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Like taking a fucking life.
I lose track of time as I sit in the quiet room and watch her sleep. I have the urge to get up and go to her, to pull her against my body and see how well she fits against me. There’s a tingle in my fingers begging me to touch her soft skin and delicately trace every beautiful line and curve of her body. There’s an urge to take my lips and tongue on a mission of exploration into the different tastes and textures of her skin. To sink my teeth into that same soft skin and see how much pressure it takes before it breaks. To pinch, scratch, slap, and choke to see how much pain she can handle before she cries out. Before she begs me to fucking stop.
My cock twitches at the thought of her writhing and flinching underneath me as I give her my undivided attention like she’s so desperately been seeking. Could she handle it? Could she handle the pain I like to inflict or the immense pleasure I’ll grant her afterwards? Could she handle all of me?
And as I listen to her deep, even breaths, I hear the second it changes. As if my thoughts of choking her are actually real. As if my hand is squeezing her windpipe. Her body twitches, her breaths become shallow and ragged, and her heart starts to race.
I groan as my dick reacts and starts to harden. Maybe I should just give in and go to her. Who fucking cares if she’s too drunk to know what’s happening? I’ll make sure she enjoys it. Maybe. Hell, I have no idea what she likes and doesn’t like but I’m close to not giving a damn. All I need is my aching cock sliding inside of her, warm, tight, wet pussy, easing my own fucking pain.
She whimpers now, obviously having some type of nightmare, and the sound hits me right in the chest. It fucking ignites the beast inside of me and yet, it also…worriesme.
The fuck?
I shake my head and grab my cock, squeezing the fuck out of it to temper my desire and clear my fucking head. I’m so fucking hard I can’t even remember the last time I reacted this way to someone, and it’s no doubt fucking with my mind. I squeeze again and clench my teeth against the pain I’m inflicting on my own dick, but it helps to clear my thoughts. I would never take her against her will, but fuck, she’s testing all of my fucking limits. She’s in the goddamn lion’s den and she doesn’t even know it.
“No!” She jerks upright, choking and gasping, as if she can’t get air into her lungs fast enough.
Her chest is heaving with panic from whatever nightmare just tormented her. Her low-cut tank top gives an impressive view of her breasts as they swell and fall rapidly with her breathing. I fucking hate how she shows off her body for any and all to see, and it makes me murderous whenever she lets another man touch her. Even if it’s just on her arm.
I.
HATE.
IT.
But here in my bedroom, as I sit unseen in the dark, I take the time to appreciate just how fucking beautiful her body is. How beautiful she is, even in a wild, disoriented panic. Even with dark circles under her eyes that have nothing to do with the smeared mascara from crying earlier.
Her eyes are so green they almost seem to glow, and they’re framed by long, thick lashes that sweep her cheeks when she closes her eyes. Her cheeks are tinted pink, mainly because of the alcohol, and I’m sure from the fear of the nightmare. Her lips are full, the top lip slightly turned up, and larger than the bottom. She’s always wearing an obnoxious shade of red lipstick and I wish I knew what color her lips were naturally, and how they would look wrapped around my cock as her bright eyes stare up at me. Her hair is a lose, tangled mess around her head and I want to wrap it around my fist, pull her head back, and taste those lips while the fear of the nightmare still thrums through her body.
She seems to finally realize that she’s not safe at home, tucked away in her own bed. I silently watch her, as she looks around the room, confusion furrowing her brow and drawing her lips into a frown. It’s fascinating to me how emotive she is. Her heart rate spikes again and I can feel her panic rising at not knowing where she is. No doubt, the alcohol is fucking with her memory of the past few hours.
“Oh, God,” she whispers and runs her hands down her face, clearly regretful and scared to be in an unknown location.
“I’m afraid there’s no God here,” my voice sounds loud in the quiet room even though I barely spoke above a whisper myself.
She screams and scoots across the bed, getting tangled in the sheets and covers as she tries to get as far away from me as possible. I smirk at the failed attempt. She’s been so desperate to get close to me and now, in my room and in mybed, she can’t get away from me fast enough.
“Who’s there? What do you want?” Her voice is an octave higher and shakes, showcasing her fear. Only fear or pleasure can change a voice like that.
Both turn me on.
I stay seated in the dark and continue to watch her for a few more seconds. She’s trying desperately to see beyond the small glow of light and I can tell she’s straining to hear for any type of movement. I finally lift my arm up and click on the tall lamp next to my chair, allowing her the opportunity to see me. The relief in her eyes is immediate as she lets out a heavy breath and her body relaxes with it.
“Where am I? What time is it?” She asks, her voice calmer now.
I glance at the clock on the opposite wall. “You’re in my bedroom and it’s 2:44 in the morning.”
She sighs. “Figures, even shit-faced drunk I can’t fucking sleep. Ugh, my head is pounding.” She scoots back to lean her head against the headboard and closes her eyes.
All traces of her earlier anxiety and fear are gone. It’s as if I’m not even in the same room as her. She has no idea I’m theonlyone she should fear but she seems to react the completely opposite way around me. In turn, I don’t know how to react to that or how it makes me feel.
“Nightmare?” I ask.
She nods her head. “Always.”
And I don’t know why I ask my next question because I don’t normally give a fuck. I don’t care about people the way others do, so why do I find myself caring abouther?
“What happened in this nightmare?” Maybe I’m just curious to know exactly what she remembers about…well, everything.Sure, Sinn, keep telling yourself that.
