He doesn’t answer.
Rain continues to pour outside, clinking against the windchimes.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I ignore it, walking around to the other side of the bed where the nightstand isn’t in pieces. I set both mugs down, then grab the thermos and pour the rest of the bitter melon tea.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress slightly dipping from my weight, and I bend down, pressing a kiss to his cold cheek.
The air catches in my lungs. “Oakley?” I shake him, panic beginning to set in. “Oakley!” Tears spill freely when he doesn’t answer me. His eyes don’t move. His body remains still.
I cover his body with mine, pressing my head against his chest, needing to hear his heartbeat.
“Please, please, please,” I beg in Japanese. “Please, beat.” I shut my eyes, focusing, boxing out the rain against the roof and the loud songs from the windchimes.
Ba-dum.
“Oh, thank you.” I kiss the middle of his bare chest, the saltiness of his sweat tangy against my tongue. “Come back to me, Oklahoma. Where are you?” I kiss up his chest, my body heating from being so close.
Even in his sleep, his cock hardens under me. The heat that I’ve been fighting hits me full force, and I drag my tongue up his neck, gathering his natural flavor.
I groan, pressing kisses against his sculpted jaw hidden beneath a thick scruff. Liquid pools in my panties, soaking them, and I grind myself on his rigid length, loving how thick he is.
My hand slides down his abs, the trimmed hair tickling my palm.
“I need you. Wake up.” I grind against him harder, the crown pressing against my clit.
I moan, dropping my hand more.
Then, I freeze.
I fly off him and fall to the ground with a hard thud that has pain shooting through my right hip. I crawl away from him as quickly as I can, slamming the back of my head against the bedroom door.
What did I do? What have I done? He isn’t even conscious, and I nearly…I almost…
I push myself up, my legs struggling to get under me as I try to run down the hall. I have to catch myself on the walls a few times, zigzagging like a pinball in an arcade machine.
My feet slip on a cowhide rug in the living room, and I catch myself on the arm of the black leather recliner.
A cramp shoots across my stomach, the agony causing my knees to buckle. My hand lands on the doorknob, and I take a second to catch my breath.
“What is happening?” I moan, a wetness coating my thighs as my pussy throbs with the invisible ache to be filled. “Oh, god.” My body is on fire. I press my head against the cool glass that makes a window in the door, sighing with so much relief.
Spreading my legs, I glance down. The front of my shorts is soaked, and liquid shines against my thighs.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to the empty room, watching as the slick flows down, puddling on the floor.
My nipples bead under my shirt, tightening to tender points that are begging to be pinched and sucked.
Is this what dying is like?
Dying to be fucked, maybe.
I arch my back when another cramp slices across my abdomen, more hot liquid spilling from me. If Oklahoma were to spread my legs and slide into me, he would have no resistance.
I’m ready.
Lightning cracks nearby; the bombing of electricity causes the lights in the house to flicker.
Once.
