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If anything, his hold turns rigid and his rhythm takes on a feral momentum. He fucks me like he’s owned me since the moment we met. Like he’s taking what was his all along.
My walls clench and an electric shock starts in my core and shoots all the way to my spine before submerging my entire body.
“Mmm…” I moan.
“There.” Dark sadism coats his words. “Your true colors are showing. You like being taken and owned. You like being fucked like it’s your first and last. That’s what you strive to feel on the stage, too, isn’t it?” He leans down and traps the lobe of my ear between his teeth and whispers hot words, “To completely let go.”
My back arches off the bed in preparation for the orgasm.
The detonating pleasure is within my grasp. Just a little more and I’m about to reach it.
I startle awake.
For a second, I don’t know what just happened. Adrian isn’t on top of me and my fingers are rubbing against my aching pussy.
Holy shit.
Was that…a dream?
My hair sticks to my temples with sweat, and my heart beats so erratically, I’m surprised it doesn’t leap out of my chest.
It’s not news that my dreams are visceral. I used to hallucinate about them, too. That’s why I had to come up with a coping mechanism and test my pain threshold to know if they were real or not.
My cheeks heat at the fact that I was touching myself to that dream.
I remove my hand from my most intimate part with a jerk, the act shaming me to my bones.
“It must be uncomfortable to stop right before an orgasm.”
I freeze, my eyes widening as I slowly turn my head to the side. There’s no way in hell what I heard is correct. It must be some play of my imagination. Maybe I’m associating this with my dream.
Maybe I’m trapped in that dream again.
Because nothing could explain the scene in front of me.
Adrian sits on the chair at my vanity, beside the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles. His coat is lying on the armrest and both of his shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing taut forearms fully covered with black ink.
Soft morning light comes from the balcony, but it doesn’t make his features less harsh or consuming. It takes nothing away from the face I was just dreaming about.
He taps his index finger on his thigh at a moderate pace. The look in his eyes is dark, focused, and says a thousand words without him having to utter a sound.
But no, this isn’t real.
I reach a hand down and pinch my thigh. Pain explodes on my skin and I wince.
Adrian doesn’t disappear.
Oh, God. Why is he not disappearing?
His gaze zeroes in on my hand that’s still on my thigh and something passes in it before he slides it back to my face.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is barely a whisper while I struggle to process the scene.
“I drove you home after you got drunk last night.”
I sit up and groan when a headache nearly splits my temples open. Memories of last night slowly filter back in, like I’m watching myself through a snow globe.
My eyes widen.
