Turning over in bed, I grasp the journal hidden at the bottom of my rucksack and pry it open. When the dreamscome, I write them down. It’s a poor imitation of therapy, but in the absence of someone qualified, I decided I should at least document my thoughts—no matter how dark they are. Occasionally, I’ll wake up on the cusp of an orgasm, like tonight. But I never tip over the edge, and if I try to finish myself, it never works.
My pen moves swiftly, detailing this latest dream.
He flipsme onto my stomach and presses my hands into the pillow above my head. “Keep them there,” he commands. His voice is a dark caress that sends a shiver down my spine as he straddles my thighs, keeping me pinned to the bed. My hands fist the soft pillow as his hands travel over my back, trailing down to the edge of my silk nightgown. He lifts it, revealing me to his gaze. He groans. “No underwear? Were you waiting for me, Honor?”
“Yes,” I hiss as his fingers massage my butt. He shoves his left leg between mine, forcing them open. He cups me, and the heat of his palm makes me moan as I push back into his hand. I twist my head to look at him, but his features aren’t discernable in the shadows. He spits, and it lands between my butt cheeks. He moves his hand and swirls his finger around my ass. I arch my back and the tip of his finger breaches my tight hole.
He chuckles. “You want to be taken here?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t ready.”
I shove back, taking more of him. “Do it.”
There’s trepidation, but I want him inside of me. He unzips his pants and fists his cock. “It’s going to hurt,” he warns.
“I want it to.” A truth, because I need it to hurt, to make me feel, to reassure me I am still breathing.
I try to rise up to give him better access. “Don’t move,” he snaps as he places his knee on my thigh and presses down, keeping me pinned to the bed. His hand leaves his cock and smacks me between my legs, making me hiss at the sharp pain. He rubs the sting away with slow strokes around my clit, then slaps me again, and again, stopping every so often to bring back the pleasure until I’m sobbing into the pillow with the need to come.
“Please,” I beg. He growls low, then hot liquid splashes over my ass. He swipes his fingers through it and fists his other hand in my hair, before snapping my head up and running his wet fingers along my lips. “Open,” he snaps. “Taste what you do to me.”
My tongue darts out and licks the evidence of his desire for me. I suck them into my mouth, his heady flavor exploding onto my tongue. “Good girl,” he utters against my ear before nipping at the sensitive lobe. My body jerks under his.
I cry out as he disappears from my body, leaving me on the edge—again. He’s the world’s biggest tease, and I fucking hate him for it.
I snapthe journal shut and drop it onto the pillow beside my head. Just recounting the dream has a throb echoing between my legs. My thighs fall open, my eyes close, and my hand slides beneath my panties. I’m right there. My finger rubs a slow circle around my clit. I’m wet, like I always am after one of these dreams. But my shadowy guy never takes it further than this, no matter how much I beg. There’s a psychological block, and I don’t need a therapist to tell me I fear penetration after what has been done to me. I have no idea how tight I am or how painful it’ll be.
I imagine the wetness is from his release, and the bands inside my core snap tighter.
“Yes,” I murmur into the darkness. “Just there.” My other hand squeezes my silk-covered breast and pinches my nipple through the soft material. My head falls back, and I arch my spine as I move my finger faster over that bundle of nerves. My legs tremble.Come on, just a little more.The precipice taunts me. I feel empty as I clench around nothing. My finger slips lower and I circle my entrance before chickening out and returning to my clit. My mind flicks to being strapped in that chair while the doctor remakes me for the pleasure of my husband and the pleasure slips from my grasp.
“No,” I cry out and grab the pillow pulling it over my face. My hands fist, my nails digging into my palms, and I scream. I’m so fucking broken, I can’t even get myself off. Every time I try, it chips away at my soul a little more—bolstering the belief that I will never again experience pleasure.
“Do you need a little help?” a male voice asks.
I bolt upright and find Fox sitting in the chair by the window. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap.
“You were crying out, so I came to investigate like a good housemate should.”
“Get out.”
He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and rests his chin in his hands. “You know this activity is better between two people.”
My cheeks burn, and I’m grateful for the cover of darkness. “This isn’t a freaking scene fromTwilight.Your name is not Edward, and it is not smart—or romantic—to lurk in the shadows of my bedroom and watch me sleep.”
“I wasn’t lurking. I came to see if you were okay. You were moaning my name, after all.”
My heart flip-flops. Was I? “No fucking way. We discussed personal boundaries, Fox, and you aren’t respecting them.”
“I told you I’d protect you.”
“From what? My dreams?”
“From whatever is stalking you, Cleo, whether that’s in the cold light of day, or in the dead of night. I take my job very seriously.”
I drop back on the bed and run my hands over my face. “Your job is not to watch me at all times.”
