by Kitty Thomas
When they were finished, Angel took their plates and put them in the sink.
“You've had a long day. You should try to get some sleep. You can explore the rest of the house if you like tomorrow.”
“Angel...” she wanted to ask him what his plans for her were. She knew what he wanted. That had been pretty transparent. But how did he plan to get it, and what was he going to do with her after he did?
“Go to bed, Astrid.”
“Okay.”
***
A sudden boom of thunder jolted Astrid from sleep. It was followed by another crack so loud it sounded as if the world was being ripped apart. She jumped at a flash of lightning, thinking that she saw the shadow of a man standing over her. Against all common sense, she imagined it was Joey. Somehow he'd crawled out of the ocean and followed her here. But it was just the shadow cast from a tall plant in the corner.
Rain pounded hard at an angle against the glass door like an angry spirit trying to get in. And then the fragments of the dream came back. Joey's voice inside her head calling her a fucking whore, asking why she was worth so much trouble? I'll find you, I will always find you.
Said by someone else in another context those words could be almost romantic. But out of Joey's lips it was a threat—the chain that kept her always tethered to him.
She got up and slipped quietly down the hallway. The entire house was dark, with the occasional light from the storm pulling strange shadows from otherwise ordinary objects and turning them into threats to fight or run from.
Astrid stopped at Angel's door. She hesitated. What was she doing here? Though she couldn't answer the question, she didn't let it stop her, either. She didn't feel safe by herself. She couldn't sleep by herself.
She moved silently across the hardwood floor, her feet sinking into a soft rug beside the bed. Another crack of thunder. A streak of lightning lit up his peaceful face as he slept.
A moment later his hand clamped down over her wrist.
“I told you I'm a light sleeper. What are you doing here?”
“I don't want to be by myself.” It sounded so stupid out loud. And she wanted to be in the room with a killer who had kidnapped her, not because he thought she was some threat to his freedom but because he just wanted to?
He let go of her wrist and turned on the bedside lamp. The blankets barely covered his waist now, revealing an expanse of tightly muscled flesh she had the wild urge to run her tongue across. Oh shit what was she wearing? She looked down suddenly, having forgotten in all the storm and nightmare panic that she was half-naked herself, wearing only a thin flesh-colored camisole and white panties.
She caught him as his eyes roved over her.
“So, what? You thought you'd sleep in here with me?” He sounded amused. And why wouldn't he be?
“I'm sorry I bothered you. I-I don't know what I was thinking.” There was no way she could sleep in her own room. Not after that dream or with the storm violently pounding at the windows. But obviously she couldn't stay in Angel's room, either.
He pulled back the sheets on the other side of the bed. “Well, get in.”
“J-just sleep?”
His gaze was steady as it held hers. “You can sleep in my bed, but sleeping in my bed means I get to touch you. No sex. Just touch.”
This was crazy. She should go back to her room. But she didn't want to go back there by herself. And couldn't he just do whatever he wanted anyway? How much restraint and decency could a contract killer possibly have holding him back? How long would it hold out? Shouldn't she try to stay on his good side? Would having his hands on her really be such a terrible thing? Maybe she could just try it and see how she felt about it.
“Astrid, do we have a deal?”
“I-”
“If it becomes too much or upsets you, you can tell me to stop and I'll let you go back to your room. I don't allow beautiful women to just sleep in my bed. Those are my terms.”
She turned to go back to her own room.
Angel sighed. “Eventually you'll come to me.”
But he wouldn't chase her? He'd let her sleep down the hall if she wanted? She didn't want to sleep down the hall. She couldn't stop seeing Joey's looming shadow. She couldn't stop feeling like his spirit somehow haunted her—as if he was waiting for his moment to hurt her again from beyond his watery grave.
Angel clicked the lamp off. “Close the door on your way out.”
Astrid went to the door, but instead of leaving, she found herself shutting it and getting in the bed beside him.
He rolled toward her. “You won't regret this choice,” he practically growled in her ear.
But her heart pounded faster than it had when she'd been woken by the storm.
Her breath caught in her throat as his fingertips trailed lightly over her panties.
“Open for me,” he said.
Astrid spread her legs to let him stroke her. Why was she letting this happen? Why was she agreeing to this? It was fucked up. Sick. She could convince herself she'd been young and naïve when she'd fallen into bed with Joey. She hadn't really known what he was. But she knew exactly what Angel was.
“S-stop. P-please.”
He sighed and pulled his hand away. “Go back to your room.”
He didn't seem angry, but he was serious about the terms of her sleeping in his bed. It wasn't as if it was entirely unreasonable. She was the lunatic who seemed to think sleeping in here with him was preferable to being down the hall alone with her husband's ghost.
“Please, I-I can't go back there,” she whispered, knowing she must sound like such a child. What grown adult woman prefers to share a bed with the man who just killed her husband when she had the option for anything else? It didn't matter how good he looked or smelled. He was a killer. Just like Joey.
“I told you my terms. Either spread your legs or leave.”
