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The closet door pops open and she appears at the front.
Her exhaustion is written all over her face. Heavy-lidded eyes and a constant yawn stretching her mouth. She barely pays any mind to what she’s digging out of her closet, grabbing the first sleep shirt on a hanger within reach.
For the next thirty minutes, I wait in the dark, listening to the sounds of running water in her bathroom. Her nighttime routine consists of a long, hot shower and some pampering skincare. The last thing she does is moisturize her scalp with some kind of hair oil before she wraps up her thick braids at the top of her head and secures them with a silky scarf.
I watch on my phone as she emerges from the bathroom in a baggy sleep shirt and another yawn escapes her. Most nights she’ll browse the internet on her laptop for twenty, thirty minutes before bed. Tonight she doesn’t bother.
She crawls into bed, swallows down her assortment of pills, and then twists off her bedside lamp.
Lights out.
My excitement pulses in my veins. It heightens to such a degree it’s like I’m experiencing a pre-high before the high. That high being the indescribable pleasure I’ll soon feel. I’m an addict in search of my next fix, and that fix happens to be fucking Lyra Hendrix in any way I see fit.
It’s not long before she dozes off. The Proxamil works its medicinal magic.
She’s out, so deeply asleep it’ll be difficult to disturb her. She’ll wake naturally eight to nine hours from now, completely well-rested—and pleasured.
I open the closet door and step out with hardly any of the stealth I’ve used in the past.
Stopping in front of her bed, I savor the sinfully sweet sight before me.
Lyra asleep with the sheets barely slung over her hips. She was so tired she didn’t even grab the raggedy bear she usually sleeps next to.
I fling the sheets off her and then slip an arm under her to roll her onto her back. Even with the change in position, she doesn’t stir.
She’s a real life version of sleeping beauty. Her body lays loose and relaxed, with the sleep shirt she’s wearing having ridden up her thighs.
My dick throbs as I reach out and feel how soft and supple her skin is.
I pry her legs the rest of the way open and then lean over her. My body being longer and taller than hers, I easily cover her with my length. I hover above her and drop a kiss on her lips. She turns her head and her eyes flutter beneath her closed lids.
However, she doesn’t wake up. Her dreams have taken hold of her and refused to let go.
I stand up enough to unbuckle my pants and pull out my dick. After waiting so long for her, I’m already hard as humanly possible. My shaft aches as I stroke myself and admire the sleeping goddess lying in bed.
I have to be inside her.
The intensity to which I feel this compulsion is enough to drive me borderline insane.
If I don’t have Lyra right now, Iwillgo mad—or homicidal and kill the next living being I come into contact with.
I tug her panties off, pausing long enough to enjoy the view, before I ease myself onto her bed. The mattress shifts with my added weight, though still she doesn’t stir.
My dick grazes her entrance. My gaze watchful of the erotic moment I enter her.
“Holy fuck,” I grind out, watching myself disappear inside her pussy. My desperate lungs drag more air into them.
I have to stop myself for a moment.
Recollect myself. Center myself.
If I don’t, I’ll lose it. I’ll become a brainless savage whose sole goal is to the fuck the hell out of her.
The muscles of my body ache from how tense I’ve become. I’m holding myself off as long as possible. I’m seeking to retain some semblance of human thought before I give in and descend into madness.
But then Lyra’s pussy clenches around me, and it’s over.
A deep groan leaves me, and my hips move of their own accord. I draw back and then sink deep. My movements slower, still contained, though no less urgent and rough. I watch Lyra’s beautiful sleeping face and grope her unconscious body as I see fit.
