The Library

Lilith

T he days drag on slower than I ever could’ve imagined. Three fucking days in Sebastian’s house, waiting like some obedient pet. I hate it. I hate that I’m listening to him, staying put because he told me to. But more than that, I hate that his words keep ringing in my head.

“I need to make sure you’re safe.”

Safe from what? Or who? I’ve spent every moment since he walked out the door trying to piece together what he meant by that. What danger could I possibly be in that would warrant him leaving me here, alone, in this empty house? My frustration only grows with each passing hour.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate the comfort of his place—hell, it’s nice, luxurious even. But I’m starting to feel like a prisoner. Like I’ve traded one set of chains for another. And the worst part is that I agreed to it. I let him leave me here because I thought I understood the risk, but now? Now I feel like I’m suffocating in the silence he left behind.

I know he’s on an assignment. I know it’s dangerous, and that’s why he left. But still—three days, and nothing. Not a single text. No explanation. No idea when he’s coming back. What the hell kind of relationship is this? What kind of control does he think he has over me? I’m not some puppet to be left dangling while he runs off to handle god knows what with Ty. And yet… I’m still here.

Part of me is furious with him. Part of me is furious with myself for staying. I’ve spent these three days cycling through every emotion possible—anger, worry, need. I’m constantly on edge, wondering if he’s okay, if he’s even thinking about me while he’s out there in his blood-soaked world. And worse, there’s a twisted part of me that wants him to come back and explain himself, to tell me I matter enough for him to check in. Because despite everything, I want him. I need him.

But maybe I’m kidding myself. Maybe I’m just another job to him, another piece on the board that he’s moving to keep in place.

I sit on the edge of his bed, running my hands through my hair, staring at the door like I expect him to walk through it at any second. But he doesn’t. The silence is deafening, and the more I think about it, the more my anger festers. I want to scream. I want to grab something and throw it. How does he expect me to just sit here, waiting, when I don’t even know what I’m waiting for?

By the time the sun sets, I’ve worked myself into a full-blown rage. Pacing the room, muttering to myself, hating the way he has this power over me. I feel pathetic, like a child throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get what they wanted. But I can’t help it. Sebastian leaves this gaping hole in my life when he’s not around, and I hate how dependent I’ve become on him.

And it doesn’t help that I fucking miss him. I hate that I miss him. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t be craving him like some sort of addict. But I am, and the more time that passes, the worse it gets.

I try to distract myself, picking up a book from his shelf and flipping through the pages. But I can’t concentrate. My mind keeps drifting back to him. To the way he touches me. To the way he makes me feel alive in a way no one else ever has.

Frustrated, I throw the book down, standing abruptly and walking over to the window. I need air. I need to get out of here. But he told me to stay, and as much as I hate it, I know I’ll do what he says.

At least, that’s what I thought.

By the time this third day hit, I decided I can’t take it anymore. Fuck this. I don’t care what he says. I can’t sit here like some caged bird, waiting for him to come back whenever he feels like it. I’ve got my own life, and I’m not going to sit around while he plays whatever game he’s playing.

I grab my bag and head for the door. The moment I step outside, the cool air hits my face, and I feel a sense of freedom wash over me. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for days, suffocating in his absence, but now I can finally breathe again.

Fuck him.

I get in my car and drive back to my apartment, the familiar streets passing by in a blur. My mind is racing, torn between anger and something else I don’t want to admit. I want to be pissed at him, to stay angry, but the truth is I miss him. And the worst part? I want him to know it.

When I get back to my apartment, I let out a sigh of relief as I walk through the door. It’s good to be back in my own space, to feel like I’m in control again. But that sense of control doesn’t last long. Not with the way my thoughts keep drifting back to him.

I slump down on the couch, flipping through the channels on TV, trying to distract myself, but nothing works. My mind is buzzing with thoughts of him—his touch, his voice, the way he makes me feel. It’s infuriating.

I grab my phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media, but it’s no use. My mind keeps drifting back to him. And then, without thinking, I open my smut book—the one I’ve been reading to pass the time. The one that’s been filling my head with dangerous fantasies.

The guy kidnaps the girl, chases her through the woods, and fucks her. It’s raw, rough, and primal. My skin heats up just thinking about it, my thighs clenching involuntarily. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. But it’s so fucking hot.