Astrid didn't do anything. Frozen in indecision, she lay there waiting to see what his next move would be. Would he force himself on her? It would be so much easier to be the victim than to willingly choose to let a monster touch her again and then blame herself endlessly when he inevitably turned on her.
“You have exactly thirty seconds to make a decision,” he said.
She lay there, the sound of her heartbeat rising in direct competition with the howling winds and rain outside as she counted the seconds in her head.
Finally, Angel got out of bed, came around to her side, picked her up, and carried her back down the hall to her room. He set her down on the fluffy white bedding and turned to leave.
“Angel, wait.”
He stopped.
“Please don't leave me by myself.”
He turned back and took a couple of steps toward the bed, causing her to involuntarily draw back. Lightning lit his face making him look almost as terrifying as Joey used to.
“I'm going to warn you once, Astrid. It's not wise to tease me.”
“I'm not teasing.”
He sighed. “If I get in that bed, I'm doing whatever I want with you. It would be better if you told me to leave now.”
She shook her head. “Please. I can't be by myself right now.”
***
Angel watched her chest rise and fall. The terror on her face was real. Was the fear of him or the storm? Why would she be begging him to stay with her if it was him? He'd promised himself he'd be honorable and let her come to him, but he wasn't the kind of man who would let a woman just sleep in his bed.
And he hadn't expected her to come to him tonight. He'd thought it might take a few weeks at least—until she felt safe. Even then, he thought he might have to make some small overture because he couldn't picture her being the type of woman who would make the first move—especially not in a situation this twisted.
But if she came to his bed, she was there for whatever he wanted to do with her. She had to understand these rules. He'd already been kinder than normal by giving her an out. A sort of safeword.
He wasn'
t sure where this strange sense of honor was coming from. He should have just pushed past her defenses. She'd come to his bed half-naked after all. It wasn't as though he'd stalked her across the house.
Fuck it. This was too complicated. If he stayed another minute, he'd end up doing things he couldn't justify in his mind because she wasn't a contract. She was just an innocent woman he'd been too attracted to. That might be to her own detriment in the end.
“I'm sorry, no. Sleep with the light on. You don't want what I want, and I'm not going to be your sleepover bodyguard.”
Angel turned to leave, figuring the issue was settled. He had barely made it to the door when she launched herself at him.
“Please, don't go. I'll do whatever you want.” Her voice was desperate.
He should leave. Let her deal with whatever this panic was on her own. It would be the honorable thing to do. It bothered him that he suddenly cared about honor. It bothered him so much that he was willing to do whatever it took to stuff the urge to be noble back into the box.
So instead of prying her off him, he picked her up and carried her back down the hallway to his room. He set her on her feet as soon as they were inside and shut the door.
“Get in the bed.” His voice was dark and unrecognizable even to himself.
She got in. Angel leaned against the door and watched her face as the lightning illuminated the room.
“Turn the lamp on.”
She turned it on. He desperately wanted to train her. The last shreds of decency had fled him as he'd carried her lithe body back to his room, this time set on his course for better or worse.
“I'm not going to be played,” he said.
“I-I'm not...”
He held up a hand, and she wisely shut her mouth.
“I want to fuck the breath from you. I want to make you come so hard and so long that you forget your own name. You have... an extreme effect on me. So you cannot come into my room half-naked in the middle of the night under some scared of the dark pretext, and expect that I'll be a gentleman. Take off the top. I want to know you're committed before I get in that bed.”
He expected her to resist or change her mind again, but instead she took the flimsy nude camisole off, exposing her breasts to his hungry gaze.
“Good girl. Now lie back and spread your legs for me.”
Once again, he was surprised when she did so. Maybe she'd made a decision after all. He couldn't begin to guess at the insane mental ramblings of a woman willing to hop into bed with her husband's killer before the body was cold, but he couldn't say he was upset by the turn of events. Angel probably would have fucked her senseless already if he hadn't had the inconvenient burst of conscience where she was concerned.
He crossed to his closet and took out a green and navy striped tie. She flinched when he approached her.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“Removing the temptation to bat my hand away when I start touching you. Scoot down and raise your arms over your head.”
He marveled at the fact that she did what he asked. Though, really, what other choices did she have? He'd already made it clear she wasn't sleeping in his bed without a little quid pro quo. Angel looped the tie through one of the iron headboard slats and tied her wrists together, then he got into the bed with her and turned out the light.
The rain continued to furiously pelt down, this time joined with hail. The room was pitch black except for the occasional strike of lightening which lit the sordid scene he'd created briefly before casting it back into the privacy of darkness.
Her nipples pebbled into hard points as he ran his fingertips over them. Angel stroked her breasts and her stomach as her breathing deepened, and he felt her begin to surrender. He ran his fingers lightly back and forth over her thighs until goosebumps rose over her skin in anticipation of more of his touch.
The women he paid weren't like this. They were hardened professionals. Nothing shocked them. Nothing made them timid or vulnerable. While it was certainly true that they were to some degree vulnerable and ultimately at his mercy once they came to his estate, they never seemed to comprehend that danger.
