Page 23 of Not Another Dark Romance

God, I wish I could believe him. I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill anyone.

He’s made it clear he isn’t close with anyone, and after stalking his social media accounts, I confirmed his posting habits are wildly inconsistent. I can’t believe people pay tens of thousands of dollars for his art—even if I do think it’s cool—but those people don’t seem to really know much about him. They just want to buy his paintings.

It seems like I have a real shot at his disappearance going unnoticed. No one’s even called or texted his phone in the days that he’s been here. If it wasn’t so great for me, I’d probably feel even worse for the guy. He seems nice enough—weird kidnapping fantasies aside—so I’m surprised he doesn’t have more friends.

When I’m done cooking, I bring him his food. I wish I could go eat by myself upstairs, at least slightly farther away from his book, but I stupidly made pasta, and I don’t want to leave him down here with a fork by himself, so I’m stuck eating my food on the stairs, listening to one of the characters justify his stalking habits as romantic.

“I would like to be very clear that I did not stalk you,” I blurt out, just in case he thinks otherwise. “I had no idea who you were when I hit you with my truck.”

Mason rolls his eyes. “Yes. You’ve said that. Now, shhh. I’m listening.”

I snort a laugh. Did he just… shush me? Fuck, he’s such a brat. He seriously has no respect for the kidnapper and victim dynamic. I can’t imagine how he’d react if I were actually interested in hurting him.

Honestly, he’d probably like it. He’d tell me to hit him harder or something.

When I’ve fantasized about BDSM, this is not at all what I had in mind. I was picturing handcuffing someone to my bed while I fuck them, maybe using something other than my hand to spank them—things that I’ve seen in porn. Apparently, Mason’s book inspiration has him fantasizing about being used to sexually satisfy his kidnapper. Not quite the same. The fact that he managed to be kidnapped and I don’t have any intention of fulfilling the second part of his fantasy almost makes me feel even more guilty than I already do. Maybe if I was into guys…

Fuck, why am I even considering that?

Once again, Mason takes his fucking time eating. By the time he’s finished and I’m cleaning up after him, the stalker has officially kidnapped his victim right before he was supposed to get married to someone else. The victim is kind of afraid of the guy, but he’s also going on and on about how attractive the stalker is, how glad he is to not be getting married, and is very focused on the stalker noticing things about him that no one else ever has.

“Should I turn it off now so you can sleep?” I offer hopefully.

Mason whips his head around to glare at me. “Oh my god, no! At least let me get to the first sex scene.”

“They have sex?” I ask, dumbfounded because I clearly know nothing about romance books. “Like the narrator actually describes what’s happening as if he’s actually having sex?”

“Obviously. It’s called ‘spice’ in the book world. You should stay and listen! This narrator is so good.”

I snort a laugh at the thought of hanging out down here, listening to a narrator describe gay sex with him. “No, thanks.”

“Your loss,” he insists.

“If you say so. I’m going to bed,” I dismiss, even if I am kind of curious about it, but still, I don’t want to tell him that. I bet he’d take it as a sign that I want to have sex with him.

“Do you work again tomorrow?” he asks conversationally as if we’re just friends hanging out and I’m saying goodbye for the night.

“Yup, lunch and dinner shift.”

“Can you leave my book on for a few more hours? There should be a timer option where you can set it to shut off. I’ll end up sleeping while you’re gone tomorrow, so I’d rather keep this on now. Pretty pleeease.” He smiles up at me sweetly, dramatically batting his dark lashes. He’s sitting on the air mattress, leaning against the pole with his hands cuffed like he’s totally comfortable, but I know he can’t be.

And I shouldn’t care.

There’s no point in denying his request though. “Fine. How long should I set it for?”

“Maybe four hours? Then I can get through about half of it.”

I figure out the timer and make sure I bring our bowls and forks with me as I head upstairs. Pete follows me up. He’s a very cuddly dog and has been sleeping in my bed when I let him. Which is every night because there’s no way I can say no to him. He’s adorable.

After I let Pete out and get settled in bed, I realize there must be a vent open from the basement because I can still somehow hear almost every word of the stupid audiobook in my room. I’m so tempted to just turn it off now, but then I picture Mason’s face if I did, the obvious devastation that I’m sure would be there. He’s already all alone in the basement, sitting around waiting to die. I can’t take away the only joy he has left. That would be unnecessarily cruel of me.

Instead, I try my best to ignore the deep tone of the narrator as the tension builds between the kidnapper and his victim. It’s no use, I can’t help but listen, and I blame the narrator. He’s making it sound so real with his moans and grunts in his breathy tone. This book is basically an audio-only form of porn, and it’s teaching me way more than I’d ever expected to know about gay sex.

I bet Mason knew that when he asked me to turn it on. He’s probably trying to get a reaction out of me. Show me what he’s hoping will happen if I give in to his fantasy.

There’s more moaning and talking about tight holes and thrusting, and my dick starts to thicken. But I refuse to touch it. I’m not jerking off to the book porn the man I have locked in my basement is listening to, likely wishing I was the one doing this to him. That’s too fucking weird.

Damn it, why am I hard while listening to this book and thinking of Mason? I’m not attracted to him, am I? Just because he manages to get me to give in to him with his big blue eyes and pink hair that somehow make him seem so innocent.