I grab my phone, snap a picture of the page, and send it to Sebastian with a smirking emoji. I don’t expect a response. He hasn’t texted me in days, so why would he now? But I want him to know what I’m thinking about. I want to see if I can get a reaction out of him.

To my surprise, my phone lights up almost immediately.

Sebastian: You want me to kidnap you, ? Let you fight for your life as I fuck you so hard you’ll think you’ve gone to Hell?

The words send a shiver down my spine, my pulse quickening. I can almost hear his voice in my head, low and dangerous. My breath catches in my throat, my fingers tingling as I type out a response.

If only you could actually kidnap me. But I know your games now. I’ll see you coming from a mile away.

I stare at the screen, waiting for his reply, but it doesn’t come. The seconds tick by, turning into minutes, and still nothing. My heart sinks a little, disappointment settling in the pit of my stomach. I was hoping for more. I was hoping he’d play along, tease me like he always does. But instead, I’m left with silence.

Frustrated, I toss the phone aside and try to shake it off. But the fantasy is still there, lingering in the back of my mind. The idea of him kidnapping me, chasing me through the woods, fucking me senseless—it’s all I can think about. My body is aching for him, every nerve on fire with anticipation.

I down an entire bottle of wine, hoping it’ll numb the ache. It works for a while, dulling the sharp edges of my frustration. But as the night wears on, my thoughts keep drifting back to him. To the way he makes me feel. To the control he has over me, even when he’s not here.

I crawl into bed, naked, the smut book lying open beside me. My mind is still lost in the fantasy of him chasing me, catching me, claiming me. My body throbs with the memory of his touch, and I fall asleep wishing he were here.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when I feel it. A hand clamping over my mouth.

My eyes snap open, my heart pounding in my chest as panic surges through me. I try to scream, but the hand muffles the sound. My arms are yanked behind my back, bound with something rough and tight. I thrash, trying to fight, but it’s no use. I’m trapped.

Blindfolded. My body jerks, panic surging through me as I try to scream, but it’s cut off when something metal is shoved into my mouth. I can tell it’s a gag, but I’ve never seen one like this. It holds my mouth wide open, leaving me helpless, but I can still breathe through the metal ring in it. My lips are stretched wide, just big enough for him to shove his cock through if he wanted. I’m panicking now, my body squirming in his grip, but I’m powerless. Completely at his mercy.

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, my body trembling with fear and confusion. I can’t see. I can’t move. I can’t think.

But then, something unexpected happens. The fear—the raw, primal terror that should have me frozen—it excites me. My body reacts in ways I didn’t expect. My skin tingles, my nipples harden against the cool air, and I can feel the wetness pooling between my thighs.

Shame washes over me, but it’s quickly overtaken by something darker. The fear only fuels my arousal, making me wetter, making me crave… more.

I know it’s wrong. I know I should be terrified. But fear has always excited me. It’s always been something that gets me off. The idea of being powerless, of someone else having complete control over me—it sends a shiver down my spine, my body responding even as my mind screams at me to stop.

Then I feel it—a hand tracing the lines of my body, slow and deliberate, like it knows exactly where to touch, where to tease. My skin hums under the contact, my breath hitching as fingers slide between my thighs, finding me already soaking wet. A dark thrill pulses through me, and I can’t deny the heat it sends coursing through my veins. I’m already lost.

The blindfold presses harder against my eyes as I’m lifted into the air, strong hands gripping my bound body as if I weigh nothing. The wine I drank earlier has dulled my senses, making everything feel slower, hazier, but the fear is sharp, cutting through the fog. My head swims with the sudden jolt of adrenaline, but instead of fear making me panic, I can feel how it’s fueling my arousal. My body is betraying me.

I can’t see him, but I can feel the heat of his presence. Whoever this is—because some part of me still doesn’t know, still refuses to believe it’s not him—they’re big, strong, and dominating. The kind of presence that takes up space, that makes you want to shrink in response.

I’m shoved into what feels like a trunk, my body hitting the cold, metal floor with a dull thud. The sound of the trunk slamming shut reverberates around me, trapping me inside the darkness. My breath is loud in my ears, my pulse pounding, and I can hear the muffled sound of an engine roaring to life.

Then, as the car speeds off, I hear it. Faint, but unmistakable. “RunRunRun” by Dutch Melrose playing through the car’s speakers.

I don’t know whether to scream or moan.