I sit back and pick apart the interaction.

What the fuck was that?

I then draw back to reality, someone tried to rape me.

My heart surges and squeezes as disgust and anger flow through me.

Despite my accusations, I half believed this stranger, his reaction portrayed sincerity that I doubt a guilty man could. But then again.

You can’t even trust the nice ones.

Before I can contain it a sob bursts out of me, uncontrollable, and unashamed. I couldn’t care less if he sees me weak, anyway.

The thought that someone had gotten that near me, that _Close._

I retched at the thought, and so my better judgment dragged me to the toilet before I could ruin my sheets.

I basked in the cool tile of the floor for a little while, its intense coolness quieting my thoughts.

Pulling my sluggish self up off of the floor I slump onto the bed, allowing the mattress to sink and curve to my frame. Fuck this is comfy.

Wait.

This isn’t my mattress.

Has he?

No, surely not.

Although I shouldn’t be surprised seeing as though I now have locks and reinforced windows.

I want to know.

And so I clear my throat, hoping he’s there.

“Uhm, excuse me? Can you come here? Please.” I say into the unresponsive silence. Fuck, I look and sound like a mad woman.

I wait and I wait. Five minutes pass, and I consider calling out to him again, until the lock clicks to my left.

I instinctively go into myself a little, locking my arms with force causing them to ache. Yes, he might claim to be the good guy, but people can surprise you, and the way he handled that gun?

Yeah, I’m not letting my guard down for a second.

I once read that powerful people never turn their back to the room to close a door, and so as he kept his body turned to me as he closed it, I smiled a little to myself that it had turned out to be true.

His gaze is penetrating, an intensity sits within it that leaves me unable to remain still.

“Nervous?” He remarks, his lip quirking, as he watches me fidget.

“Should I be?” I counter, taking his appearance in. His shirt is changed, to cotton casual instead of his dress shirt from earlier. I peer at the way it confines his upper arms, strained and restricted. Which then draws me to the swirls of his tattoos, escaping upwards from my sight, beneath the material. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I feel his stare on mine, I realise he had been watching me gaping at his.. well... his body.

He clearly notices my perusal of his form, and yet he says nothing, however his face says everything.

The smirk thrown across his defined face worsens the heat in my cheeks. As if his seemingly huge ego needed any more boosting. I bring my palm to my face to cool myself.

“Do I intimidate you, princess?”, I note the way his use of ‘princess’ is entirely sincere, not a hint of condescension as men usually would use that term.

“Hmm let's see, you've locked me in my room, given me no information on why, and stolen my ability to contact anyone. And to top it off you barge in with a gun, acting like everything is dandy. But no! Of course not, you put me at complete ease.” I roll my eyes at the entire situation, more pissed than scared anymore that he is yet to give me an explanation.

His face contorts into blatant amusement.

“This isn't your room, just an excellent replica, I did well don't you think?” he says whilst sweeping his eyes across the space.

I fucking knew that wasn’t my mattress.

My blood chills at his use of ‘replica’, why on earth would he want to copy _my_ entire room?

“Okay explain now and fucking quickly, you psychopath.” I ramble, uselessly inching further against the headboard.

A deep throaty chuckle comes from within him, the walls consume the sound as it reverberates.

“You don't swear much do you? you look uncomfortable to say such things,” he remarks, more to himself than me. A thought spoken aloud.

“Avoiding my questions once again, what do you have to lose? You have the power here.” I shrug, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He of course doesn't, but he can drop his guard If he thinks I've given up.

“Is that so?” He grins full and wicked, my eyes drawn to the sharpness of his canines.

The smile is full and feral, showcasing the gleam of his excellent dental hygiene.

Surely psychopaths wouldn't be so health conscious right?

“You think a lot don't you? I can see the cogs spinning, I'd _kill_ to know the thoughts occupying that pretty head right now.” He drawls, emphasising a word I’d rather not hear given the circumstances. He lowered his head fractionally, mimicking something of a Kubrick stare.

Okay if he won’t answer my questions, fine. I have to get out of this fucking hell hole, the only way I knew how, I couldn’t fight my way out, I was hopeful but not an idiot.

His muscles would have me dead without him breaking a sweat, no I had to be tactful, and play the victim.

Play the man.

“You really want to know?” I say sweetly, a hint of seduction to my tone. I mimicked what I had seen other girls do, it’s just acting right? Playing a part.

I just have to do it well.

His eyes narrow slightly, probably fucking bewildered I’d gone from raging bitch to sensually sweet. He rose from the chair in front of my bed, dragging it closer until he neared the point where I could smell his cologne.

