A/N: Hi guest reviewer. It does sound like a sleep paralysis demon huh... :) Not quite but... I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

Gretchen chewed on her thumbnail and stared into nothing as she thought. No visions, no headaches, no whispers in her ears, no random thoughts that didn't belong to her, no Brandon. It was just her and Michael in the house. He'd stayed.

He'd stayed and he was probably regretting his decision. Of course, she'd been giddy, excited, and happy about the fact that he'd stayed. She immediately remembered her own want a few days ago. The want and need to explore every bit of him, just have it be the two of them together. That was how she decided the day should go. Only, that didn't happen.

Any time Michael went in for a kiss, she felt uneasy. It wasn't "Presence" uneasy. Just her own silly brain wondering if the ghost was watching. It shouldn't have bothered her. She knew that she shouldn't have cared. Brandon didn't have to watch like some kind of pervert. If that really was his ghost.

It is.

"You're confused about who the real enemy is here." His words echoed in her mind. Was she? The problem was, Brandon seemed to be the one interested in her dying, while Michael wanted her to live. What kind of topsy-turvy world did she suddenly live in?

Gretchen let out an exasperated sigh. She had hoped, that having a quiet, normal, uneventful day would put her at ease. Help her gain her mental strength back. It had done the exact opposite so far. It put her on edge as she waited for something to happen. Something always happened. Things had been escalating. But now, today of all days, the house was quiet, the day uneventful, and she had no idea of what to do.

It couldn't just be because Michael stayed. Oh, gods. Michael is never gonna stay home again now. Home? Shit.

Gretchen sat on the couch in the living room. Michael was gone. He'd be back though, probably. He had, for the most part, occupied the same room she was in. Always finding the darkest corner to stand in and watch and wait. There were a couple of times when he would just randomly disappear. But, he didn't stay gone for very long. And she never once felt as if something or someone meant her harm.

Gretchen leaned back and looked out of the living room window at the darkening sky. Actually, there was one change in the house. Maybe that was what he was doing when he disappeared. A couple of the windows had lost their boards. Not the bars though. She still was in a prison of sorts. But she could actually see the outside.

Michael. Gods, she was conflicted about him and the way the day went with him around. She had tried to make small talk but, other than the two words he'd said in the morning, he remained quiet. He was, surprisingly, passive. Each time she rejected his advances she saw the spark of annoyance and anger in his eyes. But, he didn't force her. There was a part of her, albeit a small part, that almost wanted him to take charge.

She was on edge. She wanted to relax. He could get her to relax, get her to forget. Put her in a simple state of bliss where all that was important was her and him and the pleasure they shared together. Especially now that Brandon was cockblocking her brain. She couldn't get past the thought of Brandon watching them. Judging her.

But Michael didn't take charge. He mainly just stood there. Her quiet companion. Which meant she ended up spending most of the day thinking. Unfortunately, that was a bad thing, since her thinking turned into overthinking. Had she gone crazy? She needed him. She felt it earlier that morning. If Michael left she wasn't sure what state she would have been in when he got back. Not a good one, that was for sure. She needed his strength for whatever was coming. Yet, nothing happened. It was as if the world was conspiring against her. As if life and her mind decided to make her appear crazy.

Crazy.

Gretchen rubbed her face with her hands and let out a loud dramatic sigh. Maybe she was crazy. She had to be. Michael literally killed people, but she felt safer with him than with the ghost of her dead boyfriend. The boyfriend, that up until recently, she had thought was the love of her life, her freaking soulmate. Now, he felt as if he were her enemy.

Why? Because he is. She shuddered. There was something about the way his ghost was acting, something about the way he phrased his words. It was rubbing her wrong. And Michael, despite making it clear that he didn't love her, seemed as if he wanted to protect her. In his own way.

"Always trust your instincts, mija," her mother had told her many times. "Your visions are a helpful tool. But you cannot always trust what you think you see."

She wasn't wrong. Gretchen had misinterpreted her visions before. Her uncle, on the other hand, seemed to have an easier grasp on figuring them out. He probably would have told her that her vision led Brandon to his death. That it would lead her down a path to becoming the lover of a serial killer. Gods, she was messed up.

What would her parents think of her current life's decision? Her father wouldn't have been happy and would have scolded her at the very least. He always wanted her to be more "normal". But her mother. Well, her mother was different, special. Maybe it was because of her life before meeting Gretchen's father. The life she refused to talk about.

"As long as you're happy and healthy, mija."

