“Ah. I like to keep it warm in the house, but here you go,” he says and pulls a soft blanket over me. He then points out the cookies on the nightstand. “And in the meantime I’ll have a look in here.” He shakes my beat-up backpack, and my erection goes down, because…No.
“It’s just junk!” I say all too quickly, because I’m not used to violence, to high-stress situations, or threats to my life. Today’s break-in wasme losing my damn mind.
I shouldn’t have been this reactive, because it brings a new glint to his eyes. “Well, well, well, now I really want to see what’s inside,” he says and steps back, opening my only way out. For a moment, I itch to dash at him, but the truth is that if I collided with his chest, I’d simply crumble to the floor. “Oh, and behave,” he adds, pointing to the ceiling. “I’ll be watching.”
I slowly look up at the camera pointed straight at me.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck!
Chapter 4
Victor
Thelightinthesmall windowless bedroom dimmed soon after Sevastyan locked me inside its walls, but it remains white and intrusive, as if I’m under observation in some illegal medical facility. I toss and turn, unsure what time it is, or even whether it’s still dark outside. The lack of hunger is the only reason why I believe it’s been hours, not days since I covered myself with the plush blanket.
I’m still trying to comprehend my situation.
I lost my mind, decided to commit a crime, and now, I guess I’m paying for it by being held prisoner by a serial killer who complimented my cry-face. I’m pretty sure there will be much more crying and torment in my future, unless I manage to escape.
Should I keep trying to find a way out? Scream? Or just cover my head and wait for this psycho to catch me unaware? I keep pondering it, half lucid on the surprisingly comfortable bed.
But since something in my cell has been squeaking eerily for a while now, the faint tap that suddenly reaches my ear feels like nails screeching down a chalkboard.
I get out of bed in an attempt to find the source of the noise, but I only spot it once I roll back into bed.
What I thought was piping attached to the ceiling is actually a semi-translucent… rat tunnel? The critter stares at me curiously from above. He’s trapped here, just like me.
Does that make us... potential allies?
I chuckle the moment that thought passes through my head, because if the only help I can count on is this rodent’s, things are reallynotlooking good for me. But it is the one living being I’ve seen in God-knows how long, so I narrow my eyes, focusing on the bottoms of its pink paws and the dumpling-like body in a pleasant off-white shade. And then there’s... what’s up with that poor rat’s bottom? Ah... I suppose he’s a boy.
I shudder thinking that Sevastyan might be a mad scientist who so far experimented on rats but who now has me as his new subject. I think back to the moment he sat on me, so heavy and strong while I was helpless. I can’t deny having fantasies of being overpowered, maybe even humiliated, but erotic thoughts are not the same as real life. I hide my face in my hands when I think of everything he’s surely already found in my notebook.
What if it angers him so much he pulls out the pliers again? I sob at the memory of cold metal against my nipple. That memory cools off any fucked-up arousal that was growing in me before. I might have embarrassingly masochistic fantasies, but that doesn’t mean I’m the real deal.
The creak of the lock catches me off guard, and I scramble to cover myself as the door opens, revealing Sevastyan, who—
My gaze settles on the cock swinging casually between his legs as he enters.
Heat pools in my groin, and I feel faint as the man whom I despise enters the room naked. He did look beautiful in the simple clothes he wore last night, but his body is a true work of art, and I find myself salivating despite all the fear and loathing inside me.
My eyes must be wide as saucers as I hold the blanket tightly to my chest, because he must have read through my notebook, and that’s why he chose to show up like this.
I need to saysomething, but my voice is stuck in my dry throat.
And yet, I can’t look away, as if I’m some fucking pervert.
His cock is twice as long as mine. Maybe he is a shower, but the comparison still makes me self-conscious. Where he’s rosy and toned, I’m thin and unhealthily pale, a fact exacerbated by the ridiculous amount of freckles on my skin. He has a lush lawn of hair on his chest, mine is barren and marred by a couple red weeds.
He is so very painfully superior to me.
“You are a freak,” he says, showing me my diary.
I avoid looking at his face, and my gaze lands on his dick, which is even worse. “It’s a misunderstanding,” I say, but the bastard could probably cook an egg on my face right now. I’m fucked. So fucked.
“I don’t think it is. You’re no assassin. You’re a stalker,” Sevastyan tells me, his rich accent rolling through every word like a caress. He’s holding a bundle of straps in the other hand, and I recoil, almost rolling off the other side of the bed when he approaches.
