The Triad of Corruption

Golden streaks of sunlight filtered through the great barred window of El Impoluto, washing over polished mahogany walls and shelves crowded with trinkets, plunder from far-off coasts. Salt clung to everything, mingling with sweat and something richer still. A scent that had seeped deep into the ship’s grain.

Ysábella lay at the center of it, slanted light catching the sheen of sweat across her abdomen. Sheets lay tangled at her hips, the bed’s warmth still clinging to her skin.

An itch prickled under her breast. She scratched absently, finding a tick latched there. Her nails pinched it. A soft pop, a smear of blood. She wiped her fingers on the sheet.

Across the room, Villanueva lounged in his chair, bare-chested, bronze skin gleaming in the morning light. Scars mapped his torso. A map of old violence worn like a badge. He idly turned an empty glass in his fingers, a smirk playing at his lips as his dark eyes flicked toward her.

“You always were a fast learner, chiquita.”

Her stomach tightened, a dull thrum moving through her veins. The potion still pulsed in her blood, its aftertaste lingering on her tongue.

A shift in the room, a slow stirring in the shadow, pulled her gaze. The creak of heavy paws on old wood.

The mastiff rose from the corner, muscles rippling beneath its patchy coat. It scratched vigorously behind its ear with a hind leg, then lowered the paw to sniff the air, nostrils flaring. It arched its spine, joints popping in a stretch. Claws scratched slowly across the boards before a full-body shake sent its musk rolling through the room. Earthy, animal, intoxicating.

Ysábella’s breath caught as the aroma filled her lungs. That familiar, dangerous warmth began to spread low in her belly.

Tail wagging, it padded to the bed’s edge and lowered its massive head. Warm breath brushed her bare shoulder before its nose pressed just below her collarbone, savoring the sweetness that clung to her skin, each inhale was long and lingering.

“You still feel it, don’t you?” Villanueva hummed, tapping his glass against the arm of his chair. “How your body still calls to him.”

The words lingered in her thoughts, soft as a whisper but twice as cruel. Ysábella’s throat tightened; her gasp snagged on the silence. She wanted to deny him the satisfaction, but denial would be a lie to herself. Without conscious thought, she slid from the bed, bare knees scraping against the wooden boards with grace.

She knelt low, meeting the mastiff’s gaze head-on. Warmth pulsed in her chest, spreading through her veins. Her hands trembled as she reached for him, fingers sinking into the rough, patchy fur at his neck where a few swollen ticks clung deep in the creases. The skin beneath was dry, flaking under her touch.

​The mastiff rumbled, shifting beneath her hands. His tongue flicked out again and again, fast and eager, drawing thick, deliberate strokes up the curve of her neck. He tasted her, then pressed his tongue over and over, grazing her jaw, her cheek, the edge of her mouth. Her fingers tightening in his coarse fur.

Villanueva leaned forward slightly, voice low and indulgent.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? The things we fight, the things we deny. Only to find them waiting for us in the end.”

Another lick. This time across her lips. Her mouth parting, her tongue darted out, tasting him.

​A soft, broken sound slipped from her throat. Her hands slid higher, fingers tangled in the ragged scruff of his neck. She leaned into him, as the tongue curled, thick and hot, seeking entry. It pressed past her teeth, sweeping the inside of her cheek, before her own tongue met his in a slick, slobbering, primal kiss.

​The warmth curled deeper, winding tight inside her. Her hips shifted faintly, a restless ache blooming beneath the slow, molten pull of the potion.

Across the room, Villanueva’s smirk deepened.

And without a word, he reached for the small glass vial, lifting it from his coat pocket, swirling the thick, iridescent liquid between his fingers.

“Do you remember this, chiquita?” His voice was smooth, teasing.

Her stomach twisted. Fingers tightened instinctively in the mastiff’s fur as her gaze locked onto the swirling liquid. A pulse of heat coursed through her. Undeniable, familiar… terrifying.

Villanueva smirked, twirling the vial between his fingers. His eyes pinned her in place, her shoulders tensing under his gaze, fingers twitching against the mastiff’s thick coat, betraying the war within she was rapidly losing.

