33. Angel

He is fucking with me. It wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for the fact I am trying to fuck with him. He is a psychopath. Maybe I am too. But that doesn't excuse what he has done.

You need to eat. No shit, Sherlock.

What do you need? A way out of this fucking existence.

Are you cold? Want to watch a movie? What do you need? What do you want?

I haven't really been asked these questions a lot in my life. But he is so insistent every five minutes to ask them. And what is worse– I can't fucking tell how genuine he is. Guys that try to play you, or just want in your pants, they exude a creep aura that women learn to pick up on pretty early in life. I don't get that from him. He is a really great actor because I swear I catch myself now and then thinking he actually fucking means in. And if he does – Why? Why the fuck should he care? Why would he want to care?

We are up rather late, and I try to keep myself from drifting off. When it becomes too hard for me to stay awake, he decides it is time for us to go to bed. Us. He is giving me a bit more leeway. Playing nice for a little bit longer will get me out of here faster. He follows me to the bedroom and I expect to be locked in the cage again, but the cage is now in a broken heap in the corner. There are holes in the walls and bits of plaster scattered across the floor.

"I'll clean this up tomorrow," he says, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at the destruction.

"I am not really a neat freak."

I am sure he could tell that from my apartment when he broke into it. He goes to the closet and pulls down the chain he used to hang me there. My eyes widen and I turn to flee but he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him.

"You are sleeping in the bed," he says.

"Why do you need a chain?"

Glancing between the bed and chain, I can see the guilty look on his face. I knew he was a fucking psycho.

"I don't want you running away as soon as I pass out," he answers.

Smart. That was exactly what I planned.

He tugs me toward the bed and loops the chain through the hole in the heavy wood headboard. He snaps the lock on then pulls me down and wraps the other end around my wrists. His body is too heavy for me to wiggle out from underneath as he reaches into the bedside table and grabs another lock. Does the fucker stockpile them? I sigh, knowing I can't get away, as soon as I hear the second lock click shut. Holding up my hand, I glance at the chain and follow it all the way back to the headboard.

"I'll stay on my side," he says, stepping around the bed.

He tugs off his shirt and I stare at the mosaic of tattoos across his torso. He sits on the side of the bed and tugs off his boots and socks before reaching into his pockets and pulling out a knife and his wallet. He sets them on the table on his side of the bed and my eyes follow him as he stands and pulls off his pants. He flicks off the light before coming back to the bed and pulling down the comforter.

"Get on in, Angel."

I stand long enough for him to fix the comforter and then I lay down. It is a bed. It is better than the fucking cage. Maybe I will get tired enough to forget I am sleeping next to a psychopath. Then again, my brain can't get off the knife just on the other side of his body.

I tried to stay awake until I was certain he was asleep. He stayed on his side of the bed like he promised and even handed me my weighted stuffy to snuggle with before tucking me in. Never in my life has someone tucked me into bed. The dark room and full stomach had me drifting off to sleep before I realized it. By the time I open my eyes again, the clock on the table is telling me it is six in the morning. Fuck.

The chain is long enough to let me roll over but a weight pressing on my body holds me in place. Apparently, his promise to stay away only mattered when he was awake. Messiah has rolled near me in his sleep, and now his body is wrapped around me in a bear hug. My brain must have thought it was my weighted blanket during the night. For a moment I just lay there, feeling his hot breath brushing across the back of my neck. What do I do? I can't roll over him and get the knife. Or can I? Though I have been locked in a room with him for the past week, I can't gauge how heavy a sleeper he is.

Testing the waters, I wiggle against his bear hug on me and roll over. He doesn't stir. Reaching up, I try to test just how far the chain will let me go. Surely, with enough effort, I can reach the knife sitting on the other side of the bed. Through a slow process of wiggling and waiting, I manage to get my arms free enough to reach behind him. It is no use. Unless he rolls closer to the other end of the bed, I can't get over his body to the knife. Maybe.

