When he later puts his arm around my shoulders, he asks if it’s okay. I nod, sinking my teeth into my lower lip. Then he leans over, giving me plenty of time to stop him, before kissing me softly.
We’ve kissed several times now, and it’s pleasant. I don’t feel like my heart is going to explode out of my head from fear. Fear of what will happen, fear of what he wants. After a month with Miguel, I know to my bones that he’s safe.
He tangles his hand in my hair, lowering me back onto the couch. I return the kiss, following his rhythm as it becomes more urgent. I feel the hardness through his pants.
Miguel has been beyond patient when I’ve given him so little in return. He slides down to lay his hot mouth against my neck, and my eyes flutter closed.
Can Shadow sense my body responding? Will he come like he did the last time I got intimate with someone else?
Will Shadow rip Miguel off me and threaten his life?
I shiver at the thought and Miguel moans.
A hand reaches under my shirt, cupping my breast through my bra. Notching his hard-on between my legs, Miguel begins to grind into me.
The need I feel grows with the friction, the pressure, the skin-on-skin contact.
But it’s not a need for Miguel. I need Shadow. I need him to come for me.
I want him to stop this.
I want him to save me.
Miguel is everything I was told to want. Respectful. Kind. Gentle. So why do I want him ripped away from me?
I want tentacles wrapped around my arms, my legs, my throat.
I liked the way Shadow squeezed my jugular to the point of pain. It made me wet, out of control, and completely submissive to whatever messed up sexual things my monster would want to try out on me.
The idea of Shadow pinning me, splitting me in two, dragging me to my knees before him has me on the verge of coming.
Turning my head to the side, I squeeze my eyes shut as I buck harder against Miguel. My jeans are wet and hot from the grinding and my dark runaway thoughts.
I need Shadow. I need him to come for me, to stop this.
Miguel unbuttons my jeans and slides a hand down, gently teasing my wet lower lips. I mewl.
It’s not his touch that makes me gasp—it’s the emptiness behind it.
"Meu Deus," he murmurs. "You are so perfect, Evie."
Panic tightens around my throat, dispelling my fantasy of Shadow’s velvet touch.
My body is alive, on fire with desire for all the wrong reasons. I crave violence, I crave to be possessed.
Is Shadow really not going to come?
If he doesn’t, this is going to continue.
Miguel is going to make love to me.
He wouldn’t fuck. He’d treat me so sweet.
He’ll say every right thing, make sure I’m comfortable the whole way through before cuddling me all night and making me breakfast.
My insides twist with an ugliness I can’t push away.
Because all I want is for him to be launched across the room while Shadow bends me over and defiles me like the monster he is, right in front of Miguel’s eyes. Until I’m screaming, begging, and liquid sin.
