“I only need a few fingers,” I protested. “How else am I going to grab the food?” I made sure to innocently stare at her. The woman took me in and sighed. She took a seat next to me on the sofa and I shifted my arms towards her, wiggling my fingers through the fabric to help her release them.
She pulled at the sleeve covering my right hand but as soon as she removed it it, part of the chain squeezed onto my skin and I tensed in pain.
“Sorry,” Anwen said, her face grimacing to imitate my pain. A smile cropped up on my lips at the sound of her apology, at finding out that she felt bad for causing me pain.
“It’s okay, I encouraged, maybe if you rip the fabric so my fingers can wiggle through?” I suggested after a few attempts that ended up in more wounds on my wrists.
Anwen went into the kitchen and returned with scissors. Claiming back her seat next to me, she made small cuts into the shirt and pushed the fabric back onto my fingers to allow them through. I thanked her and eagerly took a slice of pizza, excited at the discovery of the new flavour. I was on my second slice when I observed that she remained standing next to me, watching me eat. I stopped mid-bite and offered her the slice I chewed on, not the most chivalrous of gestures. She smiled and declined, her appearance kinder and her face more relaxed.
Dropping the slice, I moved closer to her, adjusting forward so I got to her lips. My rushed gesture broke any tender moment we potentially could have had. She leaped from the sofa and away from me, then back into the kitchen. I did not want to push her, and soon enough I would be able to follow and hold her, so I allowed her the time she needed to process whatever this was.
She returned and placed an empty bottle next to the pizza plate. “In case you need the toilet,” Anwen announced and before I protested, the woman started climbing the stairs. “Good night,” I heard her say as a door slammed closed somewhere upstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I blocked the bedroom door and I had placed iron chains at the entryway, but could not shut an eye for the remainder of the night. I did not exactly have enough time to process the events, one minute I was reading about the fae, next I was hitting Ansgar with an iron pipe I had found in a bucket of spare parts under the kitchen sink.
When it punched his head, I found myself praying for a bruise, yet his face started to swell and I almost had a panic attack. By the time I dragged him onto the sofa, he was bleeding so much that I had to use a cotton shirt to be able to contain the river of blood that painted his neck. Images of his grimaces while unconscious chased me through the night. I regretted leaving him alone on the sofa when every instinct shouted at me to go and untie him, but I just couldn’t.
There was no way in hell that I would keep Ansgar in pain, I could not bear to see his skin crack open at the touch of iron, I had done it once and I must have squeezed so tight that I physically saw his bare muscles prickle underneath what used to be skin.
I fidgeted in bed, from one pillow to another, under the blanket, then over it, pulled my socks off then woke up to put them back on and scratched every single part of my body until I found a position comfortable enough to make me relaxed so my eyelids finally managed to close. By the time I opened them, the sun hung in the sky and sent direct rays onto my eyelashes. I woke up, not knowing the time or how long had passed since I went to bed. I grabbed a long shirt and unblocked the door, moving the chains far enough to allow me to crack the door open and exit on the side, but keeping them close enough to block the rest of the entry into the bedroom.
I took the stairs one by one, stepping on my toes and not making a noise until I was properly able to assess whatever situation awaited for me in the sitting room. Halfway down the stairs, I had a full view of the sofa, but I did not spot Ansgar anywhere. My pulse rocketed and I almost leaped the remaining steps to get into the sitting room, where he should have been. How had he managed to escape? I made sure to wrap the chains tight enough to keep him steady, yet he managed to disappear.
Only he hadn’t. There he was, laying down on the couch, curled up in a fetal position to be able to fit next to the wide cushions smeared with blood alongside him. Wanting to make him as comfortable as possible, I quickly went into the bedroom and pulled a pillow and a blanket from the bed, then went back downstairs, almost tripping on the stairs. I stepped next to him, removing the empty plastic bottle and pizza plate to make enough room for the cover.
He was soundly asleep, his chest raised with regular and relaxed movements while his hands hung loosely onto the side. He did not look to be in pain.
