A leather jacket, black jeans, and a scowl so deep, it could make a person confess to crimes they didn’t commit.
His sharp features are shadowed by the lack of light, making him look like a reaper, a devil in his natural habitat.
A devil whose whole punishing attention zeroes in on me.
A zipping sensation slashes through my trembling limbs, mirroring the one from when I ran through that forest and he caught me.
Slammed me down.
Ravaged me.
Made me scream.
My hand pauses on my folds, and I swear he can see it through the thin material of my underwear and shorts, because his attention slides to them.
He probably sees how my fingers tremble, giving away what I’m doing.
If I were doused with gasoline, I’d probably catch fire from his stare alone. Or glare. Or something in between.
There’s a mystic quality to the way he looks at me. It rushes through my aching insides and rips out parts of me I thought were long dead.
He stops by my bedside, arms crossed, and his thumb strokes his jacket in a controlled rhythm. Back. Forth.
Back and forth.
“Is this a dream?” I ask in a sluggish, and definitely drunk, voice.
“I don’t know. Do you think it is?” His low timbre reverberates in the room and stabs my ears.
I focus on our surroundings, on my ‘nerdy’ room, as Remi calls it, with books and manga posters covering the walls and the ceiling.
The chatter, laughter, and karaoke-singing reach me from outside, and I realize the semi-party is still going.
Or this is in fact a dream and I conjured him.
“You… Why are you here?” I start to remove my hand from beneath my shorts, but he shakes his head.
“Hide again and I’ll leave.”
I swallow, flattening my palm on my folds. Jeremy’s expression doesn’t change, whether in approval or displeasure, as he reaches for the elastic of my sleeping shorts.
My free hand grabs his, my nails digging into the veins on the back of it.
“Let go,” he orders with easy authoritativeness. The type that gets past the confinements of my ears and flows into my blood instead.
My fingers tremble and it’s my turn to shake my head. I’m sluggish and can barely think straight, but I can still remember those horrendous images.
Those…loss-of-control pictures.
But then Jeremy comes into focus, with his mean demeanor and not-classically handsome face.
It’s savage beauty as merciless as its owner’s.
“I said. Let. Go.” The punch behind his words strikes me in my shriveling chest.
My fingers slowly pull away. They’re not completely free when he yanks down my shorts.
The motion is so sudden and violent that I gasp, or I think I do, but not actually, because my reactions are delayed.
He throws the shorts aside and hooks his fingers in the waistline of my underwear.
I go to catch his hand again, but this time, a single look is enough to make me pause.
“You need to quit the habit of disobeying me as your knee-jerk reaction.” He removes the underwear, slightly ripping them before he throws them toward the shorts. “If I want you naked, I’ll have you naked.”
My pulse spikes and I can’t help the mixture of vulnerability and thrill that courses inside me.
Of fear and anticipation.
Uncertainty and resolution.
I’ve never been as conflicted as when I’m in Jeremy’s presence.
It’s like he’s able to unlock a part of me I didn’t realize existed. Or I did but still tried everything under the sun to shackle it.
His rough gaze openly watches, studies, and slides over my most intimate part that I’m barely covering with my hand.
Then he glides his attention to my face. “Go on. Show me how you touch yourself. Show me what you do when your little cunt is horny and you’re unable to take it any longer.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks at his crass words. No one has ever spoken to me like this and the novelty of it makes me tremble.
“Play with yourself,” he orders again. “Unless you want me to do it for you?”
I shake my head, more out of habit than anything else, and slowly circle my fingers along my soaking folds. Ever since he barged into my dream, they’ve become wetter, dripping, making a mess out of my fingers.
Slow pleasure starts to hum beneath the surface and I turn my head, hiding my face in the pillow.
“Eyes on me.” His voice jerks me back into position and I hate how my eyes instantly fly to his. How I get lost in them in a matter of seconds.
“Thrust a finger inside you,” he tells me. “Let me watch you fuck yourself.”
“I…I don’t do that.”
The only way I get orgasms is through clit play.
“I wasn’t asking.” He snatches my hand and lifts it to his face.
I think I’m going to explode.
Jeremy slides my fingers into his mouth. The same fingers that were playing with my pussy and are all soaked with my arousal are between his lips.
His tongue swirls between them, licking, sucking, making them wetter. Then, without notice, he thrusts my middle and ring fingers into my pussy.
A soundless shriek is all I can release as his bigger hand engulfs mine and he drives my fingers in and out of my core.
This is the first time I’ve ever fingered myself, and it feels foreign and rhythmic, yet sensually pleasurable.
I start to hide my face in the pillow again, but a single stern look from him makes me abandon the idea.
“You’re soaking wet for someone who doesn’t finger themselves.” Thrust. “Your cunt is drenching my hand.” Thrust. “So messy, Lisichka.”
My whole body trembles, his words adding to the intensity of his touch. Because, no, it’s not my fingers that are eliciting this sharp pleasure. It’s all him.
And his filthy mouth, controlling touch, and spellbinding presence.
“I think your soaking cunt is inviting me to have a taste.”
I’m still waiting for my delayed apprehension to kick in when he kneels by the bed and pries my legs open.
I gasp, but I don’t fight him.
I can’t.
I don’t want to.
Jeremy places a finger to his mouth. “Shh. Unless you want your friends to see you eaten for dinner.”
He pulls my hand from my pussy and grabs each of my thighs in a strong palm as he dives in.
My back arches off the bed when he licks all the way from my opening to my clit.
The intensity of the act beats and ripples inside me, and I attempt to escape, even temporarily.
I’m not ready for what he does next.
Jeremy physically jerks me upward so that my back is bent and I’m half hanging in the air as he eats me out.
The position is awkward at best, and I slam my palms on the headboard and the wall to get some semblance of balance.
But I think that’s his purpose behind all of this. He doesn’t want me to move, doesn’t want me to stop or try to intervene.
This way, I’m completely his to do with whatever he pleases.
Not that I can fight and push him away when I’m drunk out of my mind.
Hell, I can’t even do that when I’m sober.
What I can do, however, is feel every zip of pleasure, every lick, bite, and controlled display of command.