17. Draven

I 'll bask in the pleasure she just provided me after I get my answer. My hand wraps around her jaw to direct her gaze upward, I can see that she is conflicted—surprised possibly, but whatever it is, I could care less.

"Speak, Max."

A nervous laugh slips from her swollen lips from both my cock, and my own bruising them through our kiss.

"Your cock hit me on the way—"

The speed at which I roll her onto her back and move on top of her makes her gasp. I turn her head, the cheek which was hit now facing straight up. "It's welting," I growl. "I may cause this on your ass, Little Sheep , but never would I do this to your face. Who the fuck hit you?"

"I-I hit a pole…"

While I would not put that past her, because she does seem to be the type to get distracted and slam into one, I can see where rings caused divots into the bone at the highlight of her cheek.

I close my eyes and lean closer, my nose brushing against the place of impact. "Do not lie to me," I whisper and place my fingers into her mouth as she's opening to speak again. Her body is ridged under me, my legs straddling her hips to keep her still if she were to actually fight.

It doesn't take me but a mere moment to smell him. Beyond the floral darkness of my Little Sheep, and the body wash she used likely an hour ago, I can smell his cologne.

Count…

I take a deep breath and put my forehead down onto the bed beside her head. My fingers slipping from her mouth.

"Draven…?" She whispers, and though I'm certain I'm frightening her, all I see behind my closed eyes is a wash of red. I need to stay silent, or I might lash out.

One… two… three… My therapist tells me I have this knee jerk reaction to turn anger into physical violence. At the smallest of inconveniences, I would punch a hole into the closest object.

Whether that was a door, or someone's face, it didn't matter. I've improved, though only marginally, because the thought of taking Po's head and using it like a volleyball is playing in my mind. Gentle hands press against my chest, pulling me out of my daydream that was making me come to full attention once more.

"I'm good," she says, "he's an asshole, and the Green Goblin came to my rescue." He shouldn't have to— I stop the thought prematurely. "Good guy that one, weird concept because truthfully he isn't that short. I mean, a few inches shorter than me I think, but no mid—"

"Shh." I lift my head from the mattress and cover her mouth with my hand. "Just, shh."

My eyes flick from her swelling cheek to the scar over her eyebrow, I still need to take care of that, along with the one on her lip. The others scattered across her body; I'll give her a break before those are taken care of as well.

After a moment, I move my hand. "Was it Pot-Belly that hit you?" I just want confirmation, and while my tone mirrors anger, it isn't directed at her.

"Yes, but you don't need to go all hero and beat his ass."

I clear my throat and move from on top of her, my feet hitting the floor, causing the back of the trailer to move. She's shifting but I don't turn back to look at her, and just walk through the bedroom to the kitchen.

"Draven! I said don't do anything. It's fine!"

Opening the cabinet, I pull out a glass, followed by the fridge, where I grab the filtered water. I catch the sound of her feet hitting the floor. "Sit your ass right back down on that bed, Max, your legs aren't ready for you to be walking." I hear her gasp, and soon, the sound of the mattress weighing as she does as commanded.

After filling the glass, I move back into the bedroom, handing it to her. "First off, drink this." She stares at it for a moment, then takes it and sips. "Secondly, don't tell me what to do."

"So fucking demanding…" she murmurs into the cup.

I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head slightly. "Lastly," I pause, gazing at her as she sits completely naked on my bed. "I'm no hero. He touched what is mine, and I've already warned him."

Her cheeks flush as she stumbles over her words, "Don't think anyone has gone touch her and die on me. You know, like in the books? Also," she crosses her legs as she takes another sip, "I am not yours . Do I look like something to be owned?"

"Yes." I don't have any hesitation and she blinks in surprise. "You know where you came, and I don't mean around my cock." Her thighs squeeze and fuck, I need to remember she needs a break, or else I'll continue to break her. "You are mine until the contract is done, which is Monday."

If you are lucky. I'll leave that comment to myself.

The glass rests in her hands, now settled in her lap, as a cheesy grin soon spreads across her face. "Okay."

Okay?

Okay…

"By the way," her gaze trails down to my cock, which yes, is at full attention from staring at her. "Have you killed with that? I mean, damn."

I won't answer that question, instead I lean down and grab my boxers.

"Aw, no fun."

"They'll come off again, but if you keep staring at it, it will attack." I don't interject a chuckle, even though it is a joke. She, however, does throw her head back and laughs, which is nice to see.

She leans forward and puts her glass onto the side table and goes for her clothes. With one long stride, I grab her wrist. "What are you doing?"

Her lashes flutter. "Getting… dressed?"

"Did I say you could get dressed?" Her eyes round. "You didn't wear underwear, which would have been the only thing I would have let you put on."

The giggle that comes from her makes me shake my head and roll my eyes. "Grab a shirt, top cabinet." I gesture over the bed, and she jumps up and out of my grasp quicker than Shade began running after her scent. While she scurries, I move to the bathroom to take a piss.

