Page 49 of Firethorne
Because that was a fucked-up way to bring me into his world.
It was all such a mindfuck.
They were a mindfuck.
And then, my thoughts turned to Damien. Darkly disturbing, and yet morbidly intriguing Damien. The man who made me want to tear my own hair out or throw all the books in the goddamn library at his head.
But...
I couldn’t deny...
When he’d touched me...
He’d had me under his spell.
What was that about?
And why did I succumb to him so easily?
I lay in the dark and thought about everything he’d said, the warnings, the threats. And then I thought about what he’d done, and how he’d made me feel. I wasn’t ashamed to say I’d never come before. I’d never been with anyone in that way. I was a virgin. Sure, I’d touched myself, but I’d never had that reaction. And maybe I should’ve felt shameful, but I didn’t. I felt liberated.Hehad made me feel liberated, and I wanted more.
I glanced at the window at the end of the bed. The window overlooking the dark night and the woodlands. And I imagined he was still out there, standing amongst the trees, watching me, holding his breath, waiting to see what I’d do next.
I imagined him staring at the way I lay on my back on the bed, my T-shirt barely covering my ass, ready to show him everything.
And then, keeping my eyes on that window, I opened my legs, baring myself to the night, and to him. Tonight was a night for forbidden promises, for passion, and I was curious if I could recreate what he’d done, build on what he’d started.
I reached between my legs, and with my fingers, I started to stroke myself in the same way that he’d done, my fingertips grazing my swollen, wet pussy, igniting the flames he’d started, making them burn brighter. It didn’t take long for that burn to grow stronger, that delicious pulse to pound harder, and I lifted my hips, edging myself as I stroked, circled and then pushed my fingers inside myself.
And all the time, I imagined him outside, watching me, touching himself because he was so fucking turned on by the show that I was putting on for him. I pictured him taking out his long, thick cock and stroking it as he groaned, imagining that his hand was my pussy. That my walls were wrapped tightly around his cock, gripping him, milking him, making him come and bringing him to his knees like a motherfucking queen. I arched my back, my legs trembling as I imagined him moving closer to the window, wanting to get to me, to claim me. My fingers rubbed faster, harder, as I fantasised.
Would he climb through the window?
Pin me to the bed and take what he wanted?
Would he make me his dirty slut?
Those thoughts ignited something powerful inside me, and I exploded, coming so hard I cried out as my body buckled. Mylegs shook, my pussy throbbed, and my clit pounded, making me press and hold my hand over myself, willing the feelings to never end, to go on and on and on. With my eyes closed, I savoured every spark, every ripple that ran through me. And then, as the sensation ebbed away, I sighed, feeling totally and utterly spent.
I needed to shower. I needed to move, but I couldn’t. All I could do was lie still and thank God I was a woman. Because that was something I’d definitely be doing again.
My eyes shot open as I lay in the darkness of my room. I’d fallen asleep on top of the covers of my bed, but instantly, I knew something felt off. I didn’t move as my eyes flittered around, watching the shadows as they danced on the walls, the moonlight casting spells over them, making my heart race and my mind play tricks.
Did something just move in the corner?
I listened carefully, expecting to hear the creak of a floorboard or silent footsteps, but all I heard was the eerie whistle of the wind outside as it passed through the cracks in the window, invading my room, curling around my already cold body. My skin prickled as goosebumps appeared, and I gasped as a shadowed branch from a tree outside appeared to scratch at the wall. Whistling winds and shadows. I was letting them play tricks on me like I did when I was a kid. There was nothing there. I needed to get up and close the curtains, maybe then I might feel a little more relaxed.
But as I turned to get up off the bed, those shadows moved faster. A dark figure from the corner of the room lunged towards me.
My racing heart became an eruption of fear, my mind struggling to comprehend what was happening, but the adrenaline in my body was way ahead of it, telling me I needed to run. Warning me that I was in danger.
I gasped, ready to shout out, but a hand slapped over my mouth. A strong, manly hand.
I clawed at it, kicking my legs, trying to get free, scratching the skin of his hand in an effort to get him off of me. But it was no use, because in his hand was a cotton handkerchief, a handkerchief doused in chemicals, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight hard enough. Lord knows I tried, but it was pointless.
And within seconds...
My world was lost to darkness.
