Chapter 6 Cade
CADE
Ansel vanishes into the bedroom before I can say a word. That’s fine. I’ve pushed him far enough.
I’ll let him run. For now.
When I’m dry, I stride out naked into the room. Ansel is in bed already, eyes closed and sheets pulled up to his chin. My lips twitch. He looks like a Victorian maiden trying to protect his virtue.
He can try, but I’ll seduce him eventually. It’s just a matter of time until I have him wrapped around my little finger.
So long as he doesn’t realize he’s already got me in that position, everything will be fine.
I slide under the sheet beside him, turning to face him. “No post-sex snuggles?”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“We watched each other get off.”
“Nope,” Ansel sniffs. His eyes are still closed. “Didn’t happen.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I brush a kiss over his temple before rolling onto my back. “C’mon. Tie me up so we can both get sleep.”
“What’s the point? You’ll just get out of them again.”
“Not unless you say I can. Besides, we both know you’ll sleep better if you do.”
“Fine.” He sits up and reaches for the rope. There’s no straddling me this time. He doesn’t even look at me as he ties some hurried and frankly atrocious knots. “There. Now go to sleep.”
I wait until he’s settled back on his side. “What, no bedtime story?”
I swear there’s a small laugh. One so quiet that I know he doesn’t mean for me to hear. “Go to sleep, Brad.”
The foreign name has me holding my tongue. How much longer will I have to keep up this charade? I’m seriously regretting giving him the fake name in the first place.
I don’t go to sleep for a long time. I stay awake, listening to the sounds of the forest outside.
I’m sure Ansel wouldn’t have drifted off if he’d been expecting company, but I can’t help it.
I’ve been trained to expect danger at every possible moment.
Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted he tie me to the bed.
It’ll slow me down if we do have any uninvited… guests.
Why are you worrying about this? You’re the victim here, remember? No one is going to come in here and hurt Ansel. He works for them.
My brain might be logical, but logic left the conversation a while ago. Probably around the same time that rope flipped me upside down and I realized my butterfly was more than he seemed.
Fuck it. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep unless I do something.
Ansel’s gentle snores reassure me he’s deep under. Working silently, I free myself from the restraints and slide from the bed.
It takes me less than a minute to find where he’s hidden my dagger in the other room. I smile when I see how nicely he’s folded my clothes. He shows more care than I do when the roles are reversed. It makes me wonder who takes care of him.
I’m starting to think I want to be that person.
Too fast? Wylder would say so. But fuck him. He knows this is what I’m like.
When I want something, I make it mine. I’ve always been that way. Okay, this is the first time I’ve done this with a person, but I think that’s because none of the men I’ve fucked have intrigued me like Ansel.
I slide back into the bed and stash the dagger under my pillow. There. Now I can sleep.
Ansel mutters something in his dreams before rolling toward me. His hand lands on my chest, his leg going over mine.
I still for a second, wondering how to explain this in the morning. Do I even need to? Want to?
Fuck it all. This is future Cade’s problem. Right now, I just want to exist with Ansel.
So I gather my butterfly in my arms, snuggling him for all I’m worth.
Finally, I can rest.
Warm breath hits my nipple as I slowly wake up. Ansel is right where he was when I fell asleep—head on my chest and leg thrown over mine.
I savor the feel of him in my arms. This is where he belongs. Right here. I brush a kiss over his forehead. When will he let me kiss him for real? It has to be soon, right?
Unfortunately for me, the kiss startles him awake. His head pops up like a bewildered rabbit. “Whas ’appening?”
“Morning!” I tighten my grip on him, already knowing how fast he’s going to pull away when he realizes what’s going on. “How did you sleep?”
Sure enough, Ansel jerks away like he’s been poked with a cattle prod. “What the fuck? Why aren’t you tied up?”
“Ropes must’ve come loose in the night,” I lie. “You really need to let me teach you better knots.”
He doesn’t respond. He makes me sit up and hastily ties me to the headboard again, rushing the knots. At this point, I don’t know if he’s doing it because he wants me to escape or because he’s too prideful to accept help.
As soon as I’m secure, he jumps out of the bed and practically runs for the bathroom. I watch his peachy ass bounce hungrily. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face between those cheeks. He could tie me up first. All I’d need is my tongue. I wouldn’t even complain if he suffocated me.
What a way to go.
Sadly, when Ansel returns, he ignores me entirely. My dick is despondent. My brain is telling my body to be patient. It’s hard when you’ve gotten used to getting what you want. Especially after having him in my arms all night.
