“N-Nowhere,” I manage, squeezing my eyes shut.
Wake up. Wake up, and he’ll be gone.
“Lie. We both know you’ve done it before.”
His hands wrap around the backs of my thighs, close to the apex. He pries them apart inch by inch, and my pussy opens to the cool ocean breeze coming in through the open window. It sizzles against my heated flesh, even through my panties, which tells me things about myself I’m not ready to accept.
I’m wet. Slick, like I’ve been whenever I dream of my stalker.
Move. Please move.
He’s not a faceless shadow anymore. I don’t get to think about him like this anymore. Down in that basement cell, my monster is real, and giving in to that fantasy will only prolong his presence in my head when I should be trying to get rid of it.
But the throbbing between my legs…God, why is it so hard to ignore?
“Unless, perhaps, you want me to see it first. Tell you how pretty it looks through my eyes,” he says, his warm fingers digging into my thighs as if he’ll die if he lets go.
He wants me to show him my…m-my…
I swallow back my shame, a muffled moan resounding from my throat. It’s a dream, yet it feels lucid, and my thoughts take a horrific turn.
Would it be so bad if I did it? It’s my dream, after all. My rules.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I confess to myself out loud.
Another chuckle—low, and cruel, and carnal—rumbles above me. I wish I could turn onto my back, wish I could see him, but I still can’t move. All I can do is lie here and wait for whatever my mind decides he will do to me.
First, he peels his hand off one of my thighs. Then, he hooks a finger around my panties, pulling them to the side slowly, as if he’s savoring the sight.
I tremble, feeling everything—his warmth, my dripping arousal, his gaze stationed there, on that vulnerable spot.
“My fucking God, sweetheart,” Mikhail mutters, as if he’s mesmerized. That tone—that sheer obsession in it—makes me melt further into the mattress. I mewl with pleasure, and he hasn’t even touched me.
If I wanted to, I could take him inside. Just this once…
But that’s a line I’m not ready to cross, even in the privacy of my mind.
“I want you to see me in that crowd again, at your recital. What did I ask of you, Cecilia?”
I whisper, “T-to not make a sound.”
He hums in agreement, his voice smooth but hard, like molten thunder. His grip tightens, and as he pulls the back of my panties up, they scrunch into a hard string of material. And that string…he brings it between my pussy lips, where it can rub against my throbbing clit.
“Ah,ahh,” I moan softly, writhing as more heat ignites in my core, the ocean breeze coiling around me, trying to smother it to no avail.
I’m too hot, my body too demanding, too wanton. My nipples graze the sheets underneath me, hardening, wanting to be touched. Why isn’t he touching me?
He bends down, his face now mere inches from my ear. “Not a single fucking sound, Cecilia.”
We’re so close, and this is too dangerous, and he smells like…like orange blossoms.
Likemyshampoo and shower gel.
It’s the thing that pulls me out of that drowsiness, but I still can’t get up. The way he rubs the string of my panties against my pussy has me a different kind of paralyzed.
“Show me what you do when you think no one’s watching. Let me see your pretty cunt pulsing when you come,” hewhispers as I shatter through an orgasm so powerful, it knocks the breath out of my lungs.
Everything in me groans and rattles, like an earthquake hitting a field that’s never been ploughed.
