Alright. If they agree to the terms, they’re yours. But Iris…”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping.
“This hunger of yours… adding two more full-time lovers to your… itinerary. What’s your capacity? Honestly.”
She looked right at him, her green eyes clear and depthless. The truth was her only compass in this.
“I’m insatiable.”
The words hung in the perfumed air, final and absolute. It wasn’t bravado; it was a simple, bleak fact. She was a vessel with a hole in the bottom, and no amount poured in would ever fill her up.
Marcus held her gaze for a beat longer.
"The more I get Marcus, the more I want," she told him. "It will be good for business..."
He then nodded, accepting the terms of a war he couldn’t hope to win, only manage.
“Then I’ll have the contracts drawn up. For their services. Room, board, a salary. Discretion clauses. They start tomorrow.”
He turned to leave, the conversation about Thorne shelved but not forgotten, a crack in the foundation of her constructed world. Iris stayed by the window, watching his reflection retreat. The quiet of the apartment settled back, but it was a different quiet now. It was the silence before a storm, the waking of a doctor’s dark obsession across the city. The hunger yawned inside her, wide and aching, momentarily pleased by the arrangement, already twitching in anticipation of tomorrow.
She was insatiable.
And now, she had a system to feed it.