Page 26 of Stealing His Cupcake (Stockholm Syndrome for the Win #2)

Wyatt

She didn’t run.

The thought keeps echoing in my mind, still filling me with the same wonder.

Waking up with my precious cupcake in my arms is bliss until I realize with a start that I fell asleep before locking the chain.

Like the worst captor in the history of humankind, I thought I could just close my eyes for a second while she was in the bathroom.

That I’d wait until she returned, chain her, and then fall asleep.

Except I never got to the second point, instead falling soundly asleep while she was left to roam freely.

Jesus fucking Christ. She could have taken my gun and shot my stupid brain out and I wouldn’t even have known. She could have taken her phone and called the police. She could have just…left. Yet, she did none of that. She returned to bed. To me.

A small, fragile hope blooms in my chest as I consider the implications.

I try not to read into it too much. Amy could have just been too afraid to defy me.

She saw me torture and kill someone, and I threatened to kill anyone she talks to.

She probably didn’t know where to go and who to talk to, and didn’t want to put anyone in harm’s way.

She might have also been afraid of punishment if she ran and I found her.

Because I would find her. Always. She’s mine and I will always find her, and I made sure she knows that.

There’s no reason to assume she came back to me because she likes me. And yet…

The hope sprouts leaves and angles them toward the sun.

I should weed it out now before it grows any stronger.

It’s ridiculous to assume Amy might ever come to genuinely care for me.

She will comply out of fear and I can surely keep her hooked with my sexual skills, but anything deeper than that is pure fantasy.

Love isn’t for people like me.

She’s soft and warm in my arms, and I spoon her tighter, relishing the moment of peace. Soon, she’ll awaken and stiffen with fear again, and I’ll have to fight all over to get her to relax, but right now, she’s here and I can let myself fantasize about it being voluntary.

She smells of sleep and soap and clean sweat.

We’re both sweaty, actually, the combined heat of our bodies turning the area under the blanket into an inferno.

I’m also sticky from coming all over the bed like a teenager seeing his first pussy.

I definitely need a shower. And coffee. Lots of coffee. It’s a long drive home.

Slowly, so as not to wake Amy, I sneak out of bed, then hesitate as I look at the chain.

I won’t hear anything in the shower. What if she wakes up and realizes she’s made a mistake and tries to run?

I don’t want to chase and fight her, not today of all days.

It’s a special day, after all, which reminds me I still have some phone calls to make.

Guilt settles heavy in my stomach as I wrap the chain around Amy’s ankle and secure it with a padlock, especially when I notice the scrapes on her skin from yesterday’s panic attack.

Ironically, they also reinforce my decision to keep her chained for now.

She won’t have to worry about where to run and what to do if I don’t give her the opportunity in the first place.

She stirs at the touch of the cold metal but doesn’t wake up, proving she’s just as exhausted as I was.

I generally operate on five or six hours of sleep without issues, but over the past few days, I haven’t been able to sleep at all and it has caught up with me, resulting in my inexcusable failure last night.

Satisfied that my cupcake is not going anywhere, I swiftly use the bathroom and get dressed in clean clothes, grimacing at the crumpled mess that is Amy’s poor nightgown.

I was so fucking hard when she came last night that all it took was a single touch and I was coming all over the bed.

I really need to do better next time. I don’t want her to think I’m a four pump chump and won’t be able to satisfy her.

That’s not really a part of my seduction strategy.

Amy is still fast asleep when I exit the bathroom.

Soon, we’ll have to hit the road, but I decide to let her rest some more.

There’s a fast food restaurant conveniently located nearby, and I head there to buy us breakfast and coffee.

When the dimpled teenage cashier asks what kind of coffee I want, I realize I have no idea.

I don’t know these little things about Amy.

How does she take her coffee, what side of the bed she sleeps on, whether she’s a cat or dog person or doesn’t like pets at all.

In a sudden bout of panic, I order five different coffees, along with my plain black one and an assortment of sweet pastries.

I doubt these mass produced ones will be nearly as good as what Amy bakes, but they’ll have to do for now.

