Chapter 5 Cade
CADE
The day passes with Ansel feeding me two more protein bars and more water.
Each time, I make sure to lick his fingers, even sucking on them a little.
He curses and blushes, acting like he’s offended.
I might buy it if his fingers didn’t linger on my lips.
If they didn’t return there immediately after he scolds me.
Ansel wants me as much as I do him. He’s just trying to behave.
Adorable, if I do say so myself. If he keeps this up, he’ll have me eating out of the palm of his hand.
Given I’m willingly keeping myself as his victim, it’s safe to say he already does. Maybe once I’ve fucked him, my brain will return to normal. I’ll be able to move on from this…fixation, and everything will be fine.
That’s if you leave here alive.
It’s a good point. Ansel isn’t likely to kill me, but I still don’t know who he’s waiting for. He’s checked his phone several times, his frown deepening with whatever he was or wasn’t seeing.
I’m not overly concerned. I’ve faced worse odds in the past and walked away. I will this time, too.
The light outside has faded now. While I’ve been content to just lounge in bed all day and ogle Ansel, I’m starting to get uncomfortable. “Hey, butterfly?”
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up from his phone, nor does he protest at the nickname. He’s probably given up. The more he insists he hates it, the more inclined I am to use it.
Ansel’s a smart man. He’s learning how I tick with each hour that passes.
Does he realize I’m doing the same with him?
“Who are A and N?”
His eyes flash up to meet mine.
“Why?”
“I see it carved into the wall here. I’m assuming A is you. Who is N?”
He looks away from me. “A friend.”
“You carved it while in this bed?”
Now I’m getting jealous. Who the fuck is N?
“It’s not what you’re thinking, you perv. Now leave me alone.”
I sigh, knowing I won’t get much further with him on this. Maybe one day he’ll tell me who the mystery “friend” is.
“I’d love to obey, but I really need a shower.”
Ansel’s hands freeze over the screen once more.
He doesn’t look at me this time. In fact, he’s been pointedly not looking at me ever since returning from the other room this morning.
I don’t blame him. If he had been the one tied to the bed naked, I wouldn’t want to look at him either.
Not if I wanted to hold on to my control, anyway. “What?”
“I need a shower,” I repeat slowly. “You know, that thing you had this morning where you get all clean and shiny?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he blusters, twisting his phone in his hands, “it’s not necessary. I’ve fed you and kept you hydrated. That’s all you need.”
“Hygiene is very important too. Were you not taught that as a child?”
Ansel rolls his eyes. “Weren’t you taught that people who’ve been kidnapped should be silent?”
Actually, I was taught the opposite. How to make my victims scream and beg for death. “I’m not sure my father ever planned on me being kidnapped.”
A lie. He did. He prepared us all for this exact scenario. I was just eighteen when he had me kidnapped by hired mercs. The lesson was simple: get yourself out of the situation or don’t return home.
Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck about anything to do with my father. His wealth, his name, his mansion. He could have kept the fucking lot of it as far as I cared.
But my brothers… I gave a fuck about them. It was for them that I fought. For them, I escaped. It was for them that I carried out work for The Firm.
Well, that and because it was fun. Really fucking fun. What other career paths would’ve enabled me to…experiment the way I have?
None. Not without landing me in federal prison, anyway.
“You can’t shower,” Ansel says. He sets his jaw, determined, but it’s kinda ruined by the fact that he still won’t look at me. “It’s unnecessary.”
“Be that way then,” I drawl, stretching myself the best I can. “You’re the one who has to sleep with me. I’m not going to complain if you want me all sweaty. You should get used to it for when we’re going to fuck.”
Ansel groans. “That’s never going to happen. Ever.”
I nudge him with my foot, finally getting his eyes on me. They drift down my body slowly. When they reach my tattoo, his pupils dilate. A tiny reveal, but I catch it. Makes me want to cover every inch of my skin in ink just to keep his eyes on me.
“If you say so, butterfly. Like I said, you’re the one who has to curl up next to me tonight, maybe snuggle on the pecs you can’t stop admiring. If you want me all smelly and sweaty, then I won’t judge you for it.”
