Page 8 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Angel

Creep doesn’t smell of anything in particular. Maybe some dust and sweat, after what we’ve been through in the tunnels. It’s weirdly comforting to know I’m not alone, and that I won’t be eaten by vultures any time soon.

I’ve got no idea where I am and why, but I need to tread lightly with Creep.

I’d rather play the longer game with him, since he seems unwilling to hurt me, than force my way with a screwdriver again.

It might be Stockholm Syndrome kicking in already, but it melted me a little that he brought me such a thoughtful gift. It’s a sign that he does have a heart.

I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t abducted me in the first place, but when he found me in that tunnel, the relief at seeing his face became the main emotion I associate with him, so instead of seeing him as a threat, I calm down in his presence.

I miss his solid form when he slides out of my grasp and locks the door.

I want to reassure him that I won’t run again, but that would mean nothing to him right now.

I gave him no reason to trust me, so I settle on the bed, watching him gravitate around the room, as if he’s self-conscious about my presence.

“So… why a cave? Carrying all this in here couldn’t have been easy.”

His expression tells me precisely nothing.

He is a little flushed though. Is it because he knows this is a there’s-only-one-bed situation?

I’m desperate to know so much more about him.

His birth date has already told me a lot, but if I’m to crack what makes him tick, I’ll need more than my knowledge of astrology can provide.

It’s the first time I get to take a good long look at my new host. His hair is on the greasy side and a bit of a bird’s nest, but it’s thick, so nothing my skills can’t fix, if he lets me.

I’ve often bartered my hairdressing or manicure skills for various services.

After all, not every plumber is up for getting their dick sucked by a guy.

Some don’t even have dicks. One thing my first insufferable ex was good for was putting me through beauty school.

I could even give Creep a facial of the non-sexual kind. His skin seems dry, and his lips could use some moisturizing. But his body? I wonder how it would feel on top of me.

“This cave is… You’ve seen the tunnels. It’s private.”

“Are you on the run from the law?” I ask without thinking, then place both my hands on my lips, worried I’ve overstepped.

“No. And I won’t have to be if you don’t tell anyone what I did.”

Creep turns around and opens the wardrobe. I hope he’s about to take off his top, so I get to see his back. I also like the way he moves. He slouches, but it’s still like watching a predator roam around with their head low, not an overworked IT specialist.

I lick my lips. “No, of course not! I won’t be mourning that bastard, for sure!”

It’s a bit of a stretch, since I do feel uneasy about witnessing Adam’s death, but he was a shithead, and I don’t feel sorry that he’s gone.

I should have known better than to fuck a Gemini.

I’m just worried about potential consequences, which brings me back to the fact that it all happened in my home.

“Um… so… will I not be a suspect?”

“I cleaned things up.” Creep pulls out a T-shirt, identical to the other ten hung alongside it, and shows it to me. “Would you like a T-shirt to sleep in?”

Does he want me to sleep in his clothes?

Scratch that. I want to sleep in his clothes.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” I say, but when he turns and bright light licks his tattooed arm, I stall at the sight of a phrase I have the misfortune of knowing all too well.

“ Motorcycle Club . Are you a Hell’s Butcher?

” I ask, trying not to let my tone betray how nervous this makes me.

Because if he is Domino’s friend, then I might be in more trouble than it originally seemed.

His gaze whips to me, burning like two hate-stained coals, and he scowls, once again revealing his canines. Were this a young adult novel, I would soon find out he’s a vampire. “Hell no.” He pulls up the sleeve and comes closer. “You’ll end up seeing it anyway.”

The artwork on his skin depicts a menacing vulture perched on a skull and surrounded by lightning bolts, some of which resemble knives. The writing below it reads, Vulture Hollow MC .

I don’t know that much about biker gangs, but even I heard of a massive shootout between the Vultures and the Hell’s Butchers last year.

Some gang war resulting in several dead.

It all took place in the village of Vulture Hollow, a small settlement in the woods run by the bikers.

