The night Oliverdoesn’t show up in my bed is the night I have the first dream.
As I fall asleep, I’m dimly aware of him denying me, even as I drift out of consciousness.
He’s not coming.
Still alone, in this bed.
The dream comes on slowly, and I’m not aware I’ve fallen asleep. I’m in Oliver’s room and he has my phone in hand, showing me the camera app.
“Film me,” he says, taking off all of his clothes, piece by piece. “I want you to post this one.”
“You don’t want these types of videos online. Trust me.”
I started putting my body online and getting attention from creeps and freaks a while ago, but I can’t imagine Oliver having those eyes on him.
I don’t want those eyes on him.
I wantmyeyes on him.
“Just film me. It’s hot if people see.”
He’s getting on the bed a moment later, on all fours. He spreads for me and looks back at the camera, a lustful look in his eyes.
“Ollie.”
“Take my ass. Film it. They can watch us and be jealous.”
Desire rips through me, a clouded impulse of lust hitting my veins like 140-proof alcohol. I’m so hard from the way he’s presenting himself,offeringhimself.
“This could ruin you,” I tell him, my voice coming out low and severe.
His eyes smolder as he looks back at me.
“Come. Use me. You’ve already ruined me anyway, Niko.”
I wake with a start from the dream, way too hot under the covers and so hard again already, only an hour after leaving Oliver in real life.
I shove the covers away, cool air hitting my skin.
My heart’s pounding.
I’m in bed alone.
And more than anything, I’m angry.
I’ve wanted to ruin Oliver Ashford for a long time. But the dream was like a spike to the heart, hurtful in a way I didn’t know I could be hurt.
In the dream…
I wanted to protect him more than I wanted to destroy him.
That’snew.
And I have no idea what to do with that feeling.
The second dream is worse.
It happens three nights later, after we’ve already made our “relationship” official on social media.