So many of these women were so jaded they showed an almost careless lack of regard for their own well being.
But Astrid comprehended the danger she was in. It was clear from each ragged breath he drew from her, each tremor. She knew her life rested in the hands of a stranger she'd caught killing her husband only a few hours before. Not exactly a meet cute story.
Obviously a woman like Astrid wasn't a blushing virgin, not with a husband like Joey Callazaro. And yet... a type of innocence clung to her like the faint scent of lavender in the guest room.
The sky lit up again, this time for several prolonged seconds of raging storm. In these moments he could see the smooth lines of pale flesh quiver beneath his fingers. The only scrap of fabric still covering her was a pair of virginal white cotton panties with delicate lace around the edges.
“Angel...” she whispered when the room was plunged into darkness again.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said in response.
Whatever she'd intended to say—whatever weak protest—died on her lips as she obeyed his low-growled order. He rubbed gently between her legs, long, slow repeated strokes... feather light... causing her hips to rise to meet him, her body pleading for more.
He continued to caress her, alternating heavy and light pressure as he lowered his head to take one of her perfect tits into his mouth.
“Please,” she whimpered.
The way she moved against him—striving for more contact—left no doubt that she was begging for more, not less.
He slipped his hand underneath her panties to fondle her now-swollen clit. When he dipped two fingers inside her, she was hot and far wetter than he'd expected. Angel could easily fuck her right now and she would beg him to pound her harder, but he resisted the temptation. He'd promised he would only touch her. The price of sharing his bed tonight was touch, nothing more.
He released her breast and laid his head against the center of her chest. He could hear her rapid heartbeat, could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest.
He increased the pressure between her legs until he had her right at the edge. Then he pulled his hand away and moved off her.
A beat.
“Angel, please...” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her over the pounding rain.
“Please what? What do you want? You have to say it or you can't have it.”
“Please let me come.”
He pulled her panties off, and took a glass dildo from the bedside drawer. He liked to keep a few toys nearby. She gasped when the cold, ribbed glass slipped inside her. He fucked her with it until she screamed out her orgasm.
The noises she made rivaled that of the wild howling storm, until finally she was quiet. The storm, seeming to take its cue from her, lowered its own volume down to a gentle rain.
Angel untied her wrists and pulled her against him to sleep. He felt her tense against his raging hard on. He was larger than the toy he'd just shoved inside her. He wondered if that was why she'd tensed or if she was afraid he was about to break his promise.
“I told you only touching tonight.”
***
It took Astrid a moment to remember where she was. Sunlight streamed in through the window of Angel's bedroom, the sky a brilliant blue after the previous night's storm. She was alone in his bed. What did that mean? Was he still in the house?
He had to be.
She closed her eyes and thought again of the previous night. There was no good reason she could give why she hadn't put up even a token resistance once he'd brought her back to his room. All she knew was that she didn't want to be by herself, he clearly wanted her, and drinking in those delicious sculpted muscles it was so hard to remember why that was a bad thing.
Astrid had found it nearly impossible to maintain the thought in her head that this was a killer. He'd killed Joey. Tho
ugh how bad could a man who killed her abusive husband really be? Despite the danger he posed, there was an absurd sense of gratitude mixed up in her feelings. She was so unbelievably grateful the bastard was dead.
And the man who'd done this amazing service for mankind came in a package so seductive, how could she be expected to do anything but go along with whatever he wanted? The end results had been better than she'd expected. Now that she knew that, it was even harder to mount a narrative where she might resist his future advances.
Astrid tossed the blankets aside, put on the scant amount of clothing she'd come to his room in, and went down the hall to her own room. She stopped in front of the large sliding glass door to look out at the incredible view. Angel hadn't been kidding about the mountains.
The air up here must be so crisp and clean. She stepped out onto the balcony to find out. Angel had set the alarm when they'd come inside, but he'd opened the balcony door, too. So was the balcony door not connected to the rest of the security system? No alarm had gone off, so it couldn't be.
It seemed like such a foolish oversight until she actually stepped outside. The drop was far too high, and where railing would have been, there was instead a pane of heavy glass that came up to her waist. So there wasn't even a sturdy way she could tie or attach something to climb down some bedsheets or something. And did he even have enough bedsheets to tie together for such a project? Men didn't typically have endless amounts of linens in their houses unless they lived with a woman.
And did he plan to ever leave her alone long enough to try such a scheme even if he had them?
She considered all this while she got cleaned up. The shower in her bathroom was a slate gray tile and had the most amazing water pressure she'd ever experienced in her life. When she finished, she put on a pair of jeans and a soft cotton T-shirt with a vintage grunge band from the 90s emblazoned across the front.
She crept down the stairs, thinking she might avoid him a while longer and get a better grip on what obstacles faced her if she wanted to get out of here.
Do you want to get out? Her internal voice seemed skeptical. Of course she wanted to get out. What kind of idiot wanted to be a hostage?
