Page 33 of Stealing His Cupcake
Yes, I know I should be plotting escape, but honestly, it’s not at the forefront of my mind anymore. As strange as it may sound, I mostly feel safe with Lucifer, and unless he does something drastic, that’s unlikely to change. It doesn’t stop me from wondering, though. What’s the special occasion? I really hope it’s not my death, because wouldn’t that just ruin the mood? Then again, it would confirm that my sense of who I can trust is indeed completely broken, since I trusted Craig and now I’m trusting a man I’ve actually seen murder someone. Talk about faulty moral compass.
After washing and shaving everything that needed washing and shaving, I get dressed, pleased to see that my favorite dress still fits me. I don’t own many pretty things, but I love this dress and the way it hides my imperfections while highlighting the few assets I have, like my big boobs. They’re not much to look at on their own, but with a good bra and the dress’s low-cut neckline, I dare say they don’t look half bad.
The dress is fitted at the top, and the skirt flares out, taking attention away from my stomach. It ends just above the knees, and I usually wear tight shorts underneath to protect my thighs from chaffing. Since the assignment was to look “nice” for whatever this special occasion is, I opted for a pair of lacy bandelettes instead. Purely because they were on the top of the bag, not because I’m dolling myself up for Lucifer. Not. At. All.
Normally, I wear my hair in a simple bun, but since that gets in a way in a car, constantly rubbing against the headrest, I braid it instead. A dash of makeup to cover the still-healing bruises, and I’m ready for whatever the day might bring. Unless it’s a ritual sacrifice. Or a long hike. Or a day at the beach. Or, well, pretty much anything other than sitting in the car and trying not to panic. God, who am I kidding? I am not ready for anything!
As much as I want to linger in the bathroom, I conclude that it’s already late and we should probably check out already, so I force myself to open the bathroom door. Self-conscious about my appearance, I shuffle forward, my eyes glued to the floor. What does Lucifer think about me? Will he think it’s too much? That I’m trying to seduce him? Or that I look like a whore, like Craig once called me when my cleavage was a little too deep?
It’s quiet for so long I start sweating. Oh my god. Why isn’t he saying anything? What is he doing?
When I can’t take it any longer, I glance up. Lucifer is standing by the table, the phone in his hand forgotten as he stares at me with his mouth wide open, seemingly unblinking. “Wow,” he finally says. “I…I have no words.” Composing himself, he puts the phone away, his eyes scanning every inch of my body from my bare feet to the top of my head, pausing at the bottom hemline of my dress and, of course, on my tits. “Jesus fucking Christ, Amy. My cock has just started going down and now you show up here looking like this? God.” He adjusts his pants. “How am I supposed to drive when you’re sitting next to me looking like this, cupcake?”
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire with how hard I’m blushing. I keep expecting him to say something nasty, to negate all the compliments he’s showering me with, but he never does and I gotta say, it feels damn good. I haven’t felt this pretty, thisdesiredin ages. Perhaps never. “I’m sorry,” I say with a smile, letting him know I’m not being too serious. “I can go change. I have some old leggings and washed out T-shirts that make me look like a bloated walrus, if that’s better.”
In a flash, he’s right in front of me, grabbing my arms. “Don’t you dare. Though I’m sure I’d find you sexy no matter what you wear.” Giving me another once-over, he shakes his head. “I knew you were beautiful, but damn! I’ll have to work overtime because all the men will be looking at you. Some women probably, too.”
“Thank you.” My blush deepens, but a flicker of worry creeps in. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? That he would kill people for looking at me? Surely, I’m misunderstanding. Or it was a joke.
“I’m just stating the truth. Come on, let’s eat before I spontaneously ejaculate into my pants like a horny fifteen-year-old.”
Giggling, I let him lead me to the small table in the corner where he laid out everything he brought from the fast-food place across the parking lot. It’s enough to feed a family of five.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I brought a bit of everything,” Lucifer explains. “Just eat whatever you want and leave the rest.”