When I return to our room, Amy is already awake. Wrapped in a blanket, she’s sitting on the bed, looking at the chain around her ankle with an expression I can’t decipher. It doesn’t seem like anger, which would be my knee-jerk reaction to someone tying me to a bed, but it’s not fear, either.

Deciding to play it safe, I present the food first. “Good morning. I brought breakfast.”

“Good morning,” she replies, her tone carefully polite. Then her eyes fall on the cup holder and she stiffens.

I can’t say I’m proficient in reading her moods yet, but I do recognize fear when I see it and hers is spiking so hard it’s bordering on terror.

What I don’t know is what’s causing it, which also means I have no clue how to fix it.

I doubt it’s simply my presence eliciting such a strong reaction.

After yesterday, she must know I wouldn’t hurt her.

“Amy?” I decide to ask rather than let her suffer for no reason.

“What’s wrong? I won’t hurt you. You know that, right? ”

Her eyes move to the chain, then back to the coffees I’m holding, and she wraps the blanket tighter around herself. “Are we expecting company?”

“Um, no?” It takes me several precious seconds to track her train of thought and the connection she made between me chaining her and bringing multiple drinks.

“God, no, Amy! I’m not— God, of course not.

I’m not sharing you with anyone. That’s…

” I understand where she’s coming from, but it still hurts that she’d think I’d lock her up here to whore her out to other men.

What a ridiculous thought. I’d rip out the eyes of anyone who looks at her, and if someone actually dared to touch her? It would end in a bloodbath.

Swallowing the anger at the accusation, I set the coffees down on the dresser and slowly approach Amy, dropping to my knees in front of the bed.

She watches me cautiously, so different from how easily she lay in my arms this morning, but at least she’s not radiating that bone-deep terror anymore.

“Amy, you are mine and mine alone. I will kill anyone who even thinks about touching you. I understand how you got to the conclusion, but I swear that’s not what’s happening.

Here.” I pull out the padlock key and show it to her. “May I?”

Her teeth dig into her lower lip, that soft, amazing lip I kissed just hours ago and already want to kiss again. She nods. “Okay. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. I just saw the coffees and I sort of panicked.”

“Understandable.” After removing the chain from her ankle, I unfasten it from the bed frame as well and toss it into my bag.

Hopefully, I won’t be needing it anymore.

“It’s a little ironic, actually, because the coffees are a result of my moment of panic,” I tell her, anxious to see her smile again.

“Really? You don’t seem like the panicky type.” She doesn’t smile, but at least she looks intrigued and isn’t afraid to inquire further, which is a relief. I was worried she would shut me out again .

“I’m not. Normally, anyway. But when the cashier asked me what coffee I wanted, I realized I had no idea which one you would like, so I kind of panic-ordered five different ones.

At least you had coffee at home, so I know you drink it, otherwise I would have probably also showed up with tea and a hot chocolate. ”

This time, she smiles. “I wouldn’t mind that. I’m not a huge coffee drinker. The one I had at home was mostly for Kayla, back when she stayed with me.”

Oh, great. So I fucked it up. “I can get you something else, if you want,” I offer like an eager puppy desperate to please his dog mama because apparently my self-respect flew out the window the moment I set my eyes on this enchantress.

“That’s okay. I can drink anything. I…” Hesitating, she looks at me as if to judge my mood. “Do I have time to take a shower? I’ll be quick, I just—”

“Take your time, cupcake.” Watching her browse her bag for clean clothes, I add, “Wear something nice. Today’s a special occasion.”

She cocks her brow at me in question, but I just grin. I’m not spoiling the surprise. My silence makes her a little wary but thankfully, not scared. She picks through her clothes and holds up a pale yellow dress. “Is this nice enough? I don’t have many pretty clothes and I didn’t think—”

“It’s perfect,” I interrupt her, already knowing what she was going to say. She didn’t think she’d need to dress up since she expected to be dead or locked up in my basement. Well, I hope I’ve already convinced her that neither is happening.

“Okay.”

She quickly fishes out something lacy from her bag but hurries to the bathroom before I can get a good look.

Sexy underwear? Is my cupcake dressing up for me?

The thought is enough to send blood pumping to my cock and give me an inconvenient half-mast. “Soon,” I promise my misbehaving organ.

“Tonight, we’ll be buried deep inside her. ”