His Captive Ch. 04-06

Malachi's chuckle is low, reptilian. His head carefully angles away from the wall and back to her, empty theatrical eyes gleaming down at her.

"Ouch," he remarks mildly, as a trail of watery blood slips down the corner of his mouth and collects along his chin before dripping onto her chest. "It seems I underestimated your skills."

"Please—" she begs hoarsely and he hums to the tune of her plea, "please if it's money you want—"

"Money?" Malachi's hand reaches out to touch her neck, his thumb hardly brushes the faint visible jugular artery that pulses beneath darkened skin when she reacts again.

This time, he expects it.

His hand captures her flying fist by the wrist and forcefully pins it above her head.

"Little sinner," Malachi chastises like a parent would to a child, clutching her other retreating hand and pinning them together above her head. "I would very much prefer my face untouched."

She tugs against his iron grip, but he doesn't budget. Olive's chest struggles to expand as fear turns to anxiety then paranoia. She knows that no amount of kicking, screaming, or struggling would be enough for her to overpower him.

She was completely at his mercy, now feeling more exposed as his steady, impenetrable gaze roams her flushed face then with purposeful pace, un-hurriedly lowered down the length of her neck, darkening as it settles along her chest.

Something of a fist clenches around her heart and she wriggles with sudden desperation to draw his gaze away from the thin material of her shirt which clings along the curve of her braless breasts, exposing her intimate parts.

"I have money!" She announces sharply, drawing his attention back to his face. "State your price, and... and I'll pay. I swear—"

"One thousand dollars." Malachi deadpans, enthralled internally by the sudden shift in her trembling demeanor.

He sees the conflict behind those big brown eyes, the hesitation as her gaze struggles to remain steady on him whilst stammering her first lie; "Okay, one... one thousand."

Malachi's head dips towards hers, close enough for the tip of his cold nose to brush hers, capture the salty grains on her lips. He smells her fear; saline and slightly repugnant from vomiting. Yet beneath that stench is her familiar feminine scent that constantly drew him in.

"Five thousand," he tests, nosing her hairline and inhaling deeply. A satisfied purr reverberates across the center of his chest.

He would be a fool to deny just how much her presence affected him. The punch itself spurred something hot in his abdomen— after months of waiting, planning, wanting... Here she lay directly beneath him. The magnitude of her simple touch, though negative, flooded blood to his cock which twitched to life straining against the material of his pants.

"Okay, five thousands." Olive pants near his ear and Malachi moans in exaggeration at the mere flutter of her warm breath.

He fights the urge to thrust his hips against her chest, fuck his hardened cock between her breasts and cum in that gorgeous hot mouth.

Not yet.

"Fifty thousand," his lips brush the shell of her ear, capturing her earlobe between his teeth playfully.

The mere intimate action triggers a galvanic effect on Olive as she jerks once beneath him. Malachi chuckles lowly.

"Fifty thousand! Please please—"

"My little deceiver," his free hand palms up the flat of her abdomen, fingertips tracing the arc of her ribcage, lingering just beneath the curve of her breast teasingly.

He cups her small breast in his hand, relishing in the sound of her staggering gasp as he squeezes just a little too hard, casually rolling her nipple between his forefinger and thumb until it grows hard enough to cut glass.

Olive tries yanking her hands down, pressing into the mattress to escape the torturous hand and defying body as ribbons of unknown pleasure trail down her spine.

"One hundred thousand."

"One hundred thousand!" She shouts, "one hundred thousand, I swear, I promise, I—"

"Okay."

Olive falters; "Really?"

Malachi leans back just enough to capture traces of doubt that flicker across her perfect face. His smile is divinely sadistic, "No."

He pinches her nipple. Hard.

Olive's outraged yet terrified squeal of pain drowns out his own faint chuckle. Teasing her had briefly eased his pained erection but it was not enough.

Malachi had considered taking her there and then on the bed, rip away at her clothes like some primal mad animal but he knew his limits. Despite the erotic urge, his self control was greater, or so he hoped.

And she had only just woken in a sick, terrified state.

No, he was not a monster.

He would give her time, feed her, bathe her, clothe her— carefully lower her walls of alarm and distrust until she bared herself to him willingly.

He could wait.

He did it for three months anyway.

Malachi's attention is drawn back to reality at the sound of slight sniffling sounds beneath him. His gaze shifts to Olive whose eyes are scrunched shut, a futile attempt at blotting out the tears which pool around her long lashes, glistening down her temples.

He stares in confused awe; "I will not harm you, Olive." Malachi hushes, gently capturing a stray tear between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it thoughtfully.

"Look at me," he demands softly, capturing her jaw when she does not obey and squeezing once, "Eyes open, Olive."

Those frightened eyes hesitantly peer open and she sniffs slightly as her nose begins to leak. Malachi offers her a reassuring smile; "I will not harm you, I promise."

At the lack of a response, he shifts slightly, easing his weight off her chest. "I will release you so that you may shower and freshen yourself, but—" he disrupts the slight alertness in her watery eyes, "on condition that you do not fight me. Okay?"

He waits as she struggles to find her voice. She nods when that fails.

"Pinky promise?" Malachi nudges with a playful pointed look.

Olive nods again.

Studying her face briefly, he lingers a heartbeat longer before carefully releasing her wrists. She does not move, still as death beneath him. Bracing one palm against the side of her head, Malachi lifts himself off of her and onto the bed.

Still, she does not move but her face angles in his direction, keenly watching him.

"The bathroom is—"

Her body moves in a violent blur towards the open door.