Page 14 of The Assistant
Dawson
As always,nightmares color my dreams, and the image of her in her last moments replays endlessly in my mind. With each different variation, I try to do something to save her before it’s too late. I tell myself there’s something I could have done.
I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. My hands are shaking, and my mouth is dry. I run my fingers through my hair and take a few deep breaths to try to calm my rattled nerves.
It’s just a dream.
A dream that I have nearly every night that makes me relive the worst day of my entire life. I would give anything to just sleep through the night without the reminder.
I toss the sweat-stained covers aside and stretch before making my way to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour myself some water from the pitcher in the fridge.
I’m just about to bring it to my lips and take the first refreshing sip when a strange sound catches my attention. I freeze and hone in on it, trying to figure out exactly what the noise is.
It doesn’t take me long to realize that it’s coming from Harper’s room.
I inch closer, tilting my head toward the door while I try to place the sound. It takes me a moment, but I realize it’s soft moaning.
I stand upright and move closer, pressing my ear directly against the wood. Harper is moaning.
This is new. Harper is an absolute smoke show. I’ve definitely thought about her in ways that some might consider untoward. Seeing her tonight in that bathing suit was pure torture.
Hearing the breathless moans only paints a picture in my mind. What is she doing in there? Is she playing with herself?
My cock stiffens in my briefs at the mere thought of it. I press my ear harder against the door, listening to the rapid, shaky pants while rubbing the growing bulge in front of me.
I imagine her perfectly, clearly splayed out on the bed, her eyes closed and in absolute bliss, her mouth hanging open as she lets the pleasure take control.
What kind of girl is Harper? Would she just use her fingers, or does she have some kind of toy? I have half a mind to crack open the door and find out for myself.
My cock throbs, and it takes everything in me not to whip it out and start massaging it right here and now. The only thing really holding me back is the fact that Maggie lives in the penthouse too, and she’s always had the need for a midnight snack.
“Harper, you dirty girl,” I whisper to myself with a smirk as I lean in closer to listen more.
This time, her moans turn into whimpers, and I raise my eyebrows in confusion. I move my hand away from my crotch and press it against the door, carefully pushing it open to get more clarity. I realize now this doesn’t sound like pleasure-filled moans.
I know exactly what this is.
I push the door open to see her splayed out in bed; the covers twisted around her legs as if they’re trying to entangle her and restrain her. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her eyes are squinted shut as her head whips back and forth violently.
She’s having a nightmare. I know this all too well. If I had a nickel for every time I was in the same position as her, tossing and turning while the worst memory of my life replayed over and over, I wouldn’t even need to work.
I move into the room and stand at the end of the bed to watch her for a minute. I can’t help but wonder what she’s dreaming about. Is it anything as dark as what plagues my dreams?
Even though I started off our entire relationship by wanting to torment her, seeing her struggling is hard. There’s a little part of me that feels bad for her.
Against my better judgment, I walk toward the side of the bed and shake her shoulders. It takes her a moment to be pulled from dreamland, but when her eyes jolt open, and she looks at me standing over her, she immediately grabs the blankets and pulls them close to her chin.
“What’s going on?” Harper asks, sleep still heavy in her voice.
“Can you have your nightmares a little quieter? Some of us have to sleep.” I back away, though I keep my eyes on her. She sits upright, still clutching the blankets around her as she pushes strands of blonde hair from her face. Her chest rises and falls quickly as she tries to catch her breath.
“Sorry,” Harper whispers, not even making eye contact with me.
“Does this happen a lot?”
She looks up at me with a mixture of confusion and interest in her eyes. She must think I’m asking because I care. Maybe there’s a part of me that does, but that’s something I don’t plan on humoring. “Because if it does, we’re going to have to figure something else out. I need to sleep.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes, looking down at her hands and her lap. “I can’t exactly control what I dream about, you know?”
