Page 96 of Somno Slave

“If they’re going to kill me,” he murmurs, “then I’m going to enjoy what’s left.”

I don’t have a chance to protest before he yanks my trousers down my hips. I scream, try to, but it dies on the tip of my tongue.

“Stop it!” I force out instead. “Stop it, Deogal!”

He throws them across the room; attention already locked back on me before they even land.

“I am only a man, after all.” He murmurs. “And do you know what isolation does to a man, Doctor?”

His fingers grab at my ankles. They drag my legs apart without my permission.

This isn’t real.

None of this is real!

“Do you know what happens when a man is deprived of touch for...” fingers clasp around my thighs, digging so deeply that I’m sure they’re leaving permanent marks. He hesitates for the briefest moment before exhaling, his warm breath burning my sensitive skin.

“Months on end?”

“Let me go!” I try to resist, but my body doesn’t respond.

“When you’re starved and begging for food, but they simply laugh in your face?” He drops between my thighs, throwing them over his shoulders without permission. “And then—”

His voice lowers, turning quieter, more deliberate.

“Then just as it starts to break you,” he murmurs, “they place something perfect in front of you... and make sure you know you can’t touch it.”

I feel his breath hot against my knickers.

“No!” My voice is coarse from screaming. “No, don’t! Please—"

I can feel his burning gaze. Hot, hard, and violent, staring right at the wetness I just know is seeping through, betraying me.

“I need to eat. Just like the rest of you.” He hums, the sounds lingering far too long in my mind.

My body responds even though my mind is screaming. My nipples pebble, hard and desperate, as if reaching out to touch him. They strain painfully.

Wake up.

Wake the fuck up.

My mind screams.

Desperation claws at me. I try to close my thighs but it’s impossible, he’s far too strong. I scream and scratch and squirm, but nothing changes. I’m still stuck here, spread open for him, still like a fucking doll.

He pushes forward. He’s so close. And, God, I know what’s going to happen next—

I cry out, the sound torn from me before I can stop it. His lips connect with my sex, unhurried, his presence overwhelming even through the barrier of fabric.

A sharp, involuntary pull low in my stomach, heat flaring, building—each shift more intense than the last. I try to twist away, to escape it, but nothing answers.

He just keeps going, his tongue flicking against the spot that makes me squirm, relentless in a way that feels less like desire and more like ownership—like he’s proving something, taking something, dragging the reaction out of me piece by piece.

And I can’t do anything but take it.

Scream, Rheda.I beg.Get him to stop!

The sensation is impossible to ignore. It floods through me, sharp and consuming, blurring the edges of everything I know should be steady. It feels real. Too real.