Page 46 of Wicked Bonds
“Soren.”
She’s dreaming about me. Not because I’ve invaded her subconscious, not because I’ve created a fantasy for her to feed from, no, she’s dreaming about me all on her own.
The realization hits me like a train. In all my years of feeding, of taking what I need from the sleeping and the willing, I’ve never had someone dream of me without my influence. It’s always been a transaction, a manipulation, a carefully manipulated puppet show where I pull the strings.
But tonight? This is all her.
I sit down on the chair, watching the way her body moves in response to whatever her subconscious is showing her. The rational part of me wants to leave, to let her have this private moment without my interference. But the demon I am means of-fucking-course I’m staying. The hunger is too strong now, especially knowing that somewhere in that beautiful, fucked-up mind of hers, she wants me.
The decision makes itself.
I close my eyes and let my consciousness separate from my physical form. My body remains in the chair, but the essential part of me, the incubus, the thing that feeds on lust and desire, slips free.
The space between waking and sleeping is an endless mist-shrouded space. I find my way through it by instinct, following the path of Rose’s consciousness as it leads me to her dream.
I keep walking until I land in the world her mind has created.
It’s her room, but not quite. The ceiling has been replaced by a night sky filled with a million bright stars, and her bed is floatingbelow it, larger than it is in reality, covered in fine, black silk. And there, in the center of it, is Rose.
She’s not alone.
My dream duplicate is already there, a version of me that her subconscious has conjured with unnerving accuracy. He’s got my face, my build, even the way I tend to tilt my head when I’m amused. But there’s something different about him. He’s softer. Safer. Respectful. This is the Soren she wants, not the one she gets.
Dream-me has his hands in her hair, lips trailing down her throat while she arches beneath him. She’s wearing nothing at all. The sounds she’s making have the real me back in her real bedroom gripping the arms of the chair I’m sitting in.
I watch for a moment, spellbound by what her mind has created. Dream-me is gentle with her, reverent almost, treating her body like something precious rather than something to be consumed. His hands touch her skin lightly, as she presses up into them. She wants more. She needs more, but she’s afraid of getting it.
I can work with this.
Twenty-Two
Soren
Drifting closer, I feel her dream become aware of my presence. There’s a moment of resistance, the fake Soren trying to maintain its shape, but I’m the real thing and he’s just a cheap knock-off. I slip into him, feeling his form dissolve and reshape around my consciousness.
I notice everything. The way her skin is hot beneath my hands, the way her pupils are wide with want. I can feel her neediness.
“Tell me what you want,” I whisper against her ear in the dream.
“You,” she breathes.
My mouth crashes against hers, and she melts into me, her tongue darting to meet mine. She tastes like sweet, dark chocolate laced with poison, addictive and dangerous. I pin her to the bed, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as she arches against me, her breasts pressing hard against my chest. When I take her nipple between my teeth, tugging just enough to make her cry out, she claws at my back, gasping myname like a prayer. Her thighs part eagerly, and when my fingers find her slick heat, she’s already dripping wet, her hips bucking desperately against my hand as I circle her swollen clit.
She’s slick and greedy for me in that perfect way that makes my control unravel. I press two fingers inside, slow, then deep, feeling the way her body takes me like it was designed for my hand. Her hips chase it. Her throat tips back, a helpless little sound punching out when I curl my knuckles just right.
“Use your words,” I murmur against her throat. “Tell me yes.”
“Yes,” she gasp. Then again. “Don’t stop.”
Good girl.
I slide down and devour her. No teasing, no gentle little flicks of my tongue over her pussy, just full contact, full intent. I lock my mouth to her and suck her clit like the starving demon I am. My fingers keep the rhythm inside her, pumping slow, then faster, then slow again.
Her thighs lock around my head, hard.
The feeding begins without conscious thought. I draw her energy into myself. It starts as a trickle, just the surface pleasure of skin against skin, but as she responds, as her want increases, it becomes a flood.
Sexual energy is unique among the emotions I can feed on. Fear is bitter, anger is sharp, but desire? Desire is pure sustenance, especially when it’s this potent. Rose’s pleasure fills me like liquid starlight, every gasp she makes, every time her cunt clenches around my fingers, pumps it through me.
