Page 158 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

“You can make this stop.”

A second later, his finger replaces his mouth—slow circles over the pulse of me.

“But you won’t stop this, will you?”

A choked sound escapes. My body jolts.

“Because you were dreaming about me.”

His voice wraps around me like smoke.

“Was I fucking you? Both of us covered in blood?”

I shake my head—weak, useless.

Because that’s exactly what I was dreaming.

Exactly.

He hums. Then I feel a thick line of spit hit my center.

His finger smears it through the mess, gliding in maddening strokes.

The hum that escapes me spurs him forward.

“Don’t lie to me, Sunshine,” he murmurs. “I heard you.”

His finger circles faster now—not enough pressure, just enough to reignite everything.

“You were moaning in your sleep. Fucking your pillow. Begging for it.”

He punctuates it with his tongue, dragging the flat of it through me.

“Admit it,” he breathes. “You wanted this.”

I try to shake my head. Try to resist.

But the truth is already leaking out in every breath.

My dreams had taken me there before he even touched me.

This isn’t new.

It’s a continuation.

He rubs faster. My legs tremble. My moans spiral.

I should stop this. I could.

So why haven’t I?

My muscles tighten. Heat builds. It’s coming—rushing at me like a tide.

Then he stops.

I nearly cry out, a keening sound caught behind the gag as pleasure stalls at the edge.

“All you have to do is admit it,” he says, voice lower now. Closer. “Say yes, and I’ll let you come.”

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