A soft tenderness conquered my heart as I watched him sleep. I raised his head just barely, with slow movements, pulling from the back of his neck, where just a few hours ago blood poured out of a deep wound. If I still needed convincing of his supernatural abilities that would be enough. It was not humanly possible to receive such a blow to the head and be sound asleep the next day instead of dead. I slowly slipped the pillow underneath and let his head drop back onto the satin pillowcase.
I watched him adjust to the new sensation, the slickness of the fabric and his own skin holding a softness competition. He did not wake up with the movement, so I took the blanket and wrapped it around him, covering most of his torso and long legs, though, even curled up, he proved too tall so his feet remained out.
Containing an urge to cuddle next to him, I checked the time. Seven forty-three. The sun was barely out, Ansgar still slept so I decided to run a bath and give myself time to plan the day before I came into the kitchen to make breakfast and wake him up with the coffee machine.
I snuck back into the bedroom and closed the door behind me, then went into the bathroom and turned the hot water tap to the maximum. I needed a good soak to burn the stress away.
I added some bath salts and an essential oil bath bomb that, coincidentally, smelled like orange. I did not know how Ansgar did it but every time I was close to him, no matter the time of day or the condition he was in, his perfume always managed to outshine everything, leaving a sweet scent of fresh earth and orange. Bubbles started to pop up and dance in the tub, so I decided it was time to get in.
I don’t know how long I’d soaked for, when my eyes startled open at the screeching door and I saw a free Ansgar entering the bathroom with slow and smug movements, allowing me enough time to process that he got himself free. My initial instinct wanted to jump out of the tub and find something to defend myself with. But I was completely naked, with absolutely nowhere to go and no iron objects near me whatsoever, so I did the only other logical thing I thought of, dip as low into the tub as possible to cover as much of myself under the bubbles. I had never been more grateful to foaming bath bombs in my entire life than I was in that particular moment. My hands instinctively covered my breasts and I pushed my pelvis low into the bottom of the tub, making sure the foam covered anything that might look interesting.
“Good morning,” he murmured and stepped closer to me, deciding to kneel right next to my bathtub. He stood within reach, I could easily hit him if I wanted, though, his strength was far superior and he had managed to escape his chains, which led me to believe that without a suitable weapon, I was defenceless. I decided to keep what remained of my dignity, knowing that I still had the power to dominate the mood of this conversation and decided to use it to my advantage.
“What are you doing here?” I asked harshly, in the best demanding tone I mustered.
“I woke up,” he answered with a small lift of his shoulder, like it was the most obvious thing. “Just wanted to come say good morning,” Ansgar continued.
His left hand rose upwards to touch the side of the tub, fingers playing with the hot water and making small circles around the bubbles that were not doing such a good job at covering me as I initially thought. “I didn’t expect such a warm welcome,” he accentuated. His palm moved onto one of my knee caps that pierced out of the water and continued to make the same small circles with his fingers. My insides exploded at the rhythmical movement, the way his finger scraped at my skin triggered waves of sensation in places I was not ready to admit.
“I assume you rested well enough, seeing how you managed to escape and all,” I tried to maintain my composure while his fingers started sliding down into the water, dipping inch by inch onto my skin.
“Hmmm...” he smirked, pleased with the discovery of bare skin. His stare remained fixated on my lips as his hand continued its journey downwards with treacherously slow movements. I breathed out a huff when he touched my inner thighs and kept digging deeper with his annoying little circles on my skin. It drove me so crazy I had to resist the urge to bite my lip.
“Thank you for not placing the chains directly on my skin, it would have made the pain of escaping a lot more difficult to endure.” Reading my mind, he was the one to bite his lip, attention still focused on me while he reached and stopped his hand right at the bone of my pelvis. One more inch and he would have me fully in his palm.
“No problem,” I tried to sound focused on the conversation while feeling my nipples harden under my hands. At this point, there was no use covering them, if he was about to touch everything else, the sight of my tits would not cause any of us further offence, so I decided to release them.
I directed one of my hands over his, catching it in mine. Whatever movement he prepared to do, it stopped, and keeping his hand in place while his eyes did all the penetration he possibly planned in between my legs. He looked at me so deeply, so fully, that I almost felt my skin melt away with the heat those grey eyes raised in me, my breathing accentuating and my entire form dishevelled under that gaze.
