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I shiver.
“And yet,” he continues, and every word feels like it’s leaving an imprint on me, a stain. “And yet she didn’t satisfy you, did she?”
One of his legs is between mine, keeping me trapped. His thigh is warm. And heavy.
“I’ve heard you masturbate, late at night. I’ve seen the toys you’ve accidentally left in the shower.” He wets his lips. “I know how you like it.”
I feel sick with mortification, but that still doesn’t stop my body from registering his thigh pushing against me. The blood in my body rushes downwards. No, no, please, no.
“That’s what you do in the shower, isn’t it? A toy in your ass, your hand on your dick.”
My dick starts to swell. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. I hate him. Remember what he did to you.
“Well? Is that right?” Lucas asks.
I quickly shake my head.
“No?” Lucas asks. He shifts his leg, and it presses slightly harder against my groin. Oh, god. He leans in close. “Liar. I know you jack off in the shower until your legs shake and you’re shooting all over the tiled floor.”
My stomach flips. “Lucas,” I say, and to my embarrassment, my voice is weak. “Let me go. Please,” I add, hating myself all the while.
“You want me to let you go?” He looks down at me. How is he so tall? He’s so, so tall. And — I look at his hands around my wrists — so strong.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Then why” — he shifts his thigh again, and I bite back a whimper — “are you hard?”
It’s not because of you, I want to say. Please let go of me. I want to run away. Let me run away.
Lucas leans in so his lips are brushing my cheek. “I can make you feel better than she does,” he murmurs into my ear, and tingles run down my spine. “I can make you moan. I can make you gasp.”
He presses his lips against my skin. It’s a kiss. He’s kissing my face. I can’t comprehend any of this. My brain’s malfunctioning.
“I’ll make you feel better than any girl,” he says. “I’ll always be better.”
I’m running out of breath. That’s when he lets go of my wrists, and I melt into the floor. I land on my ass, and it should hurt, but it doesn’t. This isn’t real.
Lucas remains standing, and there, before me, is the bulge in his pants. The sight makes my mouth go dry. Fuck. I suspected he was big, but I didn’t realise how huge he was.
I tear my eyes away and look down at my own erection.
I’m having a dream. A wet dream. I’m going to wake up with sticky underwear and then will promptly kill myself. I’ll have a shower and scrub my skin until it’s red, and I’ll say to myself, What’s wrong with you? Why would you dream something so messed up — featuring Lucas, no less? Are you some sort of masochist?
I drag my eyes upwards and meet Lucas’s eyes. We remain like that for a minute, not saying anything, only the sound of our breaths filling the room.
Then he crouches down, scoops me up and carries me to his bed. He does it so easily, like I weigh nothing, and lays me down carefully, placing his pillow under my head.
His bedding smells like him, the masculine scent strong in my nose. My dick is still stiff.
The mattress dips when Lucas gets on the bed, and he holds himself over me, hands on either side of my head as his knees bracket my legs. “Can I kiss you?” His voice sounds different. I’ve never heard him like this before.
I can’t react. I just stare at him, eyes wide. What is happening? What is —
“Please,” he says, and his voice breaks.
No. No, no, no. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him —
He lowers his head, resting it against my shoulder. “Please. Please let me kiss you,” he says into my neck, his exhale a barely-there tickle.
