I KNOW I’M DREAMING. I can tell because I’m in a house I’ve never seen before. The little bedroom is dingy but clean, with a four-drawer dresser, a sliding-door closet, and a full-sized bed by the far window.
The spring rain pounds against the glass.
And on the bed, lying on his side as he stares into the trees outside, is Cameron.
He doesn’t seem to notice me, at least not yet, as I stand in a corner and watch him. As I take in his surroundings, which seem slightly misplaced, as if I’m taking them in through someone else’s prescription. This is another indicator that I’m dreaming.
As I walk toward the bed, I realize I’m not in control of my body. It’s moving on its own, approaching Cameron from behind with slow, measured steps.
But dream-Cameron seems to hear a creak or two, and he peers over his shoulder, his eyes widening in fear at the sight of me. Well, fear and lust.
“W-who are you?” he stutters out, and I take stock of his red-rimmed eyes and patchy cheeks.
He’s… he’s been crying. Ihateit when he cries—unless it’s in pleasure. Earlier today, when I was awake and blowing him in the forest, it took everything in me not to soothe him. To fall into his trap.
Or worse, to allow him in again and have this stupid deal I made with that demon affect him. How would I explain to him that I only have a limited number of years to live?
“Cameron,” I can hear myself draw, sensual and low. It appears I cannot control when I speak, either. I hate not having control.
Cameron flinches, sitting up in his bed as he takes me in. “What do you want? Why do you… Why do you look likehim?”
Look like him? I guess dream-Cameron doesn’t believe I’m really here for him. He believes I’m an imposter.
That tracks. I did just tell him to leave me alone, and my subconscious is punishing me for it.
“Shh,” I murmur, approaching the bed. “Come here,corculum.”
Sweetheart.
Am I… was that Latin? What is happening in this dream of mine? And why can I understand it?
“W-why?” Cameron asks, drawing his knees in tight.
But I’m climbing onto the bed like some crazy predator, my own heart beating so fast I feel as if I’ll explode. And I’mcold,borderline freezing.
“To touch,” I explain, and I realize my own voice sounds… weird. “Be good.”
Cameron swallows thickly, and as I shove him backward onto the bed, he doesn’t fight. No, he watches me with a healthymixture of terror and desire, a titillating concoction that’s making me hard and feral.
“Are you human?” Cameron suddenly asks, his stormy eyes growing wet as I drag my hands up his thighs.
I can feel it—his skin—but it feels muted. Far away.
Without responding, I lean forward and begin dropping wet kisses on his bare chest. I’m shocked to see the sheen of sweat on Cameron’s skin, considering how cold it is in here.
But there is no need for logic in dreams, so I ignore it. That, and the fact that my fingertips look slightly purple from the cold.
“Are you going to hurt me?” Cameron appears to be full of questions.
And he thinks I’d hurt him. I’ve created this apparition, this version of him, and it’sthis.
“Adsum ut tibi placeam. Ut mihi ipsi placeam.”
I’m here to please you. To please myself.
Cameron doesn’t seem to understand me the way that I can in this dreamworld, and he blinks up at me in confusion.
But I don’t elaborate—instead, I pull his briefs down, freeing his soft cock to the cool air around us. He gasps, moving to cover himself, but I grab his wrists with one hand and pin them above his head.