He’ll crack eventually. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
So, while I wait for Ansel to come around, I hum my favorite nineties songs, trying to distract myself. I could, once again, easily get out of these restraints, but I’m telling myself not to. To let him be the one to set me free. To ask—no, beg—me to touch him.
So I lounge on the bed, naked, half singing my favorite tunes until I drive Ansel from the cabin.
“Stop singing that old shit!” he shouts as the door slams behind him.
Hmm, he really needs better taste in music. Or at least to give this stuff a try. I should make him a playlist, or maybe I could even go old-school and burn him a CD.
My eyes turn toward the window, and I see him check his phone and hang his head low. He runs his hands through his hair a few times before he faces the woods and lets out a long scream.
That makes me wince. Oh dear. What’s stressing him out? The situation or my singing?
Whatever it is, he’s not handling it well.
But if I hadn’t heard that wail, I’d never know he was upset.
Because when he walks back into the cabin and straight to the small makeshift kitchen, he looks composed.
He reaches up, the shirt snaking up his stomach as he pulls out two cans, a pot, and a bowl.
We skipped breakfast entirely. I’m sure anxiety has curbed his appetite. He probably doesn’t want to eat. I, however, am starving. I could eat anytime.
I’d eat him, if he’d let me.
The smell of chicken noodle soup wafts toward me as he heats our lunch on the small stove. When he pours some into a bowl, he spills some on the ground and swears loudly.
“Little butterfly?” I say, making his back tense.
He peers over his shoulder. “What?”
“You seem distressed.”
“I’m not. I’m perfectly calm and collected.”
But I see the way his hands tremble as he brings the bowl toward me.
“We could talk about it. You could tell me all the things in your head. Especially who you’re working for.”
“No. I’m not doing that. You can shut up.”
I sigh as he sets the bowl down.
“No, I can wait. You should eat first,” I tell him, but he shakes his head.
“I’m not hungry.”
That makes my lips turn down. “You should eat to keep up your energy. I know it doesn’t feel like you need it, but trust me, you do.”
“And how would you know?” He picks the bowl up, holds it near his lips, and blows on it.
He asks it sassily, like he doesn’t expect a serious answer. I don’t plan on giving him one either, but I do. It slips from my lips as easily as it was for me to get out of that rope.
“I’ve been without food before. I know what it’s like to starve. How it weakens you so much you can barely think, let alone move.”
That makes his eyes widen and his lips part. “What?”
I shrug, unsure of why I revealed that. I don’t plan on giving him any more little tidbits. At least not yet. “It doesn’t matter. Just know that if you want to make it through this, you need to eat. Or you’ll crash and burn. Trust me.”
He doesn’t trust me like that. Not yet. But he’ll learn to. I just hope to mitigate some of the steeper learning curves with advice from my past, lived experiences.
From the life lessons my father ingrained in me.
Fucked up lessons, but ones nonetheless.
He purses his lips. “Fine, I’ll eat.”
I slip away from the seriousness of the moment with a smirk. “Good. And then after that, you know what would help?”
He eyes me. “What?”
“A blow job. A nice throat fucking.”
His lungs inhale, sharp and surprised. “I’m not giving you a blow job, Brad.”
The way he says blow job has my dick aching, but there’s that fucking name again.
“I didn’t say you’d be giving me one.”
His cheeks flush, and he slams the bowl of soup onto the rickety end table. It sloshes over the edge as he straddles me, his eyes flashing, his cheeks flaming.
“I’m not letting you give me a blow job either. I don’t want one.”
My gaze sneaks down to his pants. They’re tight in the crotch. I love how he thinks straddling me is going to make me believe he’s not interested. He’s a liar. A cute one, too.
He bares his teeth at me. “Stop looking at me.”
“Can’t help it. You’re on my lap. I’m naked, and you’re hard.”
“I’m not. It’s just my dick. It’s that big.”
That makes my lips twitch into a smile, and his do the same. Right before he shuts it down.
I continue to grin up at him. “Either way, your dick in my mouth would go a long way to helping you relax. Look how wonderful last night was, and that was without touching.”
“Nothing happened last night.”
“Really?” I drawl. “We’re back to playing that game, are we?”
“There’s no game, and there are no blow jobs happening either.” He grabs the bowl of soup once more and spoons up some of the broth. He brings it up to my lips, and I suck on it, making him roll his eyes.
“Do you ever eat without sucking?”
“You’ll have to find out.”