Chapter Thirteen
The hot breath of the dog draws me out of my heavy sleep, the sleepiness being something that happens a lot after an episode. It’s different for everyone, but this is how I function with it. I feel better, and as I roll over, blinking the grogginess away, I see my captor, mopping the floors of the basement.
And there’s no hooded mask on his head.
I grow still at the sight, taking in the thick of his neck, the tone of his beautiful olive colored skin, and the darkness of his short hair. I don’t have to see his face to know he’s handsome.
“How long have I been asleep?” I ask him, hoping he’ll turn around.
“Almost thirteen hours,” he answers me. “There’s food on the nightstand for you. You should eat. I won’t skip any meals from now on.”
I sit up carefully, seeing the plate of breakfast food and two bottles of Gatorade. “The sodium is helpful,” I think aloud, eyeing him.
“Yeah, I read that.”
I bite back a small smile. For someone who was going to murder me, it seemed strange to read up on medical information. I grab my food and force myself to eat the eggs and toast, tempted to ask the man if that’s all he knows how to make. I don’t, however, deciding that silence is probably better.
“What else was in my file?” I ask him, tempting a conversation. He listened to me as I droned on about my grief, so maybe this is the way to escape him. Maybe I can make him think we’re friends. Or something. Obviously, the window escape isn’t going to work.
“Uh,” he falters, keeping his back turned. “Just information—whatever would help find you.”
Find me.
“Were you…” My voice trails off as I put the pieces together, my heart jumping to my throat. “Were you hired to kill me?”
He’s silent, but that’s enough of an answer. That’s what he meant when he said he didn’t choose me. Maybe he hasn’t killed me because he doesn’t want to. Excitement pulls at me. Maybe he can become an ally. It’s a reach. It’s a long reach.
“Do you know who hired you?”
“No, well…” He pauses, shaking his head. “None of this information will change the outcome for you.”
“Okay, so then tell me the truth—so I know. Let me die knowing… And with a shower, preferably.”
He chuckles. “Go take one. You won’t get through the window now.”
I finish my food and down one of the Gatorades, easing myself up and off the bed. I feel stiff, like I’ve slept for days. My eyes drift down to the pin pricks on the top of my hand, and I pause, recognizing the marks. “Did you give me an IV?”
“Yeah. Go shower.”
“Did you sedate me?”
“Does it matter?” His voice is flat, and as much as I want to tell him that it does, it really doesn’t. I’m still alive, and I feel significantly better than I did when I came to. I stand right next to the bed for a few minutes as the momentary lightheadedness fades. I take a deep breath, tempted to cross the room and touch him. I don’t know why I want to see his face so bad.
“There’s a towel in there.” He gestures to the bathroom.
“Okay…” My voice trails off as I ease toward the bathroom. The dog joins me, hopping down from the bed.
“Stay, Major.”
The dog freezes, sitting.
I pause, glancing down at him. “His name is Major?”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer anything else, and I don’t ask, slipping into the bathroom. I glance up to the window and nearly laugh at the steel plate over the window. He made it entirely impossible for me to slip through again—but he also took away the light.
I reach into the tile shower and start the water, making sure to set it to lukewarm so the heat doesn’t mess with me. Before this, I had gotten to the point where I could take hot showers without passing out, but now, I don’t trust myself, and don’t feel like getting a concussion.
Peeking back out of the bathroom, I check to see if he’s there. He’s not anywhere in my line of sight, and neither is the dog, Major. However, I still close the door. It leaves me in the pitch black, but I brush it off, stripping out of my dirty clothes. I don’t know if I’ll have anything fresh to put back on, but at this point, I’m desperate to be clean.
I step under the stream of water, wincing at the slight chill it brings. However, it’s better than nothing. Except… soap? I can’t see, and I find myself reaching out, feeling along the tile wall. However, as I do so, the bathroom door opens.
Oh hell no.
“Get out,” I demand, my voice shaky. “I don’t want you in here.”
“You don’t get to make demands in this house.” His tone is dark and husky as I peer through the glass doors. He’s just a shadow, and that shadow disappears as he shuts the door behind him.
It’s dark again, and he’s in here with me.
My heart thrums as I hear a zipper in the midst of the running water. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t fall.”
My mouth grows dry. I know he can do that without coming in here. He could just stand right outside. He could do anything other than get in this shower. I have a strong urge to fight him, but there’s this other part of me… The part that wanted him to touch me in the woods and then reached out and touched his face in the darkness, unafraid and excited.