"Even if it's with a serial killer, mom?" she muttered to herself.

She frowned. Her uncle knew about her mother's past. Her uncle knew a lot of things. A lot of things he promised he'd tell her. Her mother's past, the family history, her visions, the supernatural, and maybe other topics. But, for some unknown reason, he refused to delve into any of the subjects. Twenty-three. She had to be twenty-three, an odd and seemingly arbitrary number he probably pulled out of his ass to avoid talking about things that made him uncomfortable. And the subject on the family and her parents made him uncomfortable.

Gretchen frowned as she sat up. Shit. That day was coming up. She'd have to figure out how to convince Michael to let her call her uncle. An in-person meeting would probably prove to be disastrous, no doubt. And she didn't want any harm to come to her uncle and cousin. They were the only blood relatives she had that she gave a damn about.

A tall form caught her attention and she pushed the thoughts of her birthday and how to get in contact with her uncle away. There was still some time to figure that out. Not much, but some.

Standing up from the couch, Gretchen felt a smile threaten to cross her lips when she spotted Michael.

Come to whisk me away to bed?

His hand ran down her face, cupping her chin. He bent down and kiss her.

Yup.

His lips, his kiss, the way his hard body rubbed against her own, and his hands. He gripped her tightly, before letting them roam to touch her. She felt his cock press against her and she couldn't help but be proud that it was her he desired. Gods, she didn't want him to stop. "So you can slut it up with your murderer without feeling guilty?" Brandon's taunt came unbidden to her mind.

Gretchen pulled away, letting out a loud sigh. "Not tonight, Michael," she said as she turned her back to him. Damn the ghost. He succeeded in doing what she had been begging her brain to do the last couple of days. He made her feel guilty about her choice to be with Michael. And she hated him for that. She wanted to get rid of him. Gods, she really crazy.

Not tonight? Not tonight?! Michael felt a rage build up inside of him. He had spent the whole day waiting. Waiting and watching and absolutely confused. She asked for him to stay. There was fear in her voice, desperation, and a plea. He'd stayed. Because he had a feeling that he would lose her. And yet, nothing happened. She even seemed confused by that.

Maybe her nightmare was just that. A nightmare. An illogical dream filled with fear that pressed upon her conscious mind, making her believe she was in danger. When in reality, she wasn't.

She had spent most of the day partly sulking. Any time he'd kiss her, attempted to get her in the mood she would eagerly reciprocate. Only for her to shut down a few seconds later and tell him. "Not now".

He shouldn't have respected that. Yes, now. Of course now. When I want, not when you want. But, despite those thoughts that ran through his head, he waited and watched.

But now, the day was done and he was horny as shit. His killer side was angry at having "wasted a day". He had no more patience for her sudden prudish ways. Or whatever game she decided she was playing. The look she'd given him when he reappeared was one of desire. A look he was starting to recognize rather easily now.

Not tonight?

"Michael, wait! What the fuck!" she screamed.

He dipped down and wrapped one arm around her thighs, lifting her up. She fell forward over his shoulder. Her fingers grabbed onto his back.

"Put me down," she demanded.

He ignored her as he headed up the stairs.

Yes, tonight. Every night. Should have been all day long.

She let out a little grunt but didn't wiggle. With her ass near his face, he couldn't help but give it a smack, making her yelp in surprise.

"Michael!"

He bent forward, allowing her to drop back onto her bed and bounce on the mattress. She gave him a glare, but her face was flushed. And the way she breathed gave him a completely different message.

His mouth was back on hers and she relaxed. Her fingers immediately went to his zipper as she started to pull it down.

One of his hands went to her breast, fondling her over her clothes. While he used the other to keep his balance on the bed. He slowly moved forward, so that she'd move back, placing his knee between her legs to keep them open.

"Wait, wait," she said softly, pulling her lips away. She placed her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back.

He gave her an annoyed look but stopped for a moment to see what she wanted. Perhaps she wanted to experiment. Better not be "Not tonight".

"I, um." She looked around as if she were searching for some sort of excuse. "This isn't a good idea. Really. Not tonight."

A good idea? Her heavy breathing, the slight glistening of her skin, the dilation of her eyes showing clear arousal, and the way she spread her legs for him told him she wanted him. Not a good idea?

He shook his head. Clearly, he was hearing things. He placed one hand behind her head and forced her to kiss him again. She pulled away, shaking her head.

"Not tonight, Michael," she said as she placed her hand on his chest more firmly to push him away.

