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“That’s a good girl. Show me how you touch yourself,” I seethe into her neck, licking her skin and sinking my fingers lower, the risk of her waking only adding fuel to the dangerous fire she’s feeding. I find her entrance as her own fingers entwine with mine, pushing and pulling until I slip my index finger into her opening.
Barely.
Fuck. If this isn’t a virgin cunt, there are none. I scarcely get my finger inside before I feel the resistance. The thought that she’s pure only drives more boiling blood into my dick and thinking of fucking her has me on the edge of madness.
What if I fucked her now, raw, unprotected, and she didn’t wake? Or, no, that’s too risky, I could easily jerk off, fill my hand with cum, rub it inside her pussy maybe. What if I filled her with me, my child growing inside her and she would be completely unaware? My own virgin Mary…
Jesus fucking Christ, Roan, get a fucking grip. You’re losing it. This is wrong.
I inch my finger from her sopping opening, but she lets out a moan of protest, her hips grinding upward, her hand pushing down on mine.
“Please…” she moans in a sleepy whisper. “I want you to cum inside me.”
Holy fuck. This is beyond reason.
Her delicate body twists under the sheet as my fingers work her clit in circles, faster and faster. Her hand leaves mine and flings up and behind my head, turning hers until her lips are too close.
“Fuck, Alice…” I breathe out before pressing my mouth to hers, my tongue tasting her lips as her pussy gushes, soaking my hand as a sleepy orgasm trembles through her.
I grind my own needy erection into her hip, heaving out a release into my boxers, knowing no matter what happens, Alice is mine.
As my orgasm retreats, I do the unthinkable. I reach into my pants, slipping my fore finger into my sticky load, then reach down and paint her lower lips with my cum, slipping my finger onto her clit for good measure, then battling the urge to drive my digit deep inside her.
“Good girl.” I whisper. “You’re mine now.”
And then I slip from the bed before my tentative grip on my own self-control slips from my fingers. I pull the sheet over her, kiss her hair and back from the room, closing the door and making my plan.
5
Alice
There’s a perfect oasis just before you wake.
It’s where dreams are real, and reality is a dream. It can be a nightmare, or it can be the place where every soft, wonderful emotion you’ve longed for snuggles into you. A place where secret wishes come true. Unspoken desire collides with the promise of better things to come.
This is where I want to be right now as my own dream still pulses, in that perfect magical place between waking and sleeping. A low throb between my legs persists as the dream of Roan laying next to me, touching me, kissing me in a wide-open field, lingers in my half sleep.
I swear I can smell him, that bit of spicy cologne and spearmint on his breath. I stretch under the tangled sheet, blinking at the darkness still filling the windows, the low light from a single lamp on the other side of the large room showing the outlines of the furniture. The opulent bedroom many times bigger than the entire square footage of my childhood home.
Decadent. Selfish. Out of touch.
Then why do I have this thread that feels like it’s pulling me to him?
I curl tighter, the room warm as I pull my knees to my chest. The slickness between my legs tells me the orgasm of my dream spilled into reality.
I draw a long breath through my nose, squeezing my eyes closed and wondering what it would be like to never worry about paying rent.
My phone dings on the nightstand and I see the screen light up in the dark room.
When I look, my insides spin around and then molten panic races through me.
Roan: My meetings wrapped up early, so I flew back and I’m here now downstairs. Didn’t want to scare you if you heard me. Hope you’re having sweet dreams. I’m heading to my room for some sleep. See you when you wake up.
Holy shit.
HOLY SHIT.
I scramble out of the bed, his bed, the sheet twisting around my foot as I stumble forward in the dark.
Where are my clothes? Holy shit.
The sheet is on my foot as I fall to my hands and knees, kicking at it, gritting my teeth in a fury as I lunge toward the nightstand and click on another lamp.
Drawers hang open. His closet looks like it’s been ransacked. The bed is destroyed.
My mind races with the steps necessary to mitigate the damage.
First, clothes. My bra is hanging on the back of a gold velvet armchair by the window, my pants and underwear are in a heap on the marble bathroom floor next to the towel I used after taking a shower.
