I half expected Killian to barge in at any moment, to swoop me in his impossibly chiseled arms, and vow that nobody was ever going to harm me again, not over his un-dead, awe-inspiring body.
When late evening turned to midnight, and he never showed up to comfort and console me, I was half elated—half disappointed he seemed to have gotten past his obsession with me. It was a good thing after all, no? It was what I wanted.
It would make forgetting him so much easier if he didn’t linger around, to flaunt that unrighteous body of his under my nose, pouring alcohol over my common sense and setting it ablaze.
With those errant thoughts swimming through my mind, I went to sleep, praying to whoever would listen that I wouldn’t succumb to another Killian-induced sexual fantasy.
As per usual when I seldom pray, none of the Gods actually listen, and I wake up in the middle of the night to a palpable presence in my room. I squint my eyes through the darkness, trying to assess if it was a friend or a foe. It was the Vampire King himself, yet not entirely.
Killian stands at the foot of my bed, silent and stoic, all crimson and misty.
Stark naked.
“Must be having a lucid dream,” I mumble to myself, drinking in all his naked, shadowy glory.
Shadow Killian tilts his head in an animal-like, predatory way, as my gaze lowers to his sculptured chest, carved from stone hard diamond and sin, along his lickable V-cut abs and zoning in on the sizeable package hanging thickly between his legs.
“Oh Gods, my imagination is really running wild tonight,” I gasp as my mouth waters and my thighs clench.
He smirks, all shadowy smugness and salacious self-satisfaction.
Even my dream version, non-corporeal Killian knows what a fucking catch he is—dripping arrogance like honey.
“Not going to talk?” I ask coyly, and he shakes his head no, mimicking closing his mouth shut, locking it, and throwing the key away.
“Ooooh, I can work with that!” I whisper, standing on my knees in front of him, on top of the mattress.
He reaches a hand slowly towards my face, his cool, tendril-infused fingers caressing gently my jawline. He stops just below my nape, as if asking for permission, which I hastily give with a hungry nod.
And then we clash, flesh and shadows combined, in a kiss so damning—meant to burn down empires and drag the stars from the sky directly into the gutters.
My dream is so sharp, I can even feel the cool steel of his piercing gliding against my tongue.
I lace my fingers through his ghostly hair, blood-red tendrils caressing my palm, and I moan in sweet surrender when he pushes me back on the bed, hovering above me tauntingly.
The temptation is far too great, and I decide right then and there that if the only way I can have Killian is in a dreamscape, I will milk this fantasy, and his shadow self, for all its worth.
I push my hips upwards greedily, rubbing against his rock-hard yet feather-soft cock, and his figure starts to hum with unbridled energy.
The kiss turns chaotic, violent to such a degree that it feels like Shadow Killian wants to end me—to ruin me—only so he can bring me back to life, in a perpetual loop of mutual destruction.
And then he enters me without restraint or mercy, pushing his pelvis forwards, his cock gliding right through my soaking folds.
I gasp at the bursting sensation—the feeling of him inside me so enrapturing I half scream, half moan in pleasure and pain.
I am so far gone, lost in the suffocating sexual intensity, that I can’t even remember when he took off my nightgown and panties. Or was I naked to begin with?
His mouth peppers kisses down my throat, nebulous fangs grazing my feverish skin, pressing firmly, but stopping short of puncturing.
I am beyond intoxicated, my mind askew, my body on fire.
“Oh Gods, oh Gods,” I invoke between heavy pants, “Please, oh please, let me come this time.” I beg without an ounce of shame, as I feel rapture burning through my veins, scorching me from the inside out.
An ethereal rumble passes through Shadow Killian’s chest, and he changes the angle, pushing back to sit on his calves, bringing my ass up on his thighs, my ankles locked around his head, as he pushes harder, deeper into me. His hands are like unforgiving bands on my hips, guiding me up and down his length at a maddening pace.
More shadows pour out of his crimson frame, rubbing my clit, flicking my nipples, tugging on my unruly strands of hair. One wicked tendril parts my lips and caresses the inside of my mouth, like a thumb begging to be sucked.
So, I do just that. I wrap my lips around the mist, sucking, lapping, biting in sensual abandon.
