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"Three?" I manage with a squeak.
"Mhmm," he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "I want to watch you eat, and I want to taste that bloody pussy of yours until you scream. Then I want to light up your pretty flesh with flash paper and watch you sizzle, baby girl."
Oh my Gabriel.
"Flash paper?" I cough-slash-choke. It's more of a garbled sound than words, but he still gets the point.
"Shh," he assures me, running the pad of his thumb across my cheek, "it won't hurt, I promise."
"It won't?"
It sounds like it'll hurt.
"No," he tells me, "and it won't last long. There's a reason they call it flash paper."
I try but fail at swallowing the knot that's clogging my throat.
"Why's that?" I whisper.
"Because it's not on there long enough to hurt you. It'll tickle, and then it'll be gone in a flash."
He smiles as if to comfort me, but the gleam of his teeth is less comforting and more stroke-inducing at the moment.
"It's not going to burn me?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "It won't burn you, Firefly. It won't even leave any ashes behind. It's special paper, the same kind magicians use. We can test it out before if you want. Would you like to do that?"
I nod.
"Gabe," I swallow again, but the lump at the back of my throat won't unstick. Memories of the overturned car, the stench of smoke, the heat of the fire, and the panic as I screamed for my mother to wake up replay inside of my mind. Only one thing in the whole wide world used to scare me more than gaining an ounce.
Fire.
He's demanding a payment I can't give, not yet. Maybe not ever.
"I don't think I can," I tell him, shaking my head quickly. "Ask me anything else, Gabe. Anything at all."
My heart hits the stone floor, leaving me hollow and empty in my middle.
"Yes, you can, baby girl," he reassures me. "I'll be right here. You trust me, don't you?"
It's a loaded question. He kidnapped me to save me. He feeds me to make sure I live. I believe him, but I'm terrified, scared of him, of what's to come, and most of all, the flames.
"I trust you," I admit.
"I can work with that," he says to me before he wraps both of his hands around the back of my thighs and tugs me abruptly to the edge of the bed.
"What are you doing?" I yelp.
"I believe I was promised pussy," he says with a lopsided grin, "medium rare."
Holy fuck.
"You did not just call my lady bits medium rare."
"What would you prefer I call them?" he smirks. "Bloody and still beating?"
"I'd prefer you not use steak terminology when describing them," I manage with a cough.