We only had about 6 feet between us, and given the energy now buzzing around the room, the distance became futile. He sat back in his chair, openly staring at my form, taking his time.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he spoke after some time, ugh, my brain fries when he addresses me with those names. Dick.

“I shouldn't, I can't be thinking these thoughts,” I half panted, attempting to sound dazed and flustered.

His brow lowered slightly, lightly confused with the way I was acting.

He does the unthinkable, his palm goes to his belt retrieving the same beretta from earlier and proceeds to toss it across the floor. The drag of metal was the only noise to be heard.

Wait.

He didn't put the safety on.

Unless he hadn't adjusted it from earlier, but my hopeful self refused to believe that.

I didn't need to fight, all I had to do was aim, and _shoot. _If needs be.

“Sophie. I don't like waiting. Tell me.” He insisted with a little impatience. An unspoken warning in his voice. I hated the way my name sounded in his mouth. With that treacherous voice.

I hated the way his lips looked as he said it, the intimacy shook me a little.

“Thoughts of.. You.” I admitted, lowering my head a little to display my supposed shame.

I don't miss the way his muscles contract following my words. Did this? No. Surely this didn't actually _effect_ him.

“Me? And what about me?” he mused, darting his tongue out to wet his lips, entirely aware he was dragging this out more than was necessary, but he seemed like the kind of guy to enjoy mind games.

“I get this feeling when you say certain things, or look at me a certain way.” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Where the fuck did that come from? I can only pray it works and sounds believable.

_Yeah, maybe a little too much._

__

__

“Describe the feeling,” he commanded, a fierceness to his expression. He looked, tortured? In pain?

How the fuck do I describe a feeling I’ve never had? The only thing I had to go on was fiction.

Men had never made me feel _that_ way. Nor women, yet I knew I was attracted to men, but I’d never actually felt the feelings described so colourfully in my books.

In my 20 years of living, I’d never had that ache, that longing.

Well right now I need to fucking pretend.

Just think Soph! What would the female protagonist say?

“Your shirt, you changed it. The one before capturing your forearms, your veins were prominent. But this one, it's confined, tighter. Your tattoos, they..” I clear my throat, flustered.

“ I don't know why, I've never really had an interest in them but, on you they make you look darker, intense. Dangerous.

And your eyes, they hold such scrutiny, I feel burnt whenever you lay them on me, across me. And I.. I like it. You make me _ache, _in places I shouldn't. Given, I don't know you, given you scream danger and yet my body responds to just about everything you do. Did you not notice the way my thighs clenched, when you took a certain tone with me? If your stare became a little too intense? Or the way my name sounds in your mouth?” I don't realise I'm panting until I stop talking, blush pours across my cheeks. I can hear the crackle of tension in the air.

I'd forgotten to watch him as I spoke, to see if my words had any sort of effects. It's only when I raise my head to meet his gaze, that I realise. It worked. His chest rises and falls heavily. His fits clenched, and white at the knuckles. And then I take my gaze to his eyes. Fuck.

Intense is too loose a word to describe the heat currently circling within them. The silver of his eyes has fled.

His cheeks are tinted pink, he's flushed.

I made him fucking flush.

While this was a hostile situation, I couldn't help but be proud of myself.

There was this beast of a man, and little old me had made him _blush._

_“_Do you have any idea of the amount of restraint it's taking to not come over there and fuck you senseless?” I'm quickly taken aback by the gravel of his voice, it warms me more than it should.

More than is right. Moral.

Surely i.. I cannot _want_ this.

But as I think about my words, about each one that came out of my mouth, I find them to be true. Fuck, _I meant them._

__

__

“Tell me what you're thinking baby” he pleads, a softness in his eyes. I'm struck by the gentleness he possesses, but also the power. And the way he can so quickly switch between the two. My head utterly spun.

“I shouldn't have felt those things, I just realised that..I never knew what it meant. For a man to, make you ache, heat. I'd read about it, but.. I’d never felt it, never understood it.” I admitted, my voice drawing to a mere utterance.

Why did I just say all that?

I immediately palm my face, and the embarrassment of my words surges through me, god I sound like some desperate virgin.

Honestly just take me now, kill me right now. So I never have to live through this awful moment again.

And my books? Ugh! That felt too intimate a detail to share with this fucking grown man.

I drag my gaze to him, forcing myself to face this, face him. He looks entirely entranced by me. As though he is shrouded with desire.

“If this were one of those books, what would happen now Sophie?” He spoke low, positively curious about my admission.

“End of chapter?” I manage to say, under his dark scrutinous gaze.

He chuckles, dark and throaty. “Hmm, I don't think so, Sophie. I think this is the part where I tend to that _aching_ you so beautifully described.”__

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