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He slaps my cunt again, harder this time, then moves his hand to my neck. “You don’t deserve to breathe,” he whispers, and I whimper. He wraps a blindfold around my eyes and slips his fingers inside me. I moan as he brings me to that sweet bliss, while keeping his hand secure around my neck.
My pussy is pulsing so desperately for him. A need only he can fulfill.
He whispers again, “You can never hide from me. You leave pieces of yourself everywhere you go. Every time you touch yourself to make yourself feel better, your fake tears when you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. Every version of you leads back to me. I’m watching you, wildling, and the Archer never misses his mark.”
My body lies limp and helpless, completely at his mercy.
His lips caress my stomach, then move to my breasts where he tugs at my nipples with his teeth and bites down on the fleshy part of my boob. My breaths are ragged gasps, my limbs still heavy from the drugs I took earlier. Something cold slices and presses against the flesh of my belly. He moves the gun down, so it centers against my clit.
“Are you ready to die now, Layla?”
Desperately. If it means being closer to him.
I arch my back, rooting closer to the sound of his voice. My pussy clamps around the cold metal of his gun, as he pushes it in and out until my insides heat at the anticipation of him pulling the trigger.
I can’t help the moan that escapes me.
His lips meet mine, and I melt into his kiss as his tongue explores my mouth. He kisses my neck, his mouth lingering on my skin, marking me with his tongue. His arms slide around me, and he pulls me closer to him.
“I love you so much, Layla. It’s time to join me, baby.”
A thrill hits my core, and my body resurrects. I submit to my fate as my body convulses, my pussy throbs, and a deep orgasm blooms within, causing a wave of pleasure to build up.
This dream always ends the same way—
A click. Then…a bang. And my insides explode.
I jerk awake. My eyes open, and I gasp for air, stricken with panic as I thrust myself into full awareness. Every part of my body is tingling. It’s so intense I want to jump out of my skin. I’m still in an orgasmic high as small throbs dance through my body.
I glance around the dark room, aware things aren’t as they should be. It takes a few extra seconds to get my bearings and prove to myself I’m awake. The alcohol and drugs still swarming through my body, dulling my senses, and sweat drips down my forehead.
The room is dark, illuminated by twinkling stars and the moon shining through the small slit in the window. A cool, salty breeze snakes over my skin.
Something is terribly wrong.
I tug my wrists, but my hands are tied, causing my heart to bang against my ribcage. I’ve had this recurring dream for weeks, and this has never happened before. I wiggle and slip my wrists out of whatever is binding them together. My pussy clenching—almost as if that cold metal is still shoved in there. I reach down between my legs, where my pussy is still wet and throbbing. The sheets are wet, evidence of my arousal leaking out everywhere.
The dream was so vivid—so real.
With my hands free, I dig my fingernails into my thighs until I am confident in the pain, grounding myself in reality. I steady my breath trying to calm my nervous system.
I’m awake…this is real. I’m still alive.
I said that countless times during the months he had me…the memory of me saying those words in the dark come swarming back.
I’m still alive. I’m still alive. I’m still alive.
He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real.
Eventually, I lean over and flip on the light and scan my apartment. Everything is exactly the way I left it. Except his presence is so heavy, I’m almost positive he’s here with me.
My sheets are a tangled mess on the floor, my pillow has fallen off the bed, and there are red marks on my sore wrists. My breath hitches when my eye catches a small white ribbon on the floor beside me.
Frowning, I bend down and pick it up. As I flip it between my thumb and forefinger, the pain from my other injuries starts to sting on my leg and throb on my neck and belly.
“Shit.” I scramble to the kitchen, grabbing the one knife I have that I use for chopping.
Someone was here…or is here. What the fuck just happened to me?
