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I just pound and pound, making love to her mouth however my horny, overstimulated impulses dictate.
And in those careless moments, is when it happens.
Prue’s eyes open.
She’s awake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Prue
I’mhavinganotheroneof those dreams. Those sinful, erotic dreams where Theo uses my body for his pleasure. The ones in which he’s being sadistic just like he is in real life, hurting me while coaxing immense pleasure out of my compliant body.
I’m soaked between my thighs, my nipples itch, my breasts swollen and heavy. I’m tormented, my desire for Theo hurts me everywhere.
A scream of desperation is stuck in my lungs, clawing to get out, to show my lover how incredibly good he makes me feel.
It’s a dream I don’t want to wake up from.
I wouldn’t have, either.
Except suddenly, I’m struggling to breathe. Something that’s not Theo—can’t be Theo, since he’s not here—blocks my air supply, causing me to cough and gag in my sleep.
My spit must’ve gone down the wrong way. That has to be it.
No, that’s not true. I’m not choking on my saliva.
My lips are stretched around a thick, silky pipe that keeps banging itself in and out of my mouth.
A salty taste fills my mouth. A manly taste.
Theo’s.
This isn’t a dream.
My eyes fly open.
There’s a man on top of me. A man grabbing the back of my head and rutting over and over into my mouth.
The only thing keeping me from losing my shit altogether is realizing who he is. The moonlight filtering inside illuminates Theo’s face, his black eyes, the flex of the muscles on his sculpted body that I know so well.
I love him. I gave him a goddamn key.
I gave him verbal consent to have my body however and whenever he wanted.
But a surprise blowjob wasn’t what I meant. What the hell is this?
“Shh.” Theo must see the panic in my eyes. He massages my scalp, cooing, “Relax, it’s me.”
I’m not soothed by his comforting words and voice. At all.
I lift my hands, punching and scraping his back, his clenched ass, wherever I can reach.
Having him in my mouth turns me on, there’s no question about it. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that this isn’t okay. That we need to talk this through.
“I’m sorry, Prue. So sorry, baby,” he apologizes but doesn’t let up his thrusts. I don’t quit scratching him.
“I can’t stop, not tonight,” he groans, voice choked. “I can’t fucking help myself around you.”