"Does it matter which one?" She shouts, and I can hear fabric thumping against the floor. Is she throwing around my clothes?

I groan. "No…" I have a feeling I'm going to regret giving her free reign.

After cleaning up, including brushing my teeth and washing my face, I slip back out. I don't see any clothes on the floor, which means she either picked them up, or it was just hers that she tossed around.

She's sitting on the bed, legs crossed, a simple black shirt draped over her. It's literally a dress, and I enjoy it—maybe after the mazes I can chain her to my bed just like this. Make her my prize.

"Hmm…" I don't know what to do, she isn't leaving because I refuse to allow that, but I've never let someone stay with me. I'm a bit… out of sorts.

"I have a spare toothbrush." The moment the words come out of my mouth, she's gaping at me. "What?"

"I can brush my teeth when I get back—are you saying my breath stinks?" I think I offended her. "I just swallowed your cum, and you are complaining about my—"

God, she talks so much.

I'm over her, my hand behind her head gripping at her hair, right at the scalp. "You aren't going anywhere, and…" My lips are on hers roughly, her mouth opening, welcoming my tongue in to dance with hers. She is so aggravating, but I can't shake the feeling there's something inexplicable drawing me to her. It's like she has me under some sort of spell.

Settle… I groan and tear away, leaving her breathless. Her hands are inching around my neck. "No, to your breath." Leaning away before she can pull me back, I gesture for her to go to the bathroom. "Do I need to carry you, or are your legs okay?"

The Cheshire grin that comes over her makes me wonder why I even asked. I know she can walk, and I give her a moment to do so, but she just sits there. I'm surprised she didn't lift her arms up toward me. Why am I entertaining this?

Could she be a witch? Did she seriously put me under a spell?

I sigh, stepping to her and picking her up into a cradled position. She drapes an arm around my neck and settles. "It's your fault my legs are like Jell-O."

I refuse to comment on her jumping up onto the bed to grab one of my shirts just moments ago. Her legs are fine…

The bathroom barely fits me, so when I turn her into it, I slowly put her down onto her feet. "Are you hungry?" I ask, surprising her once again. "I need to keep your energy up."

She presses her lips into a tight line, her cheeks beginning to darken once more. "Sure—" I know she's going to say more and instead, I just close the door and leave her to do her business. "I'm allergic to peanuts! Don't kill me please!"

Looks like she's getting ramen—glad she said something, a peanut butter and jelly was going to be what I made her.

After filling a cup of instant noodles and placing it in the microwave, I hear the bathroom door open. Max emerges and walks toward me with a big, toothy grin, as if proudly showing off that she's brushed her teeth. I turn away and grab a fork, waiting for the thirty seconds to come to an end.

I can sense her eyes on my back, and the gentle hum of a question just barely keeping tethered to her tongue. My nights are silent, it's why I don't have a TV here. The most noise I have, is music, which I rarely put on because I prefer to hear the sounds coming from outside. Keeps me alert.

"Ask, Little Sheep," I say softly.

"Yay!" The ding of the microwave sounds, and I pull it open. "How did you survive a shot to the heart?" At least she isn't asking about my tattoos, I hate to tell her the boring answer of they mean nothing but just look good.

"It's because I don't have one." I turn and leaning my hip against the counter, holding down the lid with my hand to let the steam soften the noodles.

Her lips pout outward. "I can't lie but you can?"

A chuckle filters from my throat. "Yes."

I'm surprised she didn't stomp her foot at the defiant look she gives me. Without answering, I lift my opposite hand that wasn't preparing her noodles, and show her my palm, then turn it over. There's evidence of both an entry and exit wound at either end. "Stopped just before penetrating my heart."

"Wow," she breathes. "Lucky you."

Suppose so, not sure living is considered lucky. Right now, sure. I'm enjoying my weekend, which I can admit, I haven't for some time.

"I like the noodles a little hard," she steps to me, and I crane down as she stands beside me. "Thanks."

I nod and lift my hand, the fork lying beside it, ready for her to take. She grabs it and walks around me toward the living room, where she sits on the couch, crosses her legs, and gently blows the steam away from her face.

"After I'm done with you, I'm putting ice on your cheek." She looks up at me. "It's going to bruise; nothing can be done about that." At least it will keep the swelling down, especially if she's going to—wait, I probably should ask. "Do you plan on doing the mazes?"

She's slurping in her first bite, "Duh—" There's no hesitation, and though I'm conflicted about her talking with her mouth full, I choose not to scold her.

"Good." I don't necessarily believe it's a good thing, I'm just not here to dictate her life. Still, I'm a bit uneasy, especially given Marcella's weird comments early on, and Po's obsession. "Anyways, it will keep the swelling down, so it doesn't hinder you tomorrow."

After she takes another bite, she chews softly on her bottom lip, and I lick mine. Those lips, fucking Satan, I want them back around my cock.

