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This wasn’t a crime of opportunity. He didn’t see me, realize I was an easy target, and take me.
I gulp, refusing to acknowledge the wedding band he’s holding. “How long were you planning this?”
Burns taps the crook of his elbow with the box. “Since the daisy, angel. Since the daisy.”
* * *
Though Burns was pleasedto admit that he found pleasure in watching me sleep, he leaves me alone in the basement after I tell him I’m tired and want to lie down. He refuses to until I eat the dinner he brings down for us to share, but once he’s satisfied that I’ve had enough, he gives me my space.
I need it.
I’m a mess, something I don’t want him to see. The whole day he was gone, I convinced myself that this was a mistake. That he could be reasoned with. That I could somehow make him let me go.
And then he showed me the wedding band and all my hopes of being back home by morning went up in smoke.
I can’t sleep. I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I do, or what my subconscious will show me in the dark. I leave the light on, and doze fitfully. Never more than a few minutes at a time, though I don’t have a clock down here with me so I have no freaking way of knowing how long it really is. I’m already up long before the sun starts streaming through the barred windows, though, and I feel like absolute shit when Burns comes down the next morning with breakfast.
The way his eyes rove over me, you’d think I was a supermodel, all decked out for a night on the town. In truth, I haven’t showered in two days, my mouth tastes like ass, and my clothes are a disaster. My hair, too. I let it fall forward like a curtain, covering the deep purple bags under my eyes that have got to be there.
Since being his prisoner, I flip-flop from being defiant to withdrawn, then back again. No matter how many times Burns assures me that I’m safe with him, that he won’t hurt me, I refuse to believe him. How can I?
When he sets the plate of scrambled eggs—my preference, though he didn’t ask—in front of me, then a plastic spoon, I don’t wait for him to tell me to eat. It’s easy to just go along with it for now, and hope that he might slip up and bring me a utensil that I might be able to use against him.
I also would rather not let him feed me again. Like last night, I make sure to eat just enough to keep up my strength and prove to him that I’m not going on a hunger strike.
I do the same thing when he returns from his shift, bringing pizza with him. My mouth waters when I smell it, and my nervous stomach twitches with happiness when I see he got onions on half of it. Shocker: it’s my favorite pizza topping. I also get the benefit of it doing something terrible to my breath, so though it’s a pain in the ass to eat pizza with cuffed hands, I do.
My shoulders are aching. He purposely cuffed my hands on the outside of my sweater, the fabric forming a buffer between the metal and my skin, but the weight is still too much for my wrists.
Burns notices. While I eat, he climbs behind me on the cot, straddling my ass as he massages my neck, my back, and my shoulders. I went stiff when he first curved his big body around mine, then I went completely motionless as he wrapped his thick legs around me, pressing the bulge of his hard cock to the small of my back.
He doesn’t do anything except knead my sore muscles with his hands. It’s like they’re fucking magical. At the moment, I forget that he’s the reason I’m so uncomfortable, that if Burns hadn’t cuffed me and left me like this for two days, I wouldn’t need a massage. Taking another bite of pizza, I can’t muffle the moan as I feel relaxed for the first time since I realized I was his captive.
That was my mistake. I let Burns think that, whatever he’s doing, it’s working. As I melted into him, he took advantage of it by brushing his lips along the side of my throat, peppering small kisses all the way up to my ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and biting just enough to have me gasping.
I should’ve pushed him away. I didn’t. I just finish my pizza, then throw my head back, giving him easier access to my neck.
Taking heart in that, Burns grows bolder.
While one hand still rubs my shoulder, the other dips low. Reaching around me, he has the button on my jeans open before I realize exactly what he’s doing.
All my tension returns. I go tight, even as he begins to tug on my zipper. “What… what are you doing?”
“I just want to pet you.”
“Pet me?”
“Mmm.” Another kiss to my throat. “I’ll make you feel good if you let me.”
I won’t force you…
“What I don’t?”
My zipper is only tugged halfway down. Burns immediately releases it. “Then I’ll stop. You’re only delaying the inevitable, but if you don’t want me to touch you tonight, I won’t.”
I swallow roughly.
He notices. His whisper sends shivers down my spine as he presses his mouth to my skin again. “What are you afraid of, angel?”