Could we be close to that place? Or does Creep live somewhere separate from his buddies?

The air trapped in my lungs finally escapes, and I nod, tracing the bird with the top of my finger.

Could the enemy of my enemy be my friend?

Creep twitches, like a horse trying to get a fly off its skin, but I keep touching, because I know that deep down he wants it, and the more he likes my company, the higher the probability that I’ll leave this cavern alive.

“Good,” I say with a smile and wink before taking my top off. “Always had a bit of a thing for bad boys.” Not even a lie.

Creep stares straight at my nipples as he silently passes me the T-shirt. It smells fresh, like soap and… lemon? I put it against my face. He’s got no washing machine here, but he clearly cares enough to get his stuff laundered.

I can’t help it, I fill the silence because it’s getting awkward. “It’s actually quite warm here. If I were you, I’d probably sleep naked.”

He stills, then cocks his head. I don’t know if I’m scared or excited. Can both be true at the same time? Just as I’m about to babble on, he clears his throat.

“I sleep… under there,” Creep says and kneels by the bed without looking into my eyes.

“What?” I ask, but air is stuck in my throat when he lies down on the carpet, and then rolls under the bed, as if he’s done it hundreds of times.

A hot shudder jolts down my back, all the way between my buttocks, and I squeeze my thighs together, taking a deep breath to calm down in the face of this strange situation.

“That’s what you were doing under my bed?

Taking a nap?” I chuckle, but we both know he listened as I pleasured myself, maybe even saw my dildo after it dropped to the floor.

And right after, he licked my fingers.

Is that his kink? So fucking odd, but who am I to judge? Whatever keeps him not-murdering me is good in my book.

“Y-yes,” he says and his hand slides out from under the bed to turn off the lamp. Even that is strange, but when the room sinks in complete darkness, I pull his T-shirt over my head. It’s soft, and boxy, and way too big.

I love it.

“So… why under a bed? Why not just on the floor, if that’s your thing?” I continue, just to hear his voice as I move under the comforter, the silence deafening in the dark. The stress of stabbing him, of being lost in the tunnels, pumped so much adrenaline into my veins I couldn’t sleep if I tried.

He takes forever to answer, but I can be patient when I want to be.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.”

“But why though?”

Silence stretches again, and I wish I knew what’s going through his head. Is he ashamed to admit it’s a kink? He must know it’s wrong to break into people’s houses. And unlike Domino, he’s not said the eye-rolly ‘I’m not gay’, so I don’t think that’s the problem.

“Because this is where monsters sleep.”

All right, out of the many things he could have said, this is the weirdest one by far, and for a moment, sadness settles deep in my chest. “You’re not a monster. A monster wouldn’t have saved me.”

Silence takes hold once more, and I’m guessing that will be a pattern with him.

“Goodnight, Angel,” he says, and there’s a softness to it that makes me melt a little under the covers.

This has to be the first time in my life when a guy I’m pretty confident has the hots for me isn’t trying to get into my pants at the first opportunity.

I’m not sure what to do with that.

Am I not tempting enough? Is he still angry over me running away and stabbing him, and that’s why he refuses to touch me? I shouldn’t be offended. But I am.

My fingers tighten on the fabric of his T-shirt, but while the bed is comfortable, the fact that I know he’s under me is fucking with my head.

Because why? Does he listen to my breathing? Is he waiting until I’m fast asleep, so he can crawl out and smell me ?

I imagine him staring at the mattress above, maybe even touching it with his fingertips as if it were my skin, and as my thoughts drift to his big, veiny hands, the sturdy chest, and the gentleness with which he led me around even on the way here, my cock starts to harden.

Hardly the first time I‘ve gotten an erection at the wrong time. It should be awkward, and uncomfortable, but all I can think of is him listening to me masturbate back home. That , he brought upon himself. And maybe he enjoyed it?

“Creep?” I whisper, rubbing my sensitive chest through the soft cotton.

