Page 25 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Pulling myself up to my elbows, I look at him, still nestled comfortably between my thighs.

His hair is all messed up now, yet still unfairly good-looking.

His mouth glistens with my juices, which makes me blush harder.

“I should, um— If you just lie down, I will—” I stutter like an inexperienced schoolgirl.

“I’ll repay the favor,” I finally manage, hoping he’s intelligent enough to make sense of my babbling .

Languid smile spreads on his face as he looks up at me. “It was not a favor, sweetheart. It was an honor, and there’s absolutely no need for you to ‘repay’ it.”

“But I—”

“I mean it.” Straightening up, he gestures at his half-hard cock and the mess on the sheets.

“See?” He grins again. “No need. And even if there was, this is not a barter, and I didn’t take you so you’d spend your days sucking my cock.

I mean, I’m absolutely not going to protest if you choose to do so, but you don’t have to. ”

“Oh. Okay.” Why did he take me then? He said something about us being together, but that’s not how it works, is it? I mean, in the normal world. Then again, I’m clearly not in Kansas anymore. Literally.

There’s a beat of slightly awkward silence which neither of us knows how to fill. I reach for my nightgown then pause, cringing a little when I realize it somehow ended up in the “splash zone”.

Lucifer’s smile is a little bashful this time.

“Sorry about that. I’ll wash it for you when we get home.

” Since it’s already stained, he uses the nightgown to wipe himself clean and dry the sheets somewhat before tossing it away.

“I prefer you naked, anyway.” Yawning, he stretches his arms up, all of those gorgeous muscles on display making my mouth water.

Dammit, why am I reacting like this? I should be relieved I wasn’t forced into anything worse.

Except, I can’t even say I was forced, because he gave me a choice, and I chose…

Some would say I chose the wrong, evil path, but it doesn’t feel that way.

After all, didn’t Miranda advise me to let myself feel?

She probably didn’t mean letting myself be attracted to a sexy murderer, but whatever. I’m too tired for self-flagellation.

Still naked, Lucifer settles next to me, urging me to roll onto my side so that he can spoon me from behind. “Mmm,” he hums happily. “So soft. So warm. So perfect.”

I all but melt at his sweet words. Why hasn’t anyone been nice to me like this before ?

Pulling a blanket over us, he wraps his arm around me, snuggling so close that I feel his breath fan the back of my neck and my hair.

My uncovered hair. Dammit. I also need to pee and now that I thought about it, I won’t be able to fall asleep until I take care of that urge, no matter how exhausted I am.

Lucifer’s breathing deepens as he slowly drifts to sleep.

Surely, he would get angry if I woke him now, but what else am I supposed to do?

Even if I waited for him to be deeply asleep and somehow extricated myself from his hold, I’m still chained to the bed.

The chain isn’t long enough to even let me reach my bag, let alone the bathroom.

I’m not aware of making any sound or moving as I agonize over my options, yet Lucifer somehow senses my unease despite being nearly asleep. “Sleep, cupcake,” he murmurs. “You’re safe.”

For once, that’s not the reason I’m stressed, but should I tell him? I decide to risk it, rather than spend the next few hours awake, needing to pee. “I’m sorry, I know you’re tired, but I, um, I need my nightcap.”

“Hmm? Didn’t take you for a drinker.”

It takes me a second to understand his meaning. “No, not that kind!” I laugh. “For my hair. It gets all tangled if I don’t cover it before I sleep.”

Lucifer’s voice is gravelly with sleep. “Love your laugh. All right, I’ll get it for you. I know what it’s like to wake up with tangled hair.”

I suppress a snort. He definitely doesn’t know what it’s like to wake up with tangled hair. His might be shoulder-length, but it’s smooth and nearly straight. Whatever tangles he might gain while rolling around at night are nothing compared to the knots that pop up in my unruly curls.

As he gets up, I realize that he’s not about to unlock the chain.

I reach out for him, grabbing his hand, and he stills immediately.

We gaze at each other, both realizing this was the first time I touched him without trying to fight him or push him away.

Neither of us says anything, but the knowledge that something has fundamentally changed between us settles in my soul.

Judging by the emotions swirling in his eyes, Lucifer is experiencing the same revelation .

Clearing my throat, I focus on the task at hand. “I also kind of need to use the bathroom,” I whisper, embarrassed to be asking for such a thing.

Lucifer huffs, half a laugh, half a sigh. “Weren’t you there, like, twenty minutes ago? Actually, don’t answer that. I guess the rumors are true. Women do pee often.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, it’s true. Sorry.”

“Great,” he grumbles half-heartedly as he crosses the room to retrieve the padlock key. “So it’s going to take us even longer to get home.” He unlocks the padlock, then flops back on the bed with a theatrical sigh. “Captives are so much work.”

Well, don’t kidnap people then, I want to say, but while I’m somewhat relaxed around him now, I’m not brave enough to tease him.

Yet. I’m about eighty percent sure he wouldn’t get mad, but it’s the remaining twenty that has me whispering, “Sorry. I’ll be right back,” before dashing for the bathroom.

I’m quick but my dark prince must be exhausted because he’s asleep before I return, his breathing deep and steady.

My mind races as I dig through my duffel for the nightcap.

I could run. Hell, I should run. This might be the only chance I get.

My phone is right there. I could call the police.

Even if they didn’t believe I’ve had nothing to do with Turbo’s murder, being in prison is still better than being held captive by a murderer, right?

Wrong. I doubt prison sex means a hot man eating you out until you nearly pass out from pleasure. And what if this is a test?

Pushing an unruly curl under the cap, I watch Lucifer.

It looks like he’s sleeping, but what if he’s not?

It can’t be that hard to pretend to be breathing steadily, right?

Maybe he’s wide awake, waiting to see what I will do, and if I make the wrong choice, I’ll screw up any chance of freedom I’ve had.

And orgasms. Don’t forget about the orgasms. I doubt he’ll be eager to lick your pussy if you try calling the police on him.

My inner slut’s right. The potential of future orgasms or the fear of reprisal isn’t what makes me return to bed, though.

It’s the memory of Lucifer’s reverent whispers.

“You’re beautiful. You are perfect. You are mine.

” Okay, that last one was a little scary, but I still want it.

I want to be someone’s because then I won’t be alone, and being alone is worse than the distant possibility of being tortured and killed.

As I approach the bed, I eye the chain and the padlock set in the corner, then pass by without picking them up.

I might be stupid enough to willingly crawl into bed with my kidnapper, but I will not chain myself to a freaking bed.

He rolls over as soon as I climb under the blanket, snuggling me so tightly I can scarcely breathe, and mumbling something about cakes and muffins. Maybe he really is asleep?

I decide it doesn’t matter. I’ve made my choice, and I chose him. A weight lifts off my shoulders at that realization. I’ve made a choice and now I don’t have to agonize over it anymore.

Lucifer grumbles as I squirm to make myself comfortable but he loosens his arm a little to allow me to find a better position. Once I’m settled, he’s back in full-on octopus mode, wrapping himself tightly around me as if he’s worried I’ll vanish.

I love every single second of it.