“Fine.” Ansel slams his phone down on the bed. “You can have a fucking shower. But no funny business.”
“I promise.”
“I mean it, Brad.”
I frown internally. Fuck, I wish he’d call me by my real name…but that’d mean confessing that he kidnapped the wrong man. What would happen then? Would he set me free?
I definitely don’t want that. I’d have to force him to kidnap me again, and he said he didn’t want a second round, so that may be near impossible.
“I’ll be good,” I say before considering it again. “Well, as good as I can be.”
Ansel sighs. “That’ll have to do, I guess.”
He stands to untie me before pausing and giving me a pointed look. “Do I actually need to do this, or can you get yourself free?”
I smirk. “Which answer is going to make you feel better?”
He rakes a hand over his face. “You’re aging me, I swear.”
“Meh, it’s fine. You’re practically a baby.”
“I’m twenty-five!”
His indignation is adorable. “With terrible taste in music.”
Ansel’s mouth falls open. “You can’t be fucking serious. Have you listened to the shit you like?”
“Yes. Along with many millions of other people.”
“Other people who are living in the past.”
Working fast, I get my hands free of the knots.
Levering myself up, I stand to tower over Ansel.
I let my gaze rove over him hungrily. There’s barely anything of him on display, but my imagination fills in the gaps.
“I’m not living in the past. I’m right here in the present, with you, wondering what it’ll be like when you finally let me in. ”
Ansel’s face flushes, and his breathing comes out a little rougher. “That’s not going to happen. You’re not in charge here. I am.”
He stomps away toward the bathroom before I can retort. I follow after him slowly. He’s not in charge. Even if I were the typical whimpering victim, Ansel isn’t the one calling the shots.
But who is? What do they want with me—or rather, Brad? How did my butterfly get tangled up with them? And why?
So many questions, but finding out the answers might lead to this being over before I’m ready for it to be.
Ansel is banging around in the tiny bathroom, pulling out a towel. It’s far from the luxurious ones I’m used to, but it’s clean. “There. You can use my soap.”
I step into the shower as he moves toward the door. I casually flick on the water before speaking. “Where are you going?”
He stumbles before catching himself on the doorframe. “Out there.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say, catching water in my cupped hands and sluicing it over my shoulders. There’s no shower curtain or door, so water gets everywhere. “I might think about escaping if you leave.”
“You’d have to go past me to do that.”
“Or I could go through that window.”
Ansel’s eyes dart to the window. “It’s locked.”
“It’s not.” I chuckle. “And even if it were, one solid pop in each corner would have the glass coming free from the frame.”
He sucks on his teeth before shaking his head slowly. “You won’t do that. You could’ve left at any point last night and didn’t. If you were going to escape, you would’ve done it by now. You don’t want to. You told me that.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind. You sure that’s a risk you want to take?”
Ansel knocks his forehead against the doorframe before turning to face me. “You just want me to watch you shower.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m genuinely considering making a break for it. Maybe I’m getting bored with you.”
That makes him sputter in anger. He doesn’t want me bored with him.
Good, because that was a lie. A test.
One he’s passed with flying colors.
“Fine.” Ansel crosses his arms over his chest and twists away. “Shower. I’ll stand right here. I can be in the room and not watch you.”
He thinks that now, but that’s because he doesn’t know about the show I’ve got planned. By the time I’m through, I’ll not only have him watching me, but I’ll have reminded him of the fun we could have together. There’s no point in being locked up in this cabin if we aren’t making the most of it.
Ansel wants me, he just doesn’t want to want me.
I step fully under the spray, lifting my chin and letting the water roll down my chest. My hands follow the path, smoothing over my pecs and down my abs. I soap them up and repeat the move. I moan, pinching my nipples briefly as I pass. “Fuck, I’m going to smell just like you.”
“Like me and a million other men.”
I grin at him. “Didn’t realize you went around sniffing strangers. Good thing I’m showering if you’re going to be smelling me this closely.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know that’s not what I meant. How can you make everything dirty?”
“It’s a special talent of mine. I’m talented in lots of areas.”
Ansel is blushing now. He’s trying not to look at me, but I can see his eyes betraying him. They keep sneaking little glances, so fast I might not notice.
