Page 37 of Somno Slave

Hard.

Her entire body seizes, tightening violently as the release crashes through her.

I don’t stop immediately. I let the aftermath roll through her, watching it take her apart in slow, shuddering waves. Her body doesn’t know what to do with it—tightening, releasing.

Good.

I want it to linger.

I ease my touch back gradually, making her feel the loss of it inch by inch. Her body reacts even to that in small, restless shifts, a faint, broken sound catching in her throat like she’s searching for something she can’t name.

I almost laugh.

Her body notices absence quickly.

I take a second just to look at the way she lies there now: controlled in every waking moment, reduced to this when she can’t defend herself. Breathing uneven. Skin flushed. Body softened in a way she would never allow if she had a choice.

And underneath it all, that trace. That pattern.

Mine.

I lean closer.

My hand drifts away fully now, leaving her with nothing but the echo of it.

I straighten slowly. Reluctantly. I want to stay, stretch her violently with my cock until she wakes up during it. It would be so easy. She’s so fucking helpless.

But not yet.

Not like this.

This...this is only the beginning.

She shifts again beneath me, softer this time, a faint, unconscious sound slipping past her lips.

I pause, listening carefully to the aftermath.

I’ll be back tomorrow. And next time, I won’t stop here.

Chapter Thirteen

Rheda

I wake all at once, like something has just let go of me. Air tears into my lungs in a sharp, uneven inhale. My eyes are already open, staring into the dark, but it doesn’t feel like waking should feel. There’s no gradual return—everything is already there, too close.

My throat tightens.

I push myself up too quickly, the movement clumsy, disjointed, like my limbs aren’t fully under my control yet. The mattress shifts with me, dragging against my back, and the contact sends a strange, sharp awareness through my body that makes me freeze halfway upright.

Because for a second, just a second, it isn’t the duvet.

It’s something else—something that had weight, that knew exactly where to go. The path of it, slow and deliberate, something trailing down the length of my spine like it knew where I would feel it most.

My back lifts before I can stop it, my body answering something that isn’t there anymore.

Then it hits.

Dampness.