The glass door opens, and a burst of cooler air makes me shiver. I tense as his body brushes mine. My thighs clench, my stomach knots up, and I feel like I’ve never taken a shower with someone before.
“Just breathe,” he chuckles wickedly. “You were such a little slut in the woods, don’t act like this bothers you.”
I swallow hard, offended but turned on at the same time. Maybe this man really is the devil—the kind that holds your hand, luring you to your death with all the promises of feeling a high like never before. A light touch brushes my arm, and I catch my breath, my thoughts dissipating. Maybe this is how I want to die.
“It’s impossible to see shit in here,” he laughs, and it’s lighter, different.
“You didn’t have to kill the power.”
“You didn’t have to break the window,” he retorts, and I hear a bottle opening. A squirt of liquid catches me by surprise as it hits my back. Warm hands find my skin, and slowly, he lathers it, working his way up my back to my shoulders and down my arms. I shut my eyes, focusing on the gentleness in his touch.
Why is he doing this?
I’m tired of asking the question, and decide at this moment, I’m going to stop. I know my plan—to manipulate, to befriend, and then to convince him to let me go… Or something like that.
My body grows tense as his hands slip lower, working their way around my waist to my stomach. I should’ve done more crunches, but my insecurities stop there as I remind myself it’s pitch black. He lets out a soft groan as his hands dip a little lower. However, he stops abruptly.
“You can finish,” he clears his throat, removing his hands from me. A sting of disappointment hits, and I frown as I finish washing my body. He drops shampoo on my head, and I wash my tangled hair, turning to face the figure in the shower.
As I open my eyes under the stream of water, wrapped in the scent of a man—sandalwood and bourbon—I squint at the black shadow. I can’t really see him. There’s no light except for the glow under the door, but I try to make him out, anyway.
“You don’t act like a killer.” The words slip from my lips in a breathy murmur.
“You don’t know me.”
“So tell me about you then,” I say carefully, expecting him to recoil.
Instead, an iron grip lands on wrist, and before I can even process how he can tell where I’m standing, he pulls my body to his. My chest heaves as his cock slides against my lower stomach. I’m reminded of the feeling of it against my ass in the woods, and a moan slips from my throat.
His arm threads around my waist, holding me to him as he leans down to me. My bare breasts press against his chest. I try to breathe as his lips brush against my neck.
“You’re going to let me do whatever I want to you, aren’t you?”
I swallow hard, my fingernails now digging into his neck. “I’m not—I’m not a whore like you call me.” My heart pounds against the walls of my chest, waiting for his response with bated breath.
“Maybe not, but until your last breath, Little Red, you’ll be my whore.”
Fuck. My pussy aches to be touched at his words, and it’s the most disturbing and exhilarating feeling I’ve ever felt. He’s the Devil. He has to be, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want him to make good on his words.
His hand drops lower, slipping between my thighs and gliding against me. “You do want to be a slut for me.”
I tip my head back, wishing more than ever that I could see the man slipping his fingers inside of me. And I want him to kiss me on the mouth, but I don’t get my chance. His lips drop lower, tasting my skin. As he nips and sucks, my fingers slide up his neck and into his hair. It’s soft in my hands, and as he makes it to my chest, he buries his face between my breasts, kissing the place between. I tremble as his fingers work back and forth, priming me.
I can’t hold in the moan as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, lingering there and drawing out every bit of arousal I’d missed out on in the last few years. He leaves me aching for him as he drops even lower, making his way past my belly button, to my lower abdomen, and then parts my legs.
“No…” I tug at him, insecurities thrumming through me as I feel more exposed than ever before. “You don’t have to do—”
“Shut up,” he growls into my lower thigh, biting down hard enough that I yelp. “I get to do what I want, and I will fucking devour you.” He wraps his arms around my thighs and lifts me into the air…
And then buries his face between my legs.
I can’t hold back my cries as he sucks my clit into his mouth, pinning me harshly against the cold tile. As the water streams over us, I try to buck my hips, but he tightens his grip on my body. I can”t move. All I can do is give in, and let him pleasure me.
“Oh my… Oh my fucking…” I can’t get the words out as the arousal builds, drawing me to the edge. He growls into me as every muscle in my thighs grow tight, squeezing against him. I explode, my orgasm crashing over me. It”s so fucking forbidden and wrong, but so good.
But if this is how I survive, then so be it.