Author's Note: It's been an awfully long time, I know. If anyone still gives a damn about this story I am so thankful. I've had all summer and I didn't do a damn thing. Now I'm at University, where I should be studying, but now I get my mojo back…work that one out. Anyways thanks soooooo much for sticking with this guys I would be very grateful reviews so I can see what direction I want to go in, because you are the people that read this :) Hopefully updates soon, but I can't promise anything, it's pretty hectic at the moment :S

Oh also M rated for this chapter- again not sure how this will be received...

Ophelia came to with a burning pain across her entire body. Groaning, she rose from her lying position and realised that she in a bed.

Not her own.

Or Oliver's.

Where was she?

Her question would soon be answered when the sound of a door opened and a pair of footsteps made its way down the stairs. Okay, so she was in the basement.

"Hello?" She called out. She didn't get a response at first. She sighed in annoyance and stretched. That was when she heard the sound of metal clanking together. She flipped her covers away to find an iron clamp had been placed around her ankle. "Oh Jesus..." She muttered to herself before examining the chain, seeing if it could be broken with a bit of brute force. She was mildly impressed to find that it was a very strong chain and one that was not likely to break under great duress.

"It's a good chain, I made sure that it was unbreakable, especially after our Lana was able to break it so easily. And she's nowhere near as strong as you are..." Thredson commented as he came into the light and closer to her.

"Oh I'm not that strong…" Ophelia said her voice, surprisingly, unwavering. By now she had pieced all of the scraps of information and remembered what had happened before she had woken up in the basement and had come to one undeniable conclusion.

Oliver Thredson was Bloody Face.

"Well you certainly gave me a bit of a workout." Oliver was now settled on top of the bed leaning over her. She noticed he was holding something rubbery in his hands. The mask. He put it over his head and waited for Ophelia to scream.

It never came.

Instead she sat, mouth gaping a little and eyes narrowing. She appeared to be examining the mask. She was definitely not like the others.

"Are all those teeth from one victim or are they pieces of all of them?" She asked finally.

"What do you think?" He asked in a sinister manner.

"Well...I'd say a mix, however the front ones look like they've been sewn on recently, so I'd say that's your latest victim...Wendy isn't it?"

This angered Oliver. Why wasn't she screaming?! She should've been like all the other hysterical women who had been chained up to the bed. Or at least frozen in fear. Yet she was having a casual conversation about the victim's teeth! He jumped up from his seat and started pacing like a predator.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Ophelia didn't flinch. This enraged Oliver even more. "You know who I am and yet you're not scared about what I will do to you!" Ophelia straightened and fixed a concerned look in Oliver's direction.

"I'm not scared of you, I've had enough dealings with men you claim to be, but I know you're not really one of them." Oliver stopped pacing and gave her a scrutinising look. He slowly edged towards the bed and sat on the edge leaning over to see if Ophelia was trying to manipulate him. He found that she wasn't, unless she was a very good liar.

"You don't think I'm a monster?" Oliver asked, like a little boy. Ophelia reached towards Oliver's face and allowed her fingers to graze over the rubbery skin of the horrifying mask. When she was certain Oliver wouldn't slap her hand away she pushed the mask away from his face.

He looked so afraid, so childlike. Ophelia realised this was the first time she had seen Oliver without his thick glasses. He was a handsome man, even with the glasses, but without them he looked even better. Oliver leaned into Ophelia's hand that was resting on his face. Yes the man was dangerous, but she meant what she said. Oliver Thredson was not a ruthless killer. The Bloody Face murders were not for trophies, they were for intimacy. From Oliver's file, Ophelia had read that Oliver was placed into foster care from a young age. She assumed his mother was not a very nice or stable woman, if she would abandon her son at the age of four. That accounted for Oliver's progression into the field of psychology, to try and understand why this had happened to him. His descent into the predatory tracking and killing of women was an unfortunate side effect of the fact that there was no one to love and care for Oliver.

Her thoughts almost made her laugh, but it was true, she watched Oliver nuzzle her hand and he moaned softly when Ophelia trailed her hand through Oliver's hair. Like a puppy. Oliver lowered himself onto the bed and curled himself at Ophelia's side.

"I want to stop, I want to stop, please help me. I don't want to do this anymore," Oliver said over and over as he cried into Ophelia's shoulder. Ophelia hushed him and held him close as he cried. She sensed his repentance was real and she wanted to help him stop.