Her boldness in trying to take control when they were fucking was amusing and interesting. But, telling him no? She didn't realize just how obsessed he was with her, did she? How unlike him it was for him to hold himself back. She couldn't tell him no and expect him to respect that. She asked him to stay and he agreed. She had to pay the price.

"I'm not playing," she stated.

Neither am I, he thought. He had no more patience left. He'd been dreaming of burying himself in her sweet pussy all day long. He was glad she was wearing a dress. A part of him was half tempted to go and grab his knife to cut it off her, but it was in his room. A trek he wasn't in the mood to make.

He slipped his hands under her dress, pushing it up. She didn't fight him, raising her arms up so that he could take it off. She covered her breasts immediately though. He'd let her get away with that for now. He desperately unzipped his clothes, letting them drop.

He moved one hand over her breast, but she slapped it away, shaking her head at him.

"Not today," she repeated. "It's not a good idea."

His eyes narrowed. There it was again. Not a good idea? As if he was going to stay home and do nothing but sit there and watch her all day and then go to sleep. She didn't make the rules. He did. He grabbed her arms and moved them off her breasts. She struggled against his hold.

"Seriously, stop," she argued.

He let her go for a moment so he could slide off his boxers. A smirk crossed his lips when he saw her eyes widen as she looked down at his crotch. She unconsciously bit her lower lip while she consciously shook her head.

"No," she said. Although this time, it sounded as if she was partly trying to convince herself.

He dug his hand into her underwear and smiled as she gave him a slight moan as his fingers slipped into her folds. He raised his eyebrows at her, she was rather wet.

"No," she said again, shaking her head. "Not today. I-" Her eyes darted around the room as if she were looking for someone. But her body, her emotions, he didn't feel the fear or urgency he'd felt earlier. This was as if she were anxious about being caught.

He pulled her panties down and she grabbed his arm. "Michael. Awe shit."

He didn't give her time to say no again as he placed his mouth over her pussy. She dropped back onto the bed. He really would have rather had a long session, but he was horny as shit and quite tired of waiting. Plus, all her "nos" were annoying him.

She moaned, running her hands down to grip his hair. She wanted him, so why did she resist? It didn't matter.

"I don't think-"

"No," he said firmly this time, rising up. He stopped to kiss her scars for a moment, before going back up to her lips. No more talking. No more thinking.

Despite her protest, she eagerly returned his kiss. Her fingers ran along his arms and then chest and she grabbed his cock. To his annoyance, she let him go just as quickly and shook her head.

"Michael, I-"

He flipped her over onto her stomach, forcing her head down into the bed while moving her legs so her ass was up. He didn't want to hear her protest. Her body was screaming to be fucked.

"Horny, bastard," he heard her mutter. He quickly opened the drawer where she kept the lube. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her move further onto the bed. He expected her to try and leave, escape somehow. A chase? That caused his heart to rise and the killer part of him to slightly wake up with excitement. That would be fun. Chase her around the house to catch her and fuck her instead of killing her. But instead, she grabbed a pillow and put it under her stomach, keeping her ass slightly raised.

Perhaps later. He got back on the bed, feeling it dip under his weight. She let out a little gasp as he trapped her legs under him. He ran his fingers down her slit and grinned as she moaned. She refused to look at him though.

Once again she was fighting an internal battle, resisting her wants. No more thinking, Gretchen. Time to let go once and for all. She'd come around soon enough. He teased her with his cock and she groaned a little in response but stayed still. Setting his arms on either side of her, he leaned in closer. His skin pressed against hers and he heard her let out a little hum of delight. No sooner had she started to relax when her body went rigid.

He placed his lips on her shoulder blade, kissing the first light scar he'd ever made before giving her a small nibble. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head. Her eyes met his. They were filled with worry but wanting.

"Relax," he said softly, giving her another nip. He rolled his hips against her ass. Either his word or his cock or a mixture of both finally did it.

She curled her left arm over to touch his face, bringing him closer to kiss her. Her mouth was so warm and demanding. He brushed his cocked along her slit again, pushing in just a little bit, splitting her labia, teasing her.

There was a feeling of satisfaction as the muscles in her arms tensed and her hand clenched onto the sheets under her. Her breathing deepened as she readied for his plunge in. Now she wanted him. But, it was time to get her to beg for him. She had been saying "no" after all. Time to see if she really meant it when she said "no".

Her hazel eyes gazed into his blue ones, clearly waiting, but he pulled back.

She whined. "Stop teasing."

