Page 27 of Stealing His Cupcake
It’s not like I have a choice. In anything. He might be nice but he’s still my captor, deciding what happens to me without considering my opinion.
That’s not true,my inner slut objects.He let you call Kayla. Promised you could watch TV with her, for Christ’s sake! Who does that for a woman they plan to rape and kill? And he thinks you’re beautiful. Wants to spoil you. Is putting out for a hot, respectful guy who cooks really such a hardship?
The dark, selfish part of me, which has been suppressed for far too long, is ready to take over and have fun, consequences be damned, but I can’t just ignore Lucifer’s downsides. He’s a freaking killer. How can any part of me be willing to ignore that? Am I really that rotten inside? Perhaps I should be in Hell right next to Craig.
Lucifer opening my door startles me. I’ve been so cooped up in my thoughts that I hadn’t even noticed him exit the car and gather our bags from the trunk, but now he’s here, right in front of me, waiting for me to follow him. I almost want to refuse, to say I’m fine with sleeping on the comfy car seat, to make him drag me to bed kicking and screaming, but that would be stupid. Either way, he’s going to get what he wants, and it will be safer for me to just play along.
I keep quiet as he talks to the night receptionist, handing him both our IDs. The man watches me suspiciously, his eyes stopping on my bruised face, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Please help me”is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. It would only result in the man’s death, and he doesn’t deserve that. I hope. Honestly, after learning who Craig really was, my faith in humanity is at an all-time low. Is this unassuming, balding guy with a creepy mustache secretly a rapist too? Is that why he’s on the night shift here, to stake out his potential victims?
Dammit! I used to be a glass half full person. I hate this new suspicious me.
Lucifer’s expression shows no concern over being in public with a captive in tow. He chats casually with the receptionist, telling him some believable lies about where we’re going and why while the man processes our registration. I catch him say “girlfriend” a few times and my stupid heart flutters. My last boyfriend hasn’t even been dead for a week and I’m already pinning after someone else? A walking red flag, at that?
What a shameful slut.That inner voice sounds suspiciously like Craig’s mother.
Finally, we have our key. Grabbing our bags in one hand, Lucifer extends the other one toward me, and I take it. Once again, I let him lead me like a lamb to the slaughter. I wonder if he minds how cold and clammy my hand is. Perhaps he’ll find me unattractive enough to leave me alone? But then what reason would he have to keep me alive? There are no good options here.
The motel room looks no different from any other motel room in the country. It’s clean and smells fresh, and the towels on the bed are arranged into an arrow piercing a heart. How lovely. Not. The bed is large, and it feels like it’s getting even larger with every second I watch it, as if it was pulsating with menace and growing with every thump.
“Slow breaths, Amy,” Lucifer reminds me, making me realize I’ve started hyperventilating again. “You can have the bathroom first. Don’t make me wait too long, though,” he adds with a grin. Objectively, there’s nothing menacing about that grin but it still cuts into me like a knife because it confirms my fears. We’re not just going to sleep tonight.
“O-okay,” I reply breathlessly, searching through my bag to find my toothbrush and a nightgown at lightning speed. Only when the bathroom door closes behind me do I release a shaky breath. A moment of reprieve. A quick scan of my surroundings reveals no escape route. There’s no door other than the one leading to the bedroom and the window is tiny and placed way up on the wall. Of course, he wouldn’t let me stay here aloneif there was a way out, so really, I should be grateful I can take a shower without anyone ogling me.
My hands tremble as I wash myself. My neck and shoulder are still a little sore from when Craig tossed me into the coffee table, and my tense, stressed muscles aren’t helping, so I let hot water fall down on me as I try to relax. It will be fine. Everything will be fine. I survived being assaulted by a football player; I’ll survive having sex with a hitman, right? And tomorrow, I will…I don’t know what I will do. I don’t know if there’s anything Icando. What I do know for sure is that I will get through this. Somehow.