"Can you tell me about them? The mazes?"

I'm not supposed to, it's against the rules to give any indication of what they are. But to be frank, they can go fuck themselves. Especially Po and Marcella.

"They typically change them every time, but the first maze is run by Midnight. Silent but deadly type. The second is Lephee—I have this feeling he is the reason you are here, so fuck him, his name is Troy." Honestly, I'll likely be thanking him later, but she doesn't need to know that. "The third maze is Blonde-Shell. She's got this thing with vanity, so take that as you will. Dobby is in her maze with her—"

"Why…" she finishes the food in her mouth before continuing her question. "Why is his name Dobby? He looks nothing like the creature from Harry Potter."

The edge of my lip curled as I let out a soft laugh, "We found him sniffing Blonde-Shell's socks one day."

"HER SOCKS?!" I'm surprised her broth doesn't spill out with how hard she jumps up. "Not panties?! Socks!!" She throws her head back and laughs probably harder than I've seen yet. "What a fucking weirdo!"

I nod. "Agreed. "

Before continuing, I reach and grab an apple, biting into it. I realize I haven't eaten, but I'm oddly not too hungry. I'll just make sure to eat when I wake up.

"Fourth maze—" I cut into her ostensibly never-ending laughter, "—is Pot-Belly."

That seems to snap her to attention. "Only about five percent of maze runners will make it past Blonde-Shell. No one, but one, has made it past Pot-Belly's."

"Why?" She asks quickly.

I shrug, taking another bite of the apple.

"I don't want an advantage anyways; I'll win without you telling me." She says defiantly. Something tells me she isn't putting on a strong front, that she truly believes that.

"It isn't that I won't tell you, Little Sheep. You asked the wrong question. Why no one has made it past Pot-Belly's isn't what you want to know. It's what's within his." I groan. "With very little people making it in, and even less making it out, no one really knows what goes on in there."

"Wait—" she leans over and sits down her finished cup of noodles. "Wait…"

I'm waiting…

"You aren't allowed in there?"

I shake my head.

"So, are you the owner of maze five?" I can sense her nervousness, and I'm not sure if it's because I may be that, or that I won't be.

"No, maze five is run by Sloth. Again, only one person has ever made it to his."

She hums in question. "How long ago was it that someone made it to that?"

"Seven years."

"Damn…"

I nod and cross the space to grab the cup, so she doesn't accidently knock it over. Any surprised response, I can just see her opening her arms and spilling it all over the place.

"Did they win?" She asks as I take the last bite of my apple, tossing it into the trash under the sink, I nod.

"They did." I confirm while pulling out a knife from the drawer. "Any more questions?"

Her eyes widen as she looks at the knife. "Why do you have a knife?" My brow cocks. "You already ate your apple… are you cutting another?"

"Do you want to do it here, or on the bed?" I ask.

"Do what?" She's quick to ask, seemingly more nervous. "I love slasher movies… are you going to ‘ ee er ee er' me?" She gestures with her hand as if holding a knife and stabbing up and down.

The imitation of the sound straight out of Psycho , nearly has me ready to laugh.

"I think your scars…" I point the knife at her face and slowly drag it down toward her legs, my tongue gliding across my upper teeth. "Are fucking perfect. However, I don't like they aren't from me."

I never claimed to be sane.

"Bed or couch?" I'm wondering if she is regretting not running from me yet.

"Bed…" Her tone is breathless, and I respond with a full, satisfied smile.

"Good girl. Now, come." I step aside and watch as she stands on nervous legs. She isn't shaking, necessarily, but the small hairs on her arms are lifted and I can see her toes curling while striding back to the bed.

As she crawls onto the mattress, she quickly turns to look at me. I don't care where they came from, I only care that when she looks at them now, she'll think of me .

I move up next to her, place my hand gently on her chest, and push her onto her back. "And—" she swallows, her voice faltering slightly, "The one on your chest?"

The scar that starts from my Adams apple and stops right in the middle of my sternum, is the one in question. "They tried to take the heart I told you I don't have, mon Petit Mouton… quite disappointed they were."

I spread her legs with my knee, then position myself over her, settling between her thighs. The tip of the knife grazes her lip, just above her scar. "Would you like to learn more French?"

Her breathing escalates. "Yes…"

" Tu saignes seulement pour moi ." I push the blade down, and drag it up, drawing the same path as the scar on the left side of her upper lip.

I love that she doesn't scream from the pain. Her teeth clench, but she minds it as though it's just a papercut.

"So… fucking good," I whisper, before moving the blade up to her eyebrow, where a quick slice breaks through the scar on the same side of her face as the one on her lip.

Again, she barely tenses, and I'm not sure I can wait until morning to ravage her again.

"What…" she huffs. "What does it mean?"

I lean forward, letting my tongue trace the cut on her lip and taste the blood seeping from it. "You only bleed for me."