He let out a huff. A storm flared up in her eyes at his action as they shifted from lust to slight annoyance. That amused him. She really didn't like it when he did that.

"Ass-"

He didn't let her finish. With one hand guiding his cock, he pushed into her, making her gasp and moaned. She pressed her hands onto the bed while raising her hips up for him.

"Fuck," she whispered. Her breath caught as her knuckles went white from clenching the sheets under her.

He couldn't agree more. She was already tight, but apparently, trapping her legs made her even tighter. She was divine. Whatever it was about her, every time he entered her felt amazing. Her silky walls embraced his cock, welcoming him back into her depths. He let out a groan of his own, setting up a slow rhythm. Her body was so small compared to his and yet she took his size with ease. It fascinated him, to say the least.

He leaned in, just to watch her face shift and change at the feeling of his cock in her. She shot him a little glare. Still fighting. With an evil smile, he picked up his speed. Her eyes rolled slightly and her face scrunched as she moaned. The way she moved her arms, how her hands clenched onto the sheets, the sounds from her mouth. He huffed. She may have been saying "no" but clearly she meant yet.

He leaned back and watched as his cock moved in and out of her. He rubbed her ass. So round and firm. Could he even fit in there? How much of a fight would she put up? Although, at the same time, he didn't want to hurt her. Instinctively, he smacked her ass, making her yelp and slightly jump in surprise. Her pussy clenched around him. That surprised him. She moaned loudly, pushing her hips back into him.

Fuck. Placing his hands on either side of her, he pounded into her.

She muttered something between her moans. He leaned in, trying to push back the satisfying sound of his skin slamming against hers, of the wetness of her pussy allowing him to easily slide in and out. He wanted to know what she was saying.

"Stop."

His face twitched slightly at the word. And here he thought she was into it. He slowed down, as his brain started to try and figure out what to do. Stop? She wanted him to stop. Maybe he should. Stop and never give her his cock again. Wait. Why did he care if she was enjoying herself or not? He shouldn't stop. He should go harder, faster. Really drill her, make her mean it when she said stop.

Her fingers tightened their grip on the sheets, and she gave him a side-eyed desperate look. "Don't," she pleaded. "Michael. Please, don't stop. Harder. Faster."

His name, her begging voice, desperate eyes. He pulled all the way out, watching with satisfaction and amusement as her brow furrowed into distress. He pushed the tip in, fighting back his screaming senses to pound the shit out of her. He had her.

You said "stop" didn't you? He wanted to ask.

Her mouth opened and she said something, but it was far too low for him to hear. He moved in shallowly, barely giving her what she wanted. What he wanted, but he had to resist. Her eyes fluttered a little.

"Fuck," she said softly. She shook her head, clearly trying to resist the urge to beg him like she had moments again.

He leaned in again, eyes focusing intently on her, filling her up. Her mouth trembled. Their eyes locked.

Say it, his eyes demanded her. He pulled back and pushed back in, steady but not fast or hard.

Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowed slightly in defiance. Never, she seemed to say.

Say it! he demanded, this time using his body with a faster harder thrust, before slowly pulling back.

"Oh gods," she mumbled. She grabbed the sheets and pushed her ass back to him. "Fine! Just fuck me. I want to come. Fuck me, Michael!" she demanded.

His mouth twitched into a large smile at her words. His name. She said his name yet again. Whatever strength he had that stopped him from fucking her was gone. He set his arms on either side of her for better control. Giving her ass one last smack for good measure, he pounded into her.

"Fuck! Gods, Michael!"

It was the first time he heard her let out a high-pitched scream. Her whole body tensed and convulsed marvelously on him. His own orgasm hit him by surprise. He knew he was close. But he thought he had a little bit more time. He felt the familiar pressure of his own release. He never would have imagined coming with her. It was marvelous and different to say the least, as her pussy walls gripped him tightly. And his own familiar pressure of his own end and releasing inside of her at the same time.

Michael rested his weight on his arms as he panted over her. She said his fucking name. He figured he'd get her to say his name eventually. But, not quite yet. She was still struggling. Still struggling with the moral dilemma that she actually liked fucking him. That was probably what all her "noes" were about. He was a man who killed without remorse. A man who took her and forced her to stay in his home. The one who killed her boyfriend, possibly the very man she thought was the love of her life.

And yet, her protests were little more than a formality it seemed. Something she felt like she had to do. She wasn't quite yet ready to completely give in and let go.