He answers with a low hum that travels all the way down my spine. The pitch-black darkness reminds me of the tunnels outside, but I feel safe knowing he’s here, watching over my sleep, listening to me—

Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I want him to know exactly what I’m about to do. “My mind’s racing. When that happens, I usually… jerk off. It calms me down.” A little white lie. And it’s even true sometimes .

The barely audible grunt tells me he won’t tell me off for it. It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but I remember his lips on my fingers, and here we are.

“It’s… okay. Do what you have to.”

“Back at the house, I used a dildo too. It’s so awkward that you saw it fall to the floor,” I whisper, wanting to remind him of the pink Cyberskin, the flared base, and the veiny texture of my favorite toy.

I want him to imagine it buried between my cheeks as he listens to me touching myself.

I wish I could see his skin turning pink again.

He’s weird, no doubt about that. But maybe he’s also shy? People don’t end up doing crazy shit like sleeping under beds without it having some fucked-up origin earlier in life. And what’s a weird kink when he could be collecting people’s teeth for a new set of maracas? It’s harmless.

“F-fine,” he chokes out. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you. I was worried you might think badly of me. But I just really like how it feels,” I say innocently, even though I know what my words must be doing to him.

Is it weird that I’m getting off on his desire for me?

That I enjoy this teasing? If I asked him for help , would he crawl from under the bed and touch me?

But I don’t want to overdo it when I don’t know much about Creep, so I settle on stroking my body up and down while my cock hardens further.

Now that I’m no longer terrified to the bone, imagining him here with me, smelling me while I sleep, is kind of hot.

Is he actually a creep and goes further?

Or is his satisfaction in the secrecy? I don’t even know if it was the first time he was under my bed or if I’ve had a secret guest in my house for months.

I don’t hold back when it comes to stroking my cock. I want him to hear it. I might pretend I’m stifling a moan, but in the dead silence of the cave, it’s pretty obvious. Is he touching himself too? I was frantic when he appeared in my room, but I swear his fly was unbuttoned.

My legs are spread wide, and I spit on my fingers before massaging myself with both hands.

I imagine him crawling from under me in this darkness, face so close I could accidentally brush against it as I lift my hips, fucking my own hand.

A part of me hopes that each time I’m lowering my ass to the mattress, it dips and brushes Creep’s erection.

Because he must be hard, right? I would be offended if he wasn’t.

I’m either hearing something shift in the darkness, or it’s my own horny imagination. For all I know, he could be peeking out, and I wouldn’t know. I have to bite back a stupid smile when I imagine him in night vision goggles, snooping on me, maybe even jerking off to what he sees.

“Oh yes… like that…” I whisper into the dark. He can imagine it’s absentminded mumbling for all I care, but I want him to hear my stifled moans. I want him to imagine himself on top of me as his obsession grows. “Inside me…”

I’m not sure anymore if my eyes are shut or not, but as I give in to pleasure, ghosts of fingers slide my thighs open, as he’s watching me, listening—

I’m not even trying to pretend I want to be quiet at this point, and when the haze of desire takes over, I stretch out limply and catch my breath. My first instinct is to reach for the box of tissues, but I’m not at home. I’m in Creep’s cave, and he’s under the bed.

Is he waiting to lick me again?

My skull echoes with my own heartbeat as I let my cum-stained hand hang off the mattress. Like an angler who’s just thrown in some bait, I need to wait.

Will he be able to see it? And if not, will the smell be enough to lure—

The tip of his tongue meets my middle finger.

I’m shocked how intimate that feels. He takes a little lick, then kisses two fingers, and then the wet heat of his mouth engulfs my sticky digits.

I don’t do anything, letting him indulge while I rest, my body relaxing as he shamelessly laps at my palm.

It’s so ticklish I have to bite my cheek not to giggle.

I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him.

I whimper when he finishes by sucking on my little finger.

It’s strange. But so unexpectedly erotic, I’m flushed as if he’s given me head.

I don’t ask about it. The tension between us is too fragile, and I’d hate to shatter it.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, but here I am, dozing off with a smile on my face.