But I do. I notice all of them.
Especially the ones lingering on my hip and the raven tattooed there.
I should tell him what it means, but I won’t. Not yet.
I add more soap and lather up the rest of my body. I’m only half faking the moans I give as the hot water eases my tense muscles. Being tied up without orgasms isn’t nearly as fun as I’d hoped.
I meticulously clean every inch, except for my cock. I don’t touch myself there even once.
When I’m done, I rinse off, keeping my face impassive. I let the water slide down me, washing the soap away, before reaching for the handle to turn the water off.
“Wait,” Ansel says suddenly. “You haven’t finished.”
I don’t smirk, I just shoot him a confused look. That’s me. Completely innocent. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. “What?”
Ansel’s cheeks are burning. He gestures at my crotch. “You haven’t washed…you know.”
I raise a brow. “I thought you weren’t watching.”
“I wasn’t,” he says. “I mean, I was trying not to. But you make it hard to ignore you.”
My gaze dips down to his jeans, to the bulge that definitely wasn’t there earlier. “Just admit it. You want me.”
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’m leaving. You’re obviously not going to escape.”
I soap up my hand before wrapping it around my cock. My hard, aching cock. “But how will you know I’m all clean?”
His eyes bug as I start to slowly stroke myself.
“You better watch closely,” I say huskily. “Make sure I’m being thorough.”
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning myself. Gotta make sure I’m doing it properly.”
“That isn’t cleaning yourself. You’re getting yourself off.”
I shrug one shoulder as I tighten my grip. All the tension is falling away now, the slow-burning lust rising to take its place. “So what if I am? If you’re not going to take care of me, then I’ll take care of myself.”
“I’m not doing this,” he whispers, watching the flick of my wrist like a hawk. “This is wrong. So fucking wrong.”
He doesn’t move to leave.
I step closer to the edge of the tub. “Stop thinking about what’s wrong and right and just let yourself feel.”
Ansel’s chest is rising and falling sharply. He can’t look away from where I’m touching myself. His pupils are completely blown as he stares, mesmerized.
Spreading my legs wider, I jack myself steadily under Ansel’s gaze. Fuck, it’s so hot with him watching me. Do I have an exhibitionist kink I didn’t know about? Or is it just because it’s Ansel?
It’s probably that. Everything about this man seems to turn me the fuck on.
My skin feels like it’s on fire as I drag myself closer to the edge.
My balls are aching for release, so I tug on them roughly.
I’m desperate to touch Ansel, to drag him in here and devour those pouty lips.
To push him up against the wall and rut against his ass.
Maybe put my cock between his thighs and use them as a sleeve.
Then, once I’m done, I’ll go to my knees. I’ll take him into my throat until he’s screaming my name. Until nothing else exists except the way that he feels.
I don’t do any of that, though. Not yet. It’s too soon. Ansel isn’t ready.
Just the thought of it is enough to have my balls drawing up. There are so many things I want to do with my butterfly. Countless things.
Right now though, I’ll settle for seeing him come.
His hand drifts to the bulge in his jeans. He presses against it, his tongue swiping at his lower lip.
“That’s it,” I encourage him, my voice little more than a rasp. “Touch yourself. Show me how much you’re enjoying the show.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should.”
He bites his lip.
“Come on, Ansel,” I urge. “Make yourself feel good.”
He curses before shoving his hand beneath his pants. I can’t see his cock, but it’s enough. He’s touching himself. My butterfly is getting himself off.
Because of me.
My hand is flying over myself now as I eye him hungrily. My pulse is pounding in my ears, my hips fucking my fist furiously. God, I wish it were him wrapped around me instead. I bet he makes the sweetest sounds.
Just then, he gives me a gift, a promise. His head falls back, and a delicious moan leaves his lips.
It’s not as good as my name, but seeing as he doesn’t know it, I’ll take this as a win.
I paint the tub and the floor with my cum as my orgasm rushes through me. Ansel gives a small grunt, his spare hand shooting out to grab the sink, his chin hitting his chest.
My breath rattles through me as I eye the damp patch on the front of his pants. I wait until Ansel looks back at me, then I rasp just two words.
“Good butterfly.”