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She decided to sleep in a t-shirt and panties.
Lucky me.
I press one knee into the mattress and lean forward. No niceties, no easing in. I slide my finger under her panties’ defense and over her clit, dipping into her sweet cunt. Her muscles clench around my finger. I finger-fuck her for a moment, then draw back again.
She’s not drugged. She could wake up at any moment. Not that I would mind it, but I don’t want to scare her.
The Melody I knew saw me coming. She saw my obsession for what it was. She was a deer caught in headlights and unable to move, even in the face of the impending impact.
This version of her knows nothing.
I stand, and the shift of her mattress has her moving, too. She stretches and rolls onto her back, her arms over her head.
Like an offering. Her breasts are full and heavy, and I lift her shirt again. Precum coats my hand as I continue to jerk myself off, and I stare down at the fading red mark on her nipple.
How did she react when she saw it?
Who did she suspect?
I look forward to her reaction to this when she wakes.
I cup her breast, my thumb skating over her nipple. It pushes my incoming climax on faster, until my balls tighten and euphoria floods up my spine. I come on her perfect tits, the ropes of it painting a message just for her.
When my orgasm subsides, I run my finger through a line of cum and smear it across her lower lip. Gently, so not to wake her. Then I adjust her sleep shirt back into place and pull my jeans up. I’m satiated. A sense of peace settles over me that hasn’t been present since college.
See you tomorrow, songbird.
9
MELODY
My shirt is stuck to my chest. It’s the uncomfortable kind of stick that belies too much sweat, or a spill… None of which should happen while I’m sleeping. Fear kicks my heart rate into gear, and I slowly sit up in bed.
My door is closed, the lock on the knob engaged. It doesn’t make me feel any safer in the moment.
I pull my shirt away from my skin, then shuck it off completely.
There are dried flakes of…somethingacross my breasts, my stomach. I lick my lips and let out an involuntary noise at the taste. It’s familiar and strange, and bile rises up my throat. I jump out of bed and barely make it to the toilet in time, hitting the floor on my knees hard.
I throw up, my abdomen spasming. My throat burns, and I cough and spit until my body relaxes. My mind keeps skating away from the details. It keeps my panic at bay, keeps me from derailing. Things I desperately need tonotthink about in order to stay sane.
After a shower hot enough to scald, I blow-dry my hair and sneak out of the house.
My door was locked. I didn’t go to sleep with it that way. Unless I did, and I forgot.
A chill travels down my back.
I head to the train station, keeping my head low. I just need to not draw attention. Once I’m in my seat, I put in my earbuds and go to my next musical selection on the list.
Pop punk. It’s cheating, because I already figured out that I like it, but now I’m trying to narrow down artists. So far, Green Day and Blink-182 are my favorites. ‘I Miss You’ seems to speak directly to my soul.
I queue it up and mouth along with the words.
Someone sits beside me, jostling my arm. I glance over and frown. A man leers at me. He wears a leather jacket, and a heavy beard obscures the lower half of his face. He leans in, and his mouth moves, but his words are too low to hear over the music.
I pull out an earbud. “Sorry?”
“I said, what’s a girl like you doing all alone?”