Conscious about my weight, I try to limit myself to a few pieces of pastry, but my rumbling stomach gives me away. Without a word, Lucifer pushes a bag with chocolate croissants in my direction and keeps frowning at me until I grab one. They’re so delicious, I eat all three. Lucifer watches me with a smile, clearly pleased with my appetite, so I decide not to worry about it. He sips from his coffee—black, no sugar, according to the writing on the cup—while I try the five cups he brought for me, settling on a latte. I don’t really like coffee very much. I only drink it when I need to keep myself awake and even then it’s more like swallowing a bitter medicine, but the latte doesn’t taste too awful. Too bad Lucifer didn’t bring that hot chocolate. That’s something I’d drink with glee.
Naturally, I don’t say a word. For one, it’s rude to complain about a gift and for another? Hello, still kidnapped here. There’s no way I’m complaining about anything.
Lucifer would probably rush off to get the hot chocolate for me, and that’s something I simply can’t trust, and not just because he kidnapped me. In my world, men don’t serve women this way, and I can’t help but wonder if my captor is tallying all the things he had to do for me to make me pay for them later. I need to be as low maintenance as possible.
Once we’re done with breakfast and Lucifer unceremoniously dumps the undrunk coffees down the drain, he packs up the unfinished food and hands it to me. “Road trip snacks.”
“Cool!” I say, beaming at him. “I’ve only been on one road trip before. It was great, but Kayla’s mom handed out carrots and cucumbers for snacks, claiming it was better for our eyes and teeth than sweets and whatnot.”
Laughing, Lucifer theatrically grabs his chest, pretending to faint. “Oh dear, that’s so terrible! Don’t worry, we’ll stop by a gas station to get proper snacks as well. Chips and Twizzlers and gummy bears, anything you want.”
“We already have a ton of food,” I protest, trying to wave him off, but he doesn’t budge.
“Mass produced pastries from an international fast-food chain. That barely constitutes an edible breakfast, let alone a road trip snack. We’re buying more, cupcake, deal with it. We need to get gas, anyway, so you have until the next gas station to give me your top three favorites.”
Now that’s just over the top. “Three? I can’t eat three bags of junk food. Damn, I shouldn’t be eating any. Just look at me,” I mutter.
“I am looking at you, Amy,” he replies seriously. “And you’re perfect just the way you are.”
How can he keep saying such things? I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t even fishing for compliments. The words just left me on reflex. “Thank you,” I murmur, busy rummaging for my shoes. I only packed a pair of strappy sandals, my favorite ones that have the ultimate advantage of pairing well with pretty much anything I own. Along with the old sneakers I was wearing when Lucifer took me, they now make up my entire footwear collection. God, I really hope we’re not going to the mountains. Or to a farm. I don’t mind farms, per se, but I’m woefully under-equipped to live on one.
The thought of Lucifer kidnapping me to labor on his countryside farm makes me chuckle because he really doesn’t strike me as the type to breed pigs or cows or whatever it is farmers do. He cocks a curious brow but doesn’t press me into explaining when I shake my head. That’s another thing I like about him, and it’s quite a list by now. Craig would have worried I was laughing at him and would force me to tell him exactly what I was thinking about, thought by thought. My sexy captor doesn’t care even when Iamlaughing at him, which is surprisingly refreshing.
After checking that we haven’t forgotten anything, he grabs both our bags again and winks at me. “Road trip time.”
Chapter 23
Amy
LikeIsaid,I’veonly been on a road trip once, and that was only because Kayla’s folks took pity on their daughter’s poor, neglected friend and brought me along. It was…exhilarating. Then again, to an attention-starved kid whose farthest travel was between our apartment and school, anything would have been exciting.
The Reynolds left Kayla’s siblings at their aunt’s, so it was just Kayla’s parents, my best friend, and me, and yes, I absolutely pretended they were my real family the whole time. Despite the disappointing snacks, I had a great time, and it was that memory I escaped to when the situation at home got too hard. I’d fantasize about being Kayla’s long-lost sister, that we were actually twins, but that the doctors misplaced me at birth or outright stole me, and how exciting was that? I’d pretend that the reason my mother didn’t like me was because a secret government organization forced her to adopt me to protect my identity. It’s stupid, I know, but to an eleven-year-old, it was easier to believe I was at the center of some exciting conspiracy than admit that my mother was just too methed out to care.
