Page 78 of Somno Slave

Something in me tightens in response. I jolt against the chair, too sudden, too hard, and my cheeks flush red. Something sparks between my thighs. Want. Desperation. My palm moves quickly, cupping my sex like that’ll stop the ache. The pressure, the warmth—it makes everything so much worse.

My hips move without my mind consciously instructing them to. I grind against my palm slowly at first, like I’m testing how far I’m going to take it.

I swallow, hard.

He thrusts a few more times, and the room erupts with realisation, but it’s too late. He explodes. A dark noise rolls out of him, a noise I will never forget. My pulse jumps hard under my skin, sudden and violent, like it’s trying to get out and I shift suddenly, my hand grinding hard against my sex and then—

Oh, God.

It happens.

It hits me too fast to brace for.

A sharp, rising surge that tears through me without warning, pulling me forward in my seat as my body reacts before I can catch it, before I can force it back under control. My breath breaks, uneven and jagged, something desperate building and building with nowhere to go, my muscles tightening around it like I can contain it.

I can’t.

My toes curl hard against my heels. My other hand flies to my mouth, clamping down before any sound can escape, my whole body locking around the aftermath as it shudders through me, leaving me breathless, shaken, and completely out of control.

It doesn’t stop, refuses to relent, and I’m trapped in its wake of destruction. My heart won’t slow. It hammers on, relentless, echoing through me as I sit there, unmoving, trying to piece myself back together around what just happened, around what I justfelt.

I swallow, forcing another breath in, deeper this time, trying to steady it, trying to ground myself in something real, but it doesn’t settle properly. Because underneath the aftermath, beneath the shock and the thin, fraying edge of control I’m clinging to, something else has already taken hold...

A want.

Sharp and unmistakable.

I hate that I already know what I’m going to do next.

My hand moves to my sex again.

I hate that I rewind the footage, and I hate that I know what I’m going to do again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Deogal

She doesn’t know she belongs to me yet, but she will. This game of cat and mouse: it both ignites and tortures me.

I want to lunge forward and consume her wholly, ravish her across her desk, fuck her until her virgin pussy is swollen and bruised. She’s already started to tremble so beautifully for me, and I’ve barely touched her.

And now I’ve taught her the sweet sin of masturbation, the real fun is just beginning.

She walks fast through the street, head down, hood up, shoulders stiff. Her heels click too hard against the pavement. My shadow follows her home.

Before long, we’re inside her flat. She drops her bags and heads straight into the bathroom with an amusing speed. A single strand of red hair slips free from her bun. The colour of temptation and battlefields. It curls slick against her cheek, but she doesn’t correct it. She’s too focused on peeling off the clothes from her body like something urgent burns beneath her skin.

I follow her, my attention tightening as her fingers fumble at her blouse, tugging it free with none of her usual care. It slips from her shoulders and drops to the floor, forgotten the second it leaves her skin.

She doesn’t pause.

Her hands move straight to the zip at the back of her skirt, dragging it down in one sharp motion, breath already uneven.

I watch it all.

Every second.

Every slip in control.