I lift my leg up and rest it against his waist. His face curls in against my chest and I can smell his hair just beneath my nose. For a moment, I think my efforts are in vain because his arm tightens around me again. After a moment of holding my breath, I lean my weight against him. He rolls onto his back, leaving my body half astride him. I give it a few moments before I move so that maybe if he is waking up, he thinks I am just snuggling him like he did me. Fucker would probably like that.

With slow effort, I manage to get my knees on both sides of his hips. My fingers are barely able to reach up for the knife, but I am just able to pull it with the tips of my fingers until it is firmly in my grasp. When I see the glint of silver next to the knife, I realize the idiot left the lock key right there as well. Surely, an assassin for the mob isn't this stupid. I make quick work of unlocking the chain around my wrist and sliding it over his. Scared that he may wake up, I waste no time snapping the lock shut, snapping open the knife, and pressing it to his throat.

I just have to make one clean cut. He will bleed out before he can get loose. I can run to my apartment, grab my cash, and I can leave. His eyes snap open as soon as the blade touches his skin and it startles me. Instead of tossing me aside, he only smiles and reaches up, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

"Don't move," I growl through clenched teeth.

"Okay, Baby."

Wait, what? He shifts his body beneath me to adjust my weight, and I feel the firm press of something against my ass. Sick fucker.

"Are you fucking hard?"

"There is a beautiful girl on me."

"You are chained up!"

"I don't mind some kinky play."

"There is a knife at your throat." I lean my weight down, pressing the blade against his skin. I hear the sharp edge scritch across his stubble.

"Like I said, kinky play." He appears completely unphased right now, and I don't know if it is a ruse or if he really thinks I won't hurt him.

"You are fucked up," I spit.

"The best of us are, Angel."

His free arm wraps around my waist and he flips us, using his weight to press me into the mattress. The knife is still at his throat and my fingers shake as he leans into the blade. I can see the small beads of red forming against the shiny metal.

"Do you want to cut me, Baby?" he smiles, brushing his lips against my cheek. My stomach flutters in an unexpected way when his lips brush against my ear. "Cut me."

My fingers tighten around the knife. I can feel his hard cock pressing against my leg. There is so little fabric separating us. What shocks me the most isn't being pressed beneath him or the knowledge of what he wants to do with that cock pressing against me – it is my reaction. For the past year, anyone that has tried to get near me has been pushed away. I was afraid of them. I don't trust people. I have been burned too many times. But right now, when I should be panicking and screaming for him to get away – my body is craving something different. The same something he made me feel before when he pushed me to the bedroom floor. Arousal. It is such an odd feeling to have again that I am not even certain what to do.

While my brain is spinning, his lips are making a slow line down my neck. One hand is reaching beneath my shirt, creeping upward until his fingers brush the underside of my breast. I can feel the need pooling between my legs.

"Changed your mind, Angel?"

I turn my head to look at him. That stupid handsome face. His hair is messy from sleep and he has a dopey grin that almost makes him look charming.

"You are touching me," I tell him.

"I am," he smiles, leaning in to nuzzle my neck. "You are so soft. You smell like me."

The chain clinks as he moves his hand up my side. My fingers tighten around the knife, expecting him to take it from me the moment he can. I need to cut him. I need to cut him and run. The way his lips are moving over my neck is causing my stomach to flutter. My hips arch into him of their will. Steeling my nerves, I push against him. He rolls easily, letting me straddle his lap again as his hands continue to sweep across my torso. A thin smear of blood is on his neck, right beneath the hairline cut from the blade. Rolling the knife in my fingers, I try to find the nerve I need to just finish this job.

"What is it going to be, Angel?" he asks, pushing my body further down until his cock presses against my pussy.

I only have on a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. The fabric is loose enough around my thighs that it is easy for his cock to slide right against my lower lips. The heat of him presses against my entrance and he moans as he rocks his body into me.

"Fuck you," I growl.

"Please do," he smiles.

