It took a while and a shitload of discipline, but in the end, I fell asleep. In my dream, I was back in the library with him.
He had his arms around my waist, his lips devouring mine with an intense fervency that left me breathless. As the kiss deepened, his hand dipped beneath my underpants, and his finger slid inside.
I moaned, swooning in ecstasy.
“You belong to me, little one,” he whispered in my ear. “Spirit. Body. And soul.”
I tipped my head backward, my arms caressing his back as he kissed the nape of my neck. He palmed my tender breasts, fondling them over the fabric of my blouse.
The deeper his finger drove into me, the deeper my moans. He stared into my eyes while his hand worked its magic on my cunt.
“Say you’re mine,” he commanded. “Say it.”
I didn’t want to. But the sensation coursing through my blood was already driving me closer and closer to the edge.
“Say it.” He pushed deeper and deeper.
I bit my lower lip, holding his intense gaze as my legs trembled beneath me. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them.
“You know you want to.” His lips curled into a faint smirk. “Say it, little one. Say it.”
“I’m yours!” I finally gave in.
That’s when I opened my eyes with a quiet gasp. It was a dream. Yes. It wasn’t real. Nevertheless, the man sitting across from me was real, as real as the heart hammering in my chest.
He didn’t say a word. He just sat there in silence, legs crossed on the sofa before my bed.
I blinked a few times to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. Sadly, I wasn’t. My breath hitched in my throat as I wondered whether I’d moaned out loud. Before, if I had, then he must’ve heard me.
An invisible veil of shame draped over my face, but I maintained a neutral expression.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked, my voice shaky but calm.
Silence.
My attention flicked toward the bowl on the stool beside him and the small towel around his neck. Tonight, he wasn’t dressed in a suit, just a pair of black pants and a white singlet that hugged him like a second skin.
His ash-brown hair, still neat as ever, caught the soft light, a few strands framing his face. His large muscles were exposed, his broad chest bulging from underneath his singlet.
The man’s hot body sent heatwaves spreading across mine. When he rose to his feet, I stared up at him with a racing pulse.
“Sit up,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative.
I hesitated before doing as I was told, with my back against the headboard. He dipped the towel in the bowl of water, wrung it, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
Confused, I watched him lift the hem of my top just enough to reveal the blemish behind my waist. He shifted my body slightly for a better view and then placed the wet towel on the affected area.
It was warm and soothing.
He spent the next few minutes massaging it until the pain gradually vanished. Like magic. When he was done, he returned the towel to the bowl and met my gaze.
“Hold out your hand.”
I knew which one he meant, and I obeyed.
He took my wrist, tilting and rolling it gently while examining it with the eyes of a professional.
“Aww.” I winced at a pain I couldn’t endure.