He watched as her shoulder blades moved while she seemed to try and figure out if she wanted to get out from under him, or just lay there. The light discolored scar along her skin from his cut seemed to glisten with her sweat. She looked as if she were going to try and get up, but then she collapsed onto the bed.

"Michael," she whispered, putting her hands up on top of her head. "Fuck. What do you do to me?"

As he leaned back, he couldn't help but smack her ass one last time for good measure. She exhaled loudly. Grabbing the unused pillow, she bunched it up and put it under her face. She let out a muffled scream, much to his amusement. He wasn't quite sure what that meant. The sweat from their fucking made her skin glisten. The scar on her shoulder blade just demanded some attention. He didn't regret his actions. He could never regret that.

He moved over her again, bending down to brush his lips against her skin before giving her another light bite.

You said no, he huffed. And still, you screamed my name.

She stirred a little, turning her head so she could see him with one eye. He dropped onto the bed, letting out a loud sigh, he placed his hand on his chest. They could have made a day of it. Next time.

He could feel her eyes on him but didn't look down at her, focusing on the ceiling instead. She moved, slowly sitting up. That made him look at her. He reached out, running his fingers along her scars. Her stomach twitched, but she didn't pull away.

My name. He wanted to tease her. He opted to give her a knowing smile.

"Do you want kids?" she asked.

He frowned and sat up. That question came out of nowhere. He looked at her stomach real quick then back at her. That was impossible. It was far too soon for her to even assume she was pregnant. Wait, was that why she said it wasn't a good idea? Shit. Did he want children? It was a possibility he could get her pregnant. Maybe. He wasn't quite sure.

"I don't think you should have children," she said.

He huffed, giving her a smile in agreement. But, if he had children then he had children. It would be their misfortune, having him as their father.

"I wanted kids," she said, looking away from him. She looked at the doorway. Her hands rose up to cover her chest.

"For a really stupid reason. I wanted to stick it to my dad's extended family." She let out a sigh and laid down on her stomach next to him, grabbing the comforter to put it over their bodies.

He leaned back. She ran her index finger along the sheet in front of her, tracing an invisible line.

"See. I told you, my dad's family didn't like my mom. I heard them talking about her 'poor genes'. I think they blamed her about the fact that I came out a girl. But you know. It's my dad's fault. Anyway. When I was younger, I used to fantasize about having kids. A little brood of them. Take them to the family reunion, little boys and girls to show them off and my mother's 'poor genes'."

She chuckled. "Two reasons why they thought she had 'bad genes'. One, I was born a girl. There hasn't been a girl born in the family in about one hundred and twenty years. Give or take a decade or so. But then my dad marries my mom who wasn't approved by the patriarch or whoever. And has me. And two, I was very sick as a kid. Like the whole, deathly ill, kind of sick. And that just shows how bad her genes were and made them look bad. So I would daydream, of growing up to have a family of my own. Prove to them I wasn't fragile."

She let out a loud sigh, resting her head on one arm. "My parents didn't have any other kids. They didn't even try. I asked them once about it. My mom said that I was their focus, their treasure. Which basically meant, either, she was worried about bringing in another kid like me. Or, she was worried that having to spend so much time on me another kid would get neglected."

She moved her finger to trace his bicep, inhaling deeply before letting out a long exhale. Slowly, she ran her finger up, then rose, pressing her naked chest against his arm.

"I'm twenty-two," she said, holding his gaze. "I'll be twenty-three in a week. Give or take a day. For my birthday present, you will let me talk to my uncle."

His eyes widened at her demand.

"I have questions. He has answers. Now." She patted his chest and sat up. "I'm hungry and thirsty. I'm getting a snack." He sat up as well, partially wondering if he should just follow her again or leave her alone.

She got out of bed and slipped on her dress and underwear again. She started to head out then changed her mind and walked over to her duffel bag. He watched her as she suddenly dumped all the contents onto the ground. She sifted through everything. Putting a lot of jewelry and two shirts to one side before throwing the rest of the items back into the bag.

"Next time you're out if you could stop by my apartment and get me a few things? I can give you my address if you need it." She bundled up the items she'd taken out of her bag. "I'm going to set this on the console table downstairs. If you could get rid of it?"

She started to walk away then turned and went over to him. She sat down at the edge of the bed and gazed up at him.

"You're a killer," she said.

He nodded his head.

"You won't stop."

He nodded his head again in agreement.

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. With a sigh, she got up. "I'm fucking crazy," she muttered as she walked away.

He huffed in agreement. There was no way there wasn't a little bit of madness in her.