I was furious at myself for putting on the white underwear with red lace, admiring myself in the mirror, and wondering if he enjoyed looking at me.
I was furious that Ialmosttook off my jeans and shirt and lay there on the bed for him to watch.
Furious that I liked the idea of him watching me.
Furious that I liked the hungry look in his eyes, the bulge of his arteries as he stared at me, the pulse in his cock against my leg.
I mean, seriously.
What the fuck was wrong with me? This guy was a maniac and I had been kidnapped, and he had a bunch of creepy tattoos and he was Russian or something, and I was going to die if I didn’t play my cards right.
What I didn’t get was why I was being allowed to just lounge in this room with movies and books and lobster.
Finally, I managed to drift off.
I was lying on my stomach when I heard the door click. I was so tired, I couldn’t open my eyes. My eyelids were like anchors, refusing to raise, and worst of all, I tried to lift my arms, and they were as weighed down as my lids.
My heart raced, but I couldn’t move. I heard him moving closer, so quietly it was no more than the faintest rustle.
Had he put drugs in the roll? In the water?
I fought to open my eyes or move, but I couldn’t.
Something warm and dry brushed over my ankle. I was so thoroughly paralyzed I couldn’t even jerk my leg away. The sensation traveled along my calf, up to the back of my knee, where I felt his hot breath, the moisture of a kiss, and the delicious tingle that went straight from my knee to my pussy. I was getting wet; I wanted to move and kick myself away... and I didn’t. I wanted him to continue, and that’s just what he did.
The bed sank a little as he climbed onto it. His lips traveled along the inside of my thigh, barely brushing my skin, igniting it. I quivered inside, unable to move, so that the shudder of delight splashed against the confines of my body like waves in a tank, and the center of my thighs screamed for his touch, for the feel of his tongue.
But it was not to be. I felt his hot breath on my wet pussy, his hands on my bottom, and then his lips moved over my ass, up to my lower back. I could feel his bare skin just above my back, hot, firm, radiating toward my back with him touching me.
Then his breath was on my neck, just like at the strip club. His fingers were in my hair, tightening, pulling me up so that my ear was next to his lips. “I’m going to fuck you, Natalia,” he growled. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
There wasn’t, but I wasn’t thinking of that with quite as much sorrow as I knew I should. He pushed my legs apart with his knees and slid my limp body back by the hair, until I was folded over with my chest on the bed and my bottom in the air.
I couldn’t see, but I could picture him there, on his knees, his hard cock in his hand as he arranged me in that submissive pose. I was so close to feeling him inside of me, and my pussy was throbbing, anticipating the sharp pain, the rounded fullness, the dull ache finally satisfied as he pounded into me from behind.
His cock was warm and large as he rubbed it over my clit, and I tried to gasp but could not even do that. He began to push forward, and my eyes rolled back in my head as the first few inches of his thick cock pushed me open—
Click-click.
Everything around me faded. I could move my body suddenly, and I sat up, finding a light gray light pervading the room.
Early dawn.
No one there.
My pussy still ached as though my dream had been real.
And the door was sliding open.
He was there—as big and muscular as I remembered, a scowl on his face. But man, what a face.
Stop it.
My heart pounded, and I clutched at the duvet as though I were naked, before realizing that my clothes were still on, and I was actually hot, sweating beneath my shirt.
And wet, embarrassingly enough, in other places as well.
The dream had seemed so real I could actually feel his lips on the back of my knee, which made me blush as he stepped into the room.