"I know," she said softly. "I know," she turned her head towards his so she could look him in the eye. The moment his watery eyes met hers, she did something she had wanted to do for a while.

She leant up and kissed Oliver on the lips. Oliver's eyes widened, but Ophelia was too wrapped up in emotion and adrenaline to really notice. Oliver soon returned her kiss and started to climb over her, settling himself on top of her. Ophelia gasped and spread her legs to allow them to be comfortable, as Oliver devoured her mouth, but unlike last time Ophelia had no intention of stopping or winding Oliver. Oliver's large calloused hands trailed down Ophelia's body and stopped at her breasts. He squeezed the flesh through her clothing before started to hastily unbutton her blouse. Ophelia sat up, still kissing him as Oliver peeled away the material and threw it in no particular direction. Taking advantage of their new position, Ophelia quickly untucked Oliver's shirt from his trousers and unzipped his fly, while Oliver shed his shirt and shucked his trousers. Ophelia tried to move to another position, but the sound of the metal chain stopped her. They both stopped and looked down at her ankle. They had temporarily forgotten that Ophelia was meant to be his prisoner. Oliver looked down ashamed, before delving into one of his trouser pockets and taking out a bunch of keys.

"I'm sorry, Ophelia," he said quietly, kissing her once, cupping her cheek before removing the clamp from her ankle and smoothing the slightly irritated skin there. Ophelia smiled and wiggled her foot playfully in his face. Oliver dodged her foot and snapped his head to Ophelia, who giggled. Oliver smirked and pounced on her, kissing and biting her skin, with renewed vigour.

"Oliver," Ophelia whispered in his ear. "Fuck me," she all but breathed. Oliver moaned against her skin as his greedy hands moved around to the clasp of Ophelia's bra. It snapped apart with little resistance and Oliver tore it away. Before Ophelia could even catch her breath, Oliver's mouth closed around her breast and his tongue swirled around her nipple. Ophelia whined and thrashed around on the bed, grabbing fistfuls of Oliver's hair allowing the gel in his hair to break apart and become fluffy and tousled. Oliver's erection dug insistently into Ophelia's belly, causing the two of them to gasp sharply. Oliver looked up from his task and stared open mouthed at Ophelia. She nodded her head slightly, in some unspoken agreement and the two of them sprang into action. Oliver jumped away to give Ophelia some room as she quickly pealed the pencil skirt from her body and dumped it with the mini pile of clothes. She reached for her panties, but Oliver pushed her back onto the mattress and hooked his fingers into her lace underwear. He took the time to glide them down her long legs, feeling the warm smooth skin that he passed. His breath shuddered when he looked back and saw she was completely bare to him. Ophelia lightly scraped her nails down Oliver's arms, urging him forward. Once again he was hovering above her, but without the look of murder in his eyes...

Then it all seemed to happen at once.

The sweet, exquisite pain that Ophelia had not felt for a good long while overwhelmed her as Oliver's hips worked like a piston, causing all sorts of garbled nonsense to escape her mouth. For those few precious moments, they seemed to forget where they were and what wretched position they were in. It was just them and their dark, sick and twisted desires. Ophelia buried her head in Oliver's neck as she felt her world start to crumble around her. She knew Oliver was a murderer and Kit Walker was a falsely accused man, yet there was something that was stopping her from going to the police and exposing the truth. She was fairly certain that Oliver would release her and she could go back to her ordinary life. Then again, would she ever be 'ordinary' after this?

Ophelia screamed as her climax hit, she grabbed onto Oliver for dear life as he rode out her orgasm with perfect thrusts. Her head fell back against the pillow as Oliver raced towards his end. She kept eye contact with him as he rested his forehead against hers, panting and groaning, coming to his own end. To help aid him she wrapped her legs around his waist and encouraged him by whispering sultry things in his ear. Oliver soon came with a roar and the sensation of the warmth that spread inside her, Ophelia gasped sharply and sunk her teeth into his neck. The two of them collapsed into each other, tangled up in their passion fuelled bodies.

Oliver eventually lifted his head up and kissed her heavily on the mouth. He leaned away and admired Ophelia's heaving naked chest, laughing to himself. When he met her eye, he kissed her again and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, you're so the one."

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