Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“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.