Worried about keeping Lucifer waiting for too long, I quickly dry myself off and brush my teeth. The nightgown I’ve grabbed is old and worn, with kittens dancing across my tits. I can hardly imagine anything less sexy. My legs also aren’t as smooth as they were when I shaved for my date night with Craig a week ago, but I doubt my captor would leave me alone with a razor. A part of me is mortified, remembering how Craig called me Bigfoot when I forgot to shave before a date.“I mean, if you don’t care about looking good for me anymore, just say so,”he’d said, and I’d cried and begged him for forgiveness, terrified he’d leave and never come back.
Yeah. That’s me. Pathetic Pushover should be my middle name.
Maybe that’s why a tiny part of me revels in this tiny rebellion against Lucifer. The short black hair covering my legs is like a middle finger to his expectation that I have sex with him. I can’t stop him on that front, but I can make it less fun for him.
Still, embarrassment wins when I exit the bathroom and he regales me with a smoldering look. Cheeks flushed, I lower my head and stupidly try to hide one leg behind the other, as if that’ll actually help. “I’m sorry,” I say, immediately wanting to slap myself. Why am I apologizing? “I didn’t expect—”
“Everything is fine, cupcake. Don’t fret. Come here.” His smile sets me at ease somewhat, so I approach, my steps faltering when I see him reach for something shiny on the bed. A chain. Oh my god, it’s happening. The whimper that escapes me is downright pathetic. Dropping the chain,Lucifer springs to his feet. Before I can react, he’s in front of me, pulling me into him. Panicked, I struggle until I realize he’s not strangling me or trying to wrangle me on the bed. He’s just…hugging me and it feels better than it should.
“Shh,” he soothes, and I hate that it’s working. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you. The chain is just a precaution so that I can sleep in peace knowing you won’t wander off and get in trouble.”
His body is warm and firm and with every second passed, his arms feel less like a cage stopping me from escaping and more like a safety net, a place where I can relax and not worry about a thing. It’s ridiculous. He’s about to chain me to bed, for Christ’s sake!
“Come on.” We sit on the bed and my mortification flares again as he pulls my leg into his lap, running his hands down my calf, no doubt feeling the hair under his palms. He doesn’t comment on it, though, holding my ankle instead. “I’m sorry if it’s cold,” he says as he wraps the chain around it. It is cold but not terribly so, and I’m too distracted by his gentle behavior to really notice. Snapping a small padlock through the chain loops, he carefully tests the loop around my ankle, running his fingers under the chain. “Not too tight?” he asks, actually waiting for my answer. I manage a stunned headshake. “Good. I’ll grab a quick shower, too. Be right back.” With that, he struts into the bathroom, leaving me alone. Chained to a bed.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Nothing terrible so far.” The chain is distracting, but I can live with it. It’s a somber thought, considering I might literally have to live with it, but as I’m sure there are worse alternatives, I don’t let it get to me.
My brows shoot up at the sight of the holster with Lucifer’s gun lying on the dresser, but then I realize my chain is too short to allow me to reach it. Nor can I reach either of our bags, which is unfortunate, because I forgot to grab my sleeping cap. Without it, my hair will be a wild, frizzy mess in the morning. Am I brave enough to ask Lucifer to get it for me?
As I contemplate my non-existent courage, the bathroom door opens. My captor struts out, naked as the day he was born, his mouth curled in a half smile. “Ready, cupcake?”
Chapter 18
Amy
Mymouthisdryas I stare at the exquisite piece of male perfection approaching me. Craig was a professional footballer and a showoff, so I’m not a stranger to a well-built male body, but damn!
Where Craig was built thick and wide, like a brick shithouse designed to crush anything in its path, Lucifer is something else entirely. He’s leaner, his muscles defined but not overwhelming, built more for precision than brute force. His strength is there, undeniable, lingering beneath the surface, coiled and waiting. There’s something deceptively inviting about him, too. He doesn’t have the hard, chiseled look of a body sculpted purely for vanity. No, there’s a softness to him, just enough to make you think he’d be comfortable to cuddle with. And why am I thinking about cuddling with him? He’s about to rape me, for god’s sake! Except…
Is it still rape if I kind of want him?
What a bad thought.