The chain smacks against the headboard as his hand darts out to grab my wrist. The weapon is forced away from both of us as his other hand grips my waist. Before I can react, he has shifted his body and his cock is pushed inside me. We gasp at the same time as he plunges deeper. There is a bit of pain – I haven't been penetrated since it all happened. And while the idiot in me had imagined this with him during a few of my weaker moments, I can't believe it is actually happening.

Sitting up, he keeps his hand on my waist as his hips buck up into me.

"Fuck, Angel," he whispers, nuzzling my neck.

The knife drops from my hand and lands on the floor with a heavy clink. His hand drops my wrist and he grabs my waist on both sides, rocking me against him. The curly hair above his cock scrapes along my swollen clit, causing my body to shudder with the sensation.

"You feel so fucking good, Baby," he pants, sucking against my neck.

My hands grip his shoulders as I tell myself to push him away. His hands slide up my belly until his thumbs scrape across my hard nipples. With one sweep, he pulls the shirt over my head and exposes me to him. I suck my lip between my teeth, trying to suppress a moan – this fucker can't know this feels good – as his lips seal around my breasts.

The need throbbing in my pussy causes my hips to rock against him, stroking his cock through my folds. A moment of clarity hits me and I grip his hair, rolling him away. The fucker only smiles as I push my body over his again, feeling the wet slide of his cock against my thigh.

"Put me in, Baby," he whispers, hands still stroking my thighs.

No. Stab him. Slash him.

His hips grind against me causing his cock to poke at me.

"Put me in," he repeats gently.

Reaching down, I grab his cock and give it a rough stroke. A breath hisses between his teeth as he arches into the motion.

Stab him. Fuck him? Everything inside me is conflicted at the moment.

Stroking his cock again, I look down to where the weepy tip is close to my entrance. Fucking him would be a mistake.

Leaning up, I angle his cock and press the head of it into my pussy. His fingers tighten against my hips as I slide down his shaft, feeling as his girth stretches and fills me. That is a different sensation than I expected. The moisture pooling between my legs makes the slide easy and I gyrate my hips to thrust him deeper.

"Fuck, Baby."

Okay, that does feel good. And sex for me hasn't ever been good. His eyes are focused on where my pussy is sliding onto his cock. My hands slide up his torso, running through the golden hairs growing around his navel and splaying over the tattooed letters across his pecks. His name is inked in bold Gothic letters and perched over a set of ragged wings. Pretentious fuck.

My fingers dig into the hard muscle where the words are inked and his hips thrust faster into me, eliciting a moan that causes me to bite my lip.

"Don't be quiet, Baby," he teases, gripping my waist.

His pace increases and I can feel the slap of his balls as he slams into me. My breaths come in stuttered gasps as I try to hold onto him and focus on the growing tension right between my legs. My thighs tighten against his waist and his thrust cause my hands to slip off his chest and onto the pillow beneath his head.

It gets harder to stay quiet as I feel my muscles tensing.

"Good girl," he whispers, sucking my nipple into his mouth.

There isn't a chance to try and fight off the release. It hits me so suddenly I shout, my fingers digging into the pillow. He releases my breasts and leans up, sucking my lip between his teeth as he groans. The only thing I can do is hold on as my body tenses, then becomes putty, beneath his thrusts. When he comes, a feral snarl escapes him and he slams into me, his hips twitching as he fills me with his come.

Pressing my head against his chest, I feel the beat of his heart hammering in his chest as he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before his body melts beneath me. I shouldn't have done that. That was a bad idea. It felt good. But it was still a bad idea. My brain goes fuzzy as his fingers stroke along my spine. The chain clinks when he moves his hand and I sit up, looking at where he is locked to the bed.

"Gonna get that key, Angel?" he smiles.

My eyes look over his face, waiting to see some form of gloating smirk or malicious intent. Instead, he looks sleepy and a bit dopey as he shifts beneath me. His cock is still hard enough I can feel it move inside me. Pressing my hands to his chest, I look down as I slide off him. When his cock slides out, a long string of come falls from me.

"Fuck, that is beautiful, Baby," he smiles.