Page 79 of Somno Slave

Her fingers find the tie in her hair. She pulls it free, and dark curls fall loose around her shoulders, framing her flushed face.

She steps under the shower. Her hands drag through her hair, pushing it back from her face before flattening against the tiles, fingers splayed and pressing hard enough to whiten at the tips, like she’s trying to steady herself, like she can force everything back into place if she just holds on tightly enough.

With her back to me, I take her in slowly. Painfully slowly. Every line, every shift of muscle beneath her skin, every small, unconscious movement she thinks no one sees.

My fingers twitch with the urge to map it properly. I imagine the pressure building under my hands, the resistance of her body before it gives way, the sharp, inevitable snap that would follow if I didn’t stop.

My jaw tightens.

I track the beads of water staining her skin. I’m jealous of the way they shoot down her spine, but they completely miss the little grooves on either side of her body.Dimples.Thumb holders for me to grip when I eventually fuck her from behind. My eyes sink into the roundness her of ass, like two round pillows. The paleness begs me to strike.

She presses her head against the wall. I taste the quickening of her pace, the rush of heat under her skin. The images spark bright in her skull now she thinks she’s alone. She allows herself the pleasure of running away with her naughty thoughts.

I haven’t left her pretty little mind.

It’s almost amusing that a small smile, and a bit of sexual deviation has her gushing.

I fan her desires louder until her knees almost buckle. It takes nothing to slip past whatever guard she thinks she has.One breath, and I’m there, threading through her thoughts, finding the soft places to plant a fantasy into.

Girls like her need to feel special. They don’t care if I’m a monster so long as I’m only a monster for them.

It plays brutally in my favour.

I drag her thoughts into a cell. The warmth of her bathroom vanishes instantly. Stone replaces steam. Cold air crashes into her skin hard enough to raise goosebumps across her arms beneath the sleeves of her blouse in the fantasy.

Water drips steadily somewhere in the dark. The straw beneath her heels shifts with a wet crunch as she stumbles forward in her neat black skirt and pressed blouse, clothes too clean for a place like this. The little silver badge clipped to her chest catches the torchlight every time her breathing turns uneven.

DOCTOR.

The word gleams there like a joke.

I step forward slowly inside the cell, chains whispering softly against the stone. The orange jumpsuit is stained darker in places, rough at the collar, prison numbers half-visible beneath old smears and wear. Her eyes catch on the colour first, and then flick to my mouth.

Her breathing changes.

I move closer deliberately, letting her track every inch of it. The bars groan softly when I wrap my fingers around them.

“You shouldn’t be here, Doctor,” I say quietly.

Her pupils expand, lips parting to speak but no sound comes out.

“What will the others think?”

Her breathing catches in her throat. “I,...”

“On your knees,” I murmur. “Now.”

Her eyes widen, caught between uncertainty and want. She hesitates for a split second.

In the bathroom, I brush my shadow against her thighs, letting the heat caress her burning skin. A gasp tears through her lips as she drops to her knees in the cell almost immediately. Her eyes are bright, lit with something dangerously close to compliance, fixed on me like I’m about to give her exactly what she’s been craving.

It’s a fucking sight to behold.

My fingers snake into her soft hair, curling them for extra control. I pull, and her reaction is immediate, sharp and sudden, her breath breaking into a gasp. She is inches from the bars now.

“Open.” I command. And she does, without question. Her chin lifts, lips spreading for me. I step forward slowly, closing the space between us until the bars press cold against my chest. She falters—just a fraction, just enough to feel—but she doesn’t pull away.

I push myself between the bars, and her lips brush where they shouldn’t. She pauses, then—she lets it happen, welcomes me into her wet mouth. The heat hits me violently.