“I need you.” My confession is met with a hum before a fingertip slips inside, my entrance clenching—trying to pull it in deeper, but I’m being denied time and time again, and frustration sets in. “Or maybe I don’t. Maybe all I need is...oh fuck!”
Another finger enters me, and his pace isn’t gentle like a second ago. Now, he slams in and out in a punishing pace, the palm of his hand smacking my clit with each stroke.
My thighs tremble, walls pulsing as he hits a spot inside I’ve heard about but never experienced.
Something unintelligible leaves me—a moan or grunt, I don’t know—because every cell in my body is coiling tight. Tighter, almost violently, and then nothing, not a damn thing as he pulls them out just when my orgasm was prickling near.
“You were saying?” the man snarls while placing those wet fingers, my scent, around my throat. I try to turn my head, to see him, but they tighten a bit and I feel it everywhere. My skin tingles, goose bumps dancing along my sweat-slick flesh as I’m denied once again.
“I—”
“Belong to you.”
“Please.” I’m begging. Needing the release more than my next breath.
“Say it, Gabriella. Say you belong to me.” His cock slips between my wet thighs, rubbing the length of my slick labia as another rush of wetness leaves me. Christ, he feels good. Too good, and my eyes roll back when the blunt head caresses my entrance. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
“Always, pretty girl.” And then he slams into me, and I’m left on the precipice of pleasure and pain. On this thin ledge where everything around me stills and my screams echo through the vast space.
I’m floating. My body feels sensitive and wet, and there’s a burning sensation on my chest that contrasts against the bliss between my thighs. The two merge and overwhelm my senses while this man I’ve yet to see face to face takes me like a savage beast.
Each stroke is punishing, his cock pistoning in and out while I can barely stand. There’s no lead-up. No way to describe the sudden wave of euphoria I experience when his sweaty chest vibrates with his groan, the sound of his pleasure breaking me into a million pieces.
He fucks me harder. He’s merciless and I come, pushing my hips back and meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Good girl. Let me feel you.”
“You have me.” The response leaves me before I can understand what I’m promising. To whom. Because all I know in that singular instance is that I don’t want this to end. To lose him.
“Not yet.”
My brows furrow as my walls contract around him, pulling him in deeper. “Not yet?”
“Not until you see what I see.” His hold on my neck tightens and his mouth presses against my ear, his exhale rough. His cock stretches me a little more, and I raise onto the tips of my toes. “I’ll have you, Gabriella. But first, I need you to focus…look down, pretty girl. Feel me come, coat you with my seed, as reality hits.”
I follow his instructions and scream.
Red. All I see is red. All of it coming from me.
From a gash deep across my chest that bathes the room in my life’s essence.
I’m bleeding out. My skin is flayed open, and a burning coldness fills me—I’m suddenly freezing and can barely breathe. Each hollowed breath hurts, and yet I’m aware of his come dripping down my labia and thighs.
Aware of the tender way, he places a kiss just below my ear.
It’s all I can cling to as my knees go weak.
As my vision starts to fade and just before darkness claims me, I hear him one last time. “They did this to us.”
My eyes snap open, and a scream rips from my throat. I’m shaking, clutching my chest with my left hand while the right is trapped between my clenching thighs.
I still feel him. It was so real.
Small aftershocks course through my body without my permission while my mind can’t escape the image of me bleeding out. The gash—the burning sensation accompanied with a steadying pain—while his cock flexed against my walls.
This is too much. Not normal.
Am I suffering from night terrors?
Because what kind of person has a wet dream where they’re killed? Because if that were to happen in real life, I’d be dead. I’m scaring myself.
“I need help.” Slowly, I pull my hand out of my panties, ignoring how slick each fingertip is. The realization hurts, but I can’t continue ignoring that maybe the dreams and stress are affecting me more than I thought. “There has to be a scientific reason this is happening. Someone who can help me.”
They did this to us.
They did this to us.
They did this to us.
I can hear him in my head. It’s on repeat and my skin heats, my heart skipping a beat while beads of sweat fall down my temple. They mix with my tears, this uncontrollable sob that escapes my chest, and I curl into myself.
It takes me a while to calm down, to breathe normally, and when I do, I don’t hesitate to grab my phone and ring my therapist’s office.
They have an opening for two today.
I take it.
