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His breathing evened out, a steady rhythm against the silence. I glanced at him, watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way his tattoos seemed to shift with each breath.
"Night, Chris." My eyelids grew heavy, sleep tugging at me with insistent fingers. I surrendered, letting the quiet consume us, blanket us in a temporary peace.
Sunlight pierced the fog of sleep, disrupting my rest. My eyelids fluttered open, lashes heavy with the residue of dreams I couldn't quite recall. I could feel the stiffness in my limbs, the ache of muscles unused to being folded into the confines of a car seat. The chill of morning seeped through the windows, raising goosebumps on my arms.
"Damn," Chris muttered. He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing away the vestiges of rest like they were dirt on his skin. "We gotta keep moving. Slept way too long."
I pushed myself up, ignoring the protest of my body. My mind swirled with thoughts. I remembered the life I once had—confined, yes, but familiar. The diner's buzz, the comforting rhythm of pouring coffee and flipping pancakes, even Priscilla's sharp tongue felt like a distant echo now.
Freedom's just a heartbeat away. It was a thought that kept circling back. I had yearned for liberation, but now, in this twisted journey alongside this man, I questioned if I'd ever truly known what freedom meant.
Hunger clawed at my insides. We pulled into a gas station that looked like it had seen better days, its sign flickering as if it too was fighting off exhaustion. Same, man, same.
"Grab whatever crap they got that'll pass for food," Chris instructed, tossing a crumpled bill onto the dash. There was no please, no thank you—just the expectation of obedience. I had come to enjoy it.
The tasteless sandwich was a bland lump in my mouth, the bread sticking to the roof, the cheese a plastic mockery of nourishment. Each bite was a chore, a necessity to fuel the body that was carrying me further from everything I knew.
"Bon appétit," I said dryly, watching Chris wolf down his own meal with an efficiency that spoke of many similar repasts. There was nothing enjoyable about it; it was fuel, plain and simple.
"Delicious," he replied, his voice thick with sarcasm as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The gesture was so inherently him—uncouth, unapologetic.
And as the last bites were swallowed, the road called to us again, the pressing need to get somewhere safe. Somewhere were we could rest and plan our next move.
"Let's roll," Chris said, the engine rumbling to life beneath his command.
I found my gaze drawn to his profile. Strong jawline. Stubble that was growing in quickly. Long eyelashes that kept those beautiful blues safe from debris. A hunger stirred that wasn't for the cardboard sandwiches we'd choked down – this was primal, insistent.
"Fuck, Ella, you're staring holes into me," Chris growled without looking away from the road.
"Sorry," I lied, not sorry at all. The air between us crackled, charged with something dangerous, electric. My heart was a traitor, thudding against my ribs like it wanted out, like it wanted to leap right into his hands.
I shifted in the seat, the leather cool and slick beneath me, and leaned toward him. There was no going back now. I wanted him—this man, my captor, my enemy. My savior. The world had gone mad, or maybe it was just me.
"Fuckin' hell, Ella," he breathed as my hand brushed against the hard line of his thigh, moving higher, emboldened by the tension radiating off him. I didn't miss the catch in his breath when my fingers found their target.
"Stop." It was a command, but his body betrayed him, hips shifting ever so slightly towards my touch. I ignored the word, because actions spoke louder, and his body was screaming yes.
"Make me." I challenged, unzipping his jeans with a fluid motion. I heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the heat of him searing through the thin fabric of his briefs. There was power here, in my hand, power I'd never known. Power I found myself liking.
"Shit, Ella..." He trailed off as I freed him, my mouth descending. His curse was lost to the night as I took him in, the taste of him raw and real. There was nothing gentle about it; it was fierce, a claiming. I bobbed my head before coming back up, swirling my tongue around the ridges and veins.
"Keep your eyes on the road," I said against him, my voice muffled by flesh. My lips stretched around him, sliding wet and hot, drawing out every ounce of control he thought he had.
"Fuck, Ella," he growled, the car swerving again as he lost himself for a split second. "Goddamn vixen."
I hummed in response, letting the vibrations run through him. My own body igniting with the power I wielded over this man—the beast who had snatched me from my life, now at my mercy. The irony wasn't lost on me; once captive, now captor, if only for these fleeting moments of raw passion.
His hand found its way into my hair, not guiding but gripping, a silent plea etched in the tension of his body. I took him deeper, each stroke deliberate, each movement designed to unravel him thread by thread.
"Christ." The word was a prayer, torn from the depths of him. Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow, as he tried to keep us from going off the road.
"Let go, Chris," I urged, my voice husky. "Give in to it."
"Can't," he panted, though his actions betrayed him, hips bucking into the warm embrace of my mouth. "Need to... keep you safe."
"Then keep your eyes on the road," I challenged, doubling my efforts, my own arousal climbing with the knowledge that I was breaking down his defenses, one lick, one suck, one swallow at a time. His grip tightened further, my hair pulling against my scalp, a silent command for more, always more.
My movements became fervent, driven by a hunger that was all-encompassing—the need to consume and be consumed. Every moan from his lips, every shudder that wracked his frame, was a victory.
