I finally shift toward him, and part my lips. The kiss deepens at last, but he’s still slow, still careful. His hand slides up my side, and I should be feeling something—desire, excitement, connection.
But I don't.
I feel nothing.
I feel like I'm watching this happen to someone else. Like I'm floating above my body, observing this scene with clinical detachment. Woman on couch with attractive man. They're kissing. His hand is moving higher. This should be arousing.
But it's not.
It feels hollow.Wrong.
Alexander Volkov’s—or I.S.’s?—blue eyes drift back into my memory. He made me feel electric, alive, with only a look. I can only imagine what I’d felt if he’d kissed me. If he’d touched me in any real way.
This isn't that.
This is just... nothing.
Daniel's hand finally reaches the curve of my breast, and I pull back.
"Wait," I say, breathless. "Wait, I'm sorry."
He stops immediately, pulling back to look at me with concern. "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, you didn't. You're great. This is great. I just—" I run a hand through my hair, trying to find words that won't make me sound insane. "I'm sorry. I think I'm moving too fast. I'm not... I'm not in the right headspace for this."
Confusion flickers across his face, followed by something that might be annoyance. "Oh. Okay."
"I'm really sorry. You're wonderful, and any other time I would—" I stop myself. "I'm just dealing with some stuff right now. Work stress. It's not you."
He stands, straightening his shirt, and I can see him trying to get his bearings. "It's okay. I get it."
"I'm really sorry," I say again, standing too. "I shouldn't have?—"
"It's fine." He pauses, clearly trying to decide what to say next. "Maybe we can try again sometime? When you're feeling less stressed?"
We both know that's not going to happen. "Yeah. Maybe." I bite my lip, and I can see the disappointment on his face, but he just nods and leaves.
I go to lock the door behind him, leaning against it and closing my eyes. A wave of disappointment washes over me, too. I tried to be normal, tried to reclaim my autonomy and my life, and I failed.
Even with a handsome, charming, perfectly nice man, all I could think about was how wrong it felt, how utterly devoid of the intensity I've been craving since Boston.
I'm broken. I.S. has broken me. I pour myself another glass of wine and sit on the couch where Daniel and I were just kissing, and I think maybe I hate him.
I feel sure that I do.
But when I go to my bedroom, undress, and slide into bed, my hand slips between my thighs almost immediately. I wasn’t aroused at all when Daniel was kissing me, but now I’m wet. My clit is swollen, pulsing against my fingertips, and I moan softly as I start to rub back and forth. I.S.’s face springs back into my mind, those blue eyes, that strong jaw, and I gasp, my back arching as I fumble in my dresser for a toy.
I don’t want a vibrator tonight. I want to be filled while I rub myself with my fingers. I want to pretend it’s his cock while I touch myself for him.
I imagine him kneeling between my thighs in this bed as I reach down and slide the thick toy into myself. His hands on my knees, pushing my legs apart so he can see my pussy, wet and open for him. Those sharp blue eyes watching my fingers as I rub my clit so he can see. His cock, disappearing inch by inch into me, making me moan as he stretches me. He’d still be clothed,looming over me as I lay naked under him, utterly vulnerable while he had all the control.
Mine, he’d whisper, wrapping a hand around my throat.Mine, as his cock sinks into me to the hilt, claiming me, taking me in long, hard strokes as I rub my clit, pushing myself to the edge, hovering there as I wait for his permission, for his cum to fill me so I can have my own orgasm.
He wouldn’t pull out, not even if I begged. He’d slam his cock into me, holding me down with it, pinning me, spurting hot and thick into my pussy like I’ve never allowed anyone else to, while he commanded me to come, come on his cock, come forhim?—
I cry out as the orgasm hits me, nearly sobbing with the intensity of it, wishing I knew his name so I could moan it as I come for him. My pussy clenches hard around the toy, milking it of the nonexistent cum that I wish he was filling me with, my clit throbbing as wave after wave of pleasure wracks my body.
I lie there afterward, almost stunned in the wake of the fantasy, knowing something is wrong with me.
