Holding my breath, I try not to move.
The urge to flee has gone, the need to stay overwhelming.
His fingers trail over my shoulder and pull at the thin strap of my dress. A shiver runs down my spine even though I’m hot. He slides the knife underneath the strap and cuts it with ease. He then repeats the process on the other side, the flimsy dress falling, leaving me naked, the moonlight, his hand, and the knife the only things upon my skin.
“That’s better,” he says as he smooths the weapon over my abdomen, goose bumps rising as I shudder against the chill of the metal. It travels up my side, the tip of the blade kissing the underside of my arm as he brings it up to my breast.
He teases the knifepoint over my nipple, his other hand flat on my hip.
“I told you there was no point in running,” he says as he moves the blade up to my throat.
The beat of my pulse pounds my ears, my heart drumming against my ribcage that I’m sure is going to crack.
Holding the knife steady, he slips his hand between my legs.
“Keep perfectly still, angel. Perfectly still.”
I find myself leaning against him, his solid frame holding me up, my head resting on his chest, his breath caressing my hair.
His fingers brush tentatively over my sensitive spot, the electricity surging through my body making the command to stay still nearly impossible. Biting my lip, I close my eyes as I try not to grind my crotch against his hand.
“That’s it, angel.” As he dips his fingers inside me, I feel the nip of the knife against my throat, the thrill surpassing the fear of the blade. “You’re so wet, angel, so pliant.”
I twist my hands behind me, and they find him, gripping his shirt, steadying the mounting pleasure threatening to topple me.
“I’ve got you.” His fingers pulse as his thumb massages me, and the moan escapes the confines of my head. “I want to hear you. I want to hear what I do to you.”
“Oh God.” Pressure mounts, the buzz building, gaining momentum until I can’t keep it at bay. “Yes,” I cry as Valdemar’s fingers fuck me, my throat exposed to the knife’s edge.
“Let it go, angel. I’ve got you. Come for me.”
Hard and ferociously, my orgasm rips through my body, shattering the moonlight, my cry piercing the night.
My breath catches in the back of my throat as my eyes spring open, the tail end of the orgasm still rolling through my body.
But it isn’t the pleasure that shocks me, or that the dream has changed, but the fact that in my right hand, I’m holding the knife.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“How can you control your dreams?”I ask Pierre and Una as the large vegan pizza is placed on the table by a skinny teenager who looks like he would rather be anywhere but serving pizza on a Monday evening.
We all finished work late due to Captain changing his mind at the last minute on a story we had planned to run midweek, so it was a unanimous decision to grab a bite to eat to accompany our usual Monday night drinks. Being a strict vegan, Una has brought us to The Hop-Frog Vegan Veg-Out on Hicks High Street.
Tucking her dark hair behind her ear, Una reaches for a slice. “Depends what you mean by controlling your dreams,” she says as she curls her pizza slice into a cone and takes a bite without smudging the dark red lipstick she’s worn all day as part of her romantic goth look.
“Do you mean you don’t want to dream?” Pierre asks, wrinkling his nose up and poking the soy-based cheese topping.
“I’ve tried all the stuff to stop myself from dreaming, and none of it works. What I really want is to be able to control my actions during the dream.”
“Why would you need to do that? The best part about dreaming is letting yourself do things you would never do in real life.” Pierre sucks leftover flour from the pizza-making process from his fingers before continuing, “Unless you’re chopping up kittens or something?”
“I’m not chopping up kittens,” I reassure him. “I’m just doing things in my dream that I would rather not do in real life.”
“Evangeline Bransby, what are you doing that’s so bad?” Una asks, wiping the corner of her mouth on the back of her fingerless-gloved hand and trying to adopt a mischievous tone.
“Let’s just say I’m in a compromising position with someone I would never touch in real life.”
“Holy shit, who?” Una’s eyes widen, her heavily winged eyeliner appearing to expand.