He leaned back, that insufferable smirk deepening. “Say it, chiquita. Convince me.”

Ysábella swallowed, throat bone-dry. The weight in her belly was unbearable. Warmth coiled deeper with every slow breath, stretching each second into something molten, hungry. The ache threaded through her bones now, sinking in.

She clenched her fists in the mastiff’s fur, grounding herself, exhaling slowly through her nose. Shame prickled, losing ground to the vial’s promise.

“You want me to beg?” Her voice broke. “Please… I need it…”

Villanueva tilted his head, smile widening. Dark, indulgent.

“Need?” he murmured, drawing the word out, amusement glinting in his eyes.

He let the silence hang for a little longer.

“Say what you want.” His voice was soft, coaxing, cruel in its patience. “Tell me. I want to hear you.”

Her heart pounded. Flush crept up her cheeks as her mouth opened, but the words stuck. The mastiff’s breath warmed her skin, the scent of him thick in her lungs. Her hips shifted without thought, the ache unbearable.

Another breath. Ragged, desperate. “I… I want it,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I want him.”

Villanueva tilted his head, smirking. “I’m not quite convinced.”

Her lips trembled. “I want him to…” She hesitated. The nwords slipped out before she could stop them. “…fuck me.”

His smirk deepened, pleased. “Then prove it, chiquita.”

The mastiff shifted beneath her palms. Warm, solid, unyielding. His presence seeped into her hands, grounding her, suffocating her. A presence that steadied… and unraveled her.

Ysábella closed her eyes for a beat, fingers threading deeper into the rough, uneven coat. The musk hung thick in the air. Cloying, heady, sinking deeper into her lungs with every breath.

She drew him in more, savoring the musk that clung to him. When his breath brushed her neck, she felt him take her scent in return. The same rhythm, the same breath, one feeding the other.

She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to her feet. The warmth in her limbs made her movements fluid, almost languid, as if some unseen thread pulled her forward. Her breath was steady, but her pulse betrayed her, quickening as she stepped toward Villanueva.

He watched her, the vial still twirling between his fingers, amusement deepening. “So eager now, chiquita?”

She didn’t answer, only stopped before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

His smirk widened as he uncorked the vial. With deliberate slowness, he tilted it, letting a single glistening drop bead at the rim. He held her gaze as he let the drop fall directly onto the flushed head of his cock, where it gleamed like pearl against his skin.

Villanueva leaned back, tilting his head slightly, his smirk deepening. “Take it, chiquita. Right from where I’ve placed it.”

Ysábella’s stomach clenched. He was playing with her, as he always did. The need simmered beneath her skin, the ghost of the potion still on her tongue, urging her closer.

She hesitated, then leaned in. Her lips hovered over his cock, the scent of him, salt and musk, mingled with the potion’s enticing sweetness.

Villanueva chuckled lowly. “Go on, chiquita. You wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

Her ribs constricted. Each breath she drew was shallow, catching in her throat. She should resist. She should fight. Her body trembled.

His hand settled on her head, a warm, heavy weight that was both grounding and a claim. She parted her lips and took him into her mouth. The moment her tongue made contact with the potion, warmth spread, unfurling like slow-burning embers. Silk-smooth, deceptively sweet, it deepened into something richer, coiling low in her stomach, seeping into her veins.

​He pressed down, setting her pace, and she followed, head bobbing as she took him deeper. A soft, broken moan escaped her throat.

Villanueva traced a finger along her jaw, tilting her chin up until her eyes met his. “You don’t know what the potion  does, do you, chiquita?”

Ysábella said nothing. She didn’t want to know. Her mouth chasing the last traces of the potion. The heat bloomed in her belly, igniting an ache that never fully faded. Her breath quickened, her pulse fluttering. She couldn’t stop. Her movements grew more desperate, taking him deeper, her head bobbing in a hungry rhythm until every last trace of the potion was gone.

“Some really sick fuck made it.” His voice dropped low, almost thoughtful. He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “An alchemist obsessed with breaking the laws of nature.”

A pulse throbbed in her throat. Her skin prickled, and a faint tremor crawled through her chest.

Villanueva’s smirk deepened as he felt her stiffen.