Page 20 of Demon of Dreams

Lew’s hole was well-stretched out. Enough for me to fuck him, if I’d wanted to. And I was hard again, faster than I’d expected. But if I were being honest, it wasn’t Lew who’d made that happen. It was that kid.

Wonder how tighthishole is.

No. Enough. I wasn’t going to let my mind go down that road anymore. Lew was right here, in front of me, and I owed him my attention. I brushed past his prostate over and over, waiting until I was sure he was right on the edge.

“I should just leave you here,” I whispered in his ear. “Just like this. Begging for it, and desperate to come. I should tie your hands to the stall door so you can’t touch yourself anymore. Let you suffer all night for your insolence. Lucky for you, I like watching you come too much to do that.”

With a final thrust of my fingers, I pressed against his prostate. Lew moaned loudly, and I heard the telltale sound of cum hitting the wall in front of him. His left hand worked his cock hard, and I didn’t slide my fingers out until he’d stopped moving.

He was still breathing hard when he turned around, zipping his jeans back up. He slid a hand through his hair and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. His eyes met mine.

“Thanks,” he said, spots of pink appearing in his cheeks.

“Don’t mention it.” I headed for the door.

Like I said, we weren’t exactly close. I had the feeling that staying around and talking afterwards would ruin this thing we had. And neither of us wanted that.

I looked over my shoulder and pointed at the mess he’d made on the wall beneath the dryer. “Don’t forget to clean that up. Not fair to leave it for Tom.” After a moment, I pointed to the splatter of cum on the floor that the kid had left behind. “That too.”

Lew’s eyes went wide, and he began to sputter in protest, but I didn’t stick around to listen. He’d do as he was told—he always did. And the sooner I got out of the bathroom, the better.

I didn’t want to think about that kid anymore. Time to leave.

It was what I did best.

5

CORY

Old leather and mint.

That was the first thing I was conscious of, before I’d even opened my eyes. The scent of creased but supple leather and the bright green of spearmint threaded through the air. A faint rumble sounded around the edges of my hearing. I was warm, and there was a weight on my chest, but it felt comforting rather than oppressive.

I was very comfortable, actually, and might have slipped back under if my mouth hadn’t been so dry. But thirst scratched my throat like a bramble until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

I flicked my eyes open and found myself staring at a large gray tabby cat, curled up on my chest. She was purring—that was the rumble I’d heard—and peering at me inquisitively. I blinked. She blinked slowly back at me.

Where was I?

There was an orange wool blanket with a satin edge under my chin, and I could feel a pillow under my head. Probably in a bed, then, though I couldn’t say for sure with the cat in my way. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see the edge of a large bookcase and a window showing dark night sky, but the rest of the room was a dusky blur.

It didn’t look like my room, that was for sure. I shifted, trying to sit up, and the cat rolled over, onto my waist. Before I’d moved six inches, another face popped into view. This one was human, looking at me upside down.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

The face shifted to the side, then gradually righted itself as the person it was attached to moved around to crouch next to the bed. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak, so I settled for staring at him instead.

He had blond hair, an upturned nose, and a pointed chin that seemed to be asking a silent question. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, and he pushed it back in a gesture that spoke of long practice. One of his eyes was blue, while the other was brown. I’d never met anyone with eyes like that before.

I tried to speak again, but still couldn’t get any words out.

“No, no, don’t do that yet,” the guy said. “Cinda left this with me. She said you were supposed to drink it as soon as you woke up.”

He grabbed something from a table next to my head, and handed me a brown pottery mug with a handle that had been visibly mended. I pushed myself up against an unseen headboard and took the mug with my left hand. The contents were a light green, and the liquid shimmered slightly. I looked back at the guy in front of me.

“Don’t worry, it won’t kill you,” he said with a grin.

I didn’t find that as reassuring as he seemed to think I should. But I wasn’t altogether convinced that this wasn’t a dream, so maybe there was no harm in it.

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