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When I jolted awake from an extremely forbidden dream, I was disoriented and surprised to find myself sleeping on Daniel’s carpet while Jay lay on his sofa. What was even more surprising was the fact that my brother and I were covered with blankets, and the papers I was reading through were neatly tucked on the table.
I meant to see if he was still awake and tell him we could take a taxi back home. He didn’t answer when I knocked on his door three times so I let myself in and planned on leaving if he was asleep.
But he wasn’t in his room either, and just when I was going to try his home office, I heard a grunt—or more like a growl—from the bathroom, as if he were in pain.
I must’ve been on drugs when I slowly pushed the door open. Or more accurately, I was showing symptoms of the “Daniel disease” and was inexplicably worried that something might have happened to him.
Something is happening to him all right, but it’s not the dangerous type I was concerned about.
Or maybe it is dangerous but in a completely different way.
The rough, unapologetic way he touches himself is nothing short of an exhibition of domineering masculinity. The type that should revolt me and send me running for the hills.
The type that’s been plaguing my nightmares and giving me sleep paralysis. When I open my eyes, the demon I find sitting on my chest always hashisface. With that twisted sneer and mocking eyes.
But there are no demons now. Don’t get me wrong, no angel is in sight either. The scene in front of me is my worst nightmare mixed with my best dream.
And I choose to hang on to the dream.
To the twisted reality.
My legs won’t move anyway, not when my full attention is honed in on the way Daniel pumps his cock up and down with savage intent that makes me clench my thighs.
His muscled biceps contract and his hips jerk with the power of his movements. It’s like he’s angry at his cock for being hard, angry at what he’s doing.
Angry that he has to get himself off.
Anger is the last emotion coursing through me, though. There’s confusion, and it’s due to other feelings. The longing and the desire I can’t and shouldn’t be experiencing.
The desire to slip my fingers inside my knickers and do something I only do once in a blue moon.
The desire to grab my embarrassingly aching nipples and pull until they’re as painful as the expression on his face.
I must’ve released a gasp at my own thoughts because Daniel’s head jerks in my direction, his eyes locking on mine.
They’re darker, more hooded, as if the night sky abandoned all of its stars and decided to be bare. Crisp. Open for me to see.
His hand pauses on his cock; I’m not looking, but I catch the scene in my peripheral vision. The only reason I’m not staring at his cock is because I couldn’t look away from his magnifying gaze even if I tried.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His words are cold, cutting, but not enough to jar me out of my messed-up state.
“I…uh…I was…”
What exactly was I doing anyway? I’m pretty sure there was a reason I came in here in the first place.
“Looking for a live porn show? Working part-time as a Peeping Tom? Picking up voyeurism as a side gig? Which one exactly?”
“No…I just…” My eyes slide down to his fist on his cock and then I quickly avert my gaze.
“You can look. If you’re so disgusted with me, you wouldn’t have a reaction, would you?”
My head whips up to his face. “Disgusted with you?”
“Isn’t that the reason you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I’m not disgusted with you.” The reason I’ve been avoiding him is because of this inexplicable rush of tingles and unhealthy heart rate.
It’s because I couldn’t trust my reaction around him anymore.
