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Her head thrashed side to side. A gasp followed, her small hands pushing at some invisible monster.
She’s having a nightmare.
The ghosts of the past were the scariest of all. I knew this but didn’t allow any further thought on the subject, leaning forward to inspect her every movement.
The rapid rise and fall of her chest. The pounding of her heart so intense it echoed across her body in the silence. Her jerky, stiff limbs.
So small. So fragile.
It didn’t make sense, but the thought of her locked in a bad dream ensnared me so entirely that I pulled a chair into the darkest corner of the room, sinking onto the plush cushion as I watched her facial expressions with fascination. Pain. Fear. And then. . .anger.Interesting.
She whimpered before incoherent words tumbled from her pink lips that I couldn’t decipher. I almost stood, curious of her reaction if I climbed on the bed and lay beside her, waiting for her tears to fall.
I hoped she would cry more. The thought of tasting them, of stealing the droplets from her warm skin, sent the blood rushing into my groin. I grew hard in an instant. My cock pressed painfully against the zipper of my jeans.
Would she let me lick her? Taste the salt and musk unique to only her? I could drag my finger across her skin, catching the droplet before she realized I was there.
Henny awakened too quickly. Scrambling across the bed, she tried to flee her demons but couldn’t.
There’s no way to erase the past, little breakable doll.
I spent a lifetime finding ways that didn’t exist. No one could erase what had already occurred.
Immediately bored, I pulled a smoke from my cut, lighting the end as it sparked in the darkness. My position revealed, I stared at our prisoner, finally speaking to her for the first time. “Vivid dreams?”
Her eyes widened, taking in my features without the mask. She could see the scar on my lip from the lit cigarette, but the darkness hid some of the others. Did my voice scare her as it had with other women in the past? Could she sense my depravity? Would she run from me? I fucking hoped so.
“Very vivid dreams.”
“Something like that,” she replied with a tremor in her voice.
I snorted, amused by her reluctance. “You were crying.” Wet tears still dried on her skin. With morbid fascination, I wondered if she would cry if I held her down and fucked her. The idea intrigued me, but not enough to break my rule.
No touching, especially without gloves. I rarely took them off.
Sure, I followed Devil’s order and grabbed her shoulders, leading her outside the Rising Sun Tavern, but that was only because I wouldn’t disrespect my pres. I didn’t share intimacy with women. I fucked them when I needed to but never allowedany physical connection other than my cock. Even then, I wrapped it. Always a condom, no excuses. I liked to hold them down while I filled their greedy little cunts. Not enough of them cried.
“It’s normal to cry during a nightmare.”
True. Didn’t matter if you were awake for it or not.
“Why did you scream?”
She turned away from me, walking into the bathroom.
Before she shut the door, her chin lifted. “Some monsters exist outside our dreams. I find that a good scream helps alleviate frustration.”
Oh, pretty little liar.
She didn’t scream out of frustration but terror. I knew the fucking difference.
“Someday, you’ll tell me what you fear,” I boldly announced.
“And someday, you’ll stop caring.”
I didn’t expect that response as she shut the door.
How deliciously complex.
