My nails mark crescent moons into my palm as I follow the sound to my bedroom with hesitant steps. The closer I get, the more certain I am that it’s definitely the sound of a woman moaning.
My sappy heart skips a beat at the thought that Letum might have left me something. Even if it’s a messed up gift. I try to shake the feeling off when I am supposed to be mad at him for abandoning me. I hate admitting it, but leaving me alone to force me to face my own emotions was the best thing he could have done for me. I wouldn’t have been able to see Dahlia and my parents if he hadn’t.
Artificial gray light shines through my room from the desk, right where the sound of the moans is coming from. Did I get hacked and get a porn pop-up? No, that can’t be right. I haven’t used the laptop in awhile.
I inch closer in an attempt to peer over the office chair. At first, the video is grainy like it was recorded with an old-school camera. Then I make out the shapes in the video; matching white bedside tables with one handle missing, thrifted touch lamps that don’t match on either side of the bed, a slatted wooden headboard and crisp white sheets with a green duvet bunched at the feet.
I’ve seen this bedroom hundreds of times.
It’s my bedroom. The moaning is coming from me. From the nanny cam.
In the video, my arms are slack above my head on the bed, and I’m moaning as I grind my hips. “Letum!” I scream in the video as my entire body buckles. But no one else is on the screen.
It’s time stamped the same night I dreamt about Letum in a forest.
The video flickers and I’m on my hands and knees with my mouth wide open, making gagging noises as my body is jolted forward like invisible fingers were thrusting into me. Because they were. Letum’s soul was.
This whole time it was him. He cut the recording straight from the nanny cam and kept it. Oh god. There must be hundreds of hours of footage that he’s kept of me. Or maybe of him, of us.
Heat pours through my veins at the memory of that night. Did he rewatch the videos to get off on it? God, what if there are dreams that I don’t remember?
My heart skips a beat when I spot a rolled-up brown parchment next to the laptop. Three weeks of no communication or letters. And he chose today of all days to make contact?
I waste no time snatching the letter from the table and unrolling it like my life depends on it.
How I long for the taste of the night. How I long to hear the sound of the storm. I’m coming for you, my love. Once I take a bite, you’re mine until even eternity comes to an end.
The arousal pooling between my legs only grows. I try to act like the note doesn’t affect me, but I rush back to the kitchen to scarf down my dinner, forgetting all about the fact that he hasn’t contacted me in weeks.
Will I see him in my dreams tonight? Will the shadow come out?
I’m consumed with the thought of what might happen when I sleep and the headiness of the words “I’m coming for you.” He’s said it before, and every time it feels like a promise. This time it’s like a countdown.
Bedtime can’t come soon enough as excitement pumps through my veins, making me rush to go to sleep as fast I can. I haven’t felt giddy in so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like.
The shower runs cold for the first thirty seconds, then it slowly heats. It’s not a particularly small shower, but it could easily fit two people. Not that I’ve ever found out if it does.
Hot water cascades down my body, soothing my tired muscles. The pulse between my legs aches as I remember the video and the night it was taken. Does he think about it as much as I do? What else could that shadow do to me? I know I should be angry because it’s an invasion of my privacy, but all it’s doing is making me flustered.
My hand skates over my heated skin and finds the place that’s begging for relief. I bite my lip as I circle the sensitive flesh. I’m getting far too impatient to wait until I sleep, and I can’t bear the thought that nothing will happen in my dream tonight.
My breath hiccups when I slip a finger inside of me, imagining it is one of his. Or his shadow’s, I’m not picky.
Awareness prickles at the back of my neck a split second before I’m pressed against the wall. The chill of the tile bites my aching nipples and sends sparks down to my core. I gasp in the steaming air and soak in the scent of morning dew.
Letum’s fingers thread through my hair, keeping my gaze fixed on the white tile. He doesn’t hesitate when he reaches around me and plunges his fingers into me. Pleasure pummels through me, and I scream, throwing my head back onto his shoulder.
“How I’ve missed you, my love,” he grinds out against the shell of my ear. He sinks himself deeper, making my entire body shudder. “There’s nothing like home.”
How can he think that someone riddled with scars is home? How does he not see me and recoil? Instead, Death’s engorged cock presses against my ass without a whisper of material between us. Perhaps in his eyes, I don’t have any scars, or maybe I do, and he thinks that they, too, are beautiful.
I try to shift my hips up without losing the mind numbing pleasure his fingers are bringing me, and I wedge my arm out from underneath me to bring it up to feel if he’s wearing a hood as well.
He lets go of my hair to land a brutal slap on my ass. The welts that form sends my blood racing every time his thigh brushes against me.
“You have not left my mind for a single second.” He pushes his hips against mine, making me feel every inch of his hard length against my burning skin. “I am completely at your mercy, Lilith.”
Sweat mingles in with the hot shower water, and I blink away the steam as I reach out to turn the water off.
Another little whimper echoes through the bathroom when he rubs my clit with his thumb and forces another cry from my lips. “Fuck, has your cunt missed the feel of my fingers?”
“Yes, yes. Fuck, yes,” I pant. Pressure builds in my core as my climax sprints toward me.
“Do you want me to stop?”
I shake my head so vigorously I almost knock my head against his. My legs buckle, and he keeps me held up by the fist in my hair while his fingers force an orgasm out of me.
“I need to hear you say the words, my love.” His fingers work faster, hitting the spot every single time. My core tightens on the brink of an orgasm.
“Please. For the love of god, please don’t stop,” I beg.
He stops. His fingers disappear from inside me, and I almost scream in frustration.
“You aren’t going to come on my fingers,” he says with a mischievous lilt in his voice.
My protests die on my lips when his cock teases my entrance from behind, his body pressed against my back. He grips my hips to hold me steady and fills me with a single thrust. The sound of his snarl breaks through my scream as pain lances my core from the sheer girth of him. He pauses as if relishing in the feel of me, sliding deeper, inch by brutal inch. When I think there’s nothing left for him to give, he fills me even more. My body stretches to try and accommodate his size. The only thing that prepared me for his size was his shadow’s fingers, and it doesn’t compare to finally having him inside me.
He did as he promised: he claimed me when I least expected it.
“You are going to come on my cock tonight, my love, and you are going to scream my name when you do it.”
My hold on the wall keeps slipping, and I have no choice but to drop my cheek onto the tile and let the stars dance behind my vision while a supernova starts in my core.
His grip leaves my hair, and he holds the tile wall next to my head for support. I’m forced to stare at his straining forearms. Somehow, I’m getting even wetter at the sight of the ticking veins in his hands.
He pummels into me to the point that I can’t even hold my own weight. With each thrust he goes a little bit deeper. The tile beneath his hand cracks with the force of his brutal fucking. Despite how vicious his thrusts are, he’s still holding back.