Page 11 of Closer Than You Think
My breath catches as the heroine meets her love interest's gaze across a moonlit glade. Her longing is palpable, leaping off the page and kindling something in me—a flicker of heat that spreads, slow and insidious. I didn't expect to find this sort of passion woven into the fabric of a thriller, but here it is, unapologetically raw and commanding my full attention.
“His touch is fire,” I whisper, the words from the book now my own reality. The protagonists' hidden affair, meant to be their secret, becomes part of my consciousness. My skin tingles, imagining the sensation of fingertips trailing over bare flesh, the way the heroine shivers beneath the caress of her forbidden lover.
The air in my cozy apartment seems to grow dense, charged with an electricity that resonates with the charged atmosphere of the story. Every descriptive phrase detailing their encounters adds another layer to my heightened senses. The soft hum of classical music in the background fades away, overshadowed by the pounding of blood in my veins.
“Escape is impossible,” I murmur, both for the characters and for myself. The narrative has ensnared me, trapped me within its seductive grasp. With each word, each stolen moment shared between the lovers on the page, my pulse races faster. The room around me disappears; there's only the story, the characters, and the irresistible pull of their dark romance.
I shift, letting the towel fall open as I spread my legs. My hand slithers down my body until my fingers find my clit, already throbbing with anticipation.
I slip two fingers inside myself, the warmth of my arousal coating my fingertips. My other hand drops the book and takes hold of my nipple, teasing it roughly, the way I like.
I imagine the morally gray man from the book. The dangerous one the main character shouldn’t want so badly . . . I wonder what it would be like to have such a strong, scary man on top of me, moving inside me, taking all he wants from me.
Teddy was perfectly adequate in bed. Nothing special, but not bad. The man in this book is like a whole new world, one which I’d never experienced before, but now it’s all I want.
I stroke myself faster, I imagine the way his tongue would trace my slit, exploring every inch of my inner folds. I press my legs together, feeling the tightness building within with every passing second. I picture waterfalls and lightning, the way his hands clench into fists as he bites his lip, the way his molten eyes bore into mine.
The characters' passion overwhelms me as I lose myself to the story. I'm in their world now.
Suddenly, I feel his weight against me, his hardened length pushing into me, filling me up completely. I gasp, my fingertips finding purchase on the couch as he moves deeper, harder, each thrust almost painful in its intensity. The friction, the warmth pulsing within me, all of it is too much.
A groan escapes me as I climax, my body trembling with the force of it. The world around me blurs into oblivion; all that matters is the escape I found.
But nothing can quite calm this newfound ache between my legs and the desire for more.
Five
Silas
After last night’s show on the cameras at Hallie’s, I jerked off three times, wishing I could spill myself inside her. I knew I’d see some private things by putting those cameras up, but I wasn’t expecting to watch this angel finger-fuck herself on her couch on night one.
Maybe Hallie has more depth than I originally gave her credit for. I worship her like a goddess, consider her the sweetest person I’ve ever stumbled upon, but never considered there was a different side to her.
Now I need more.
Which is how I end up on her fire escape the next night, needing to watch her in person.
As I crouch in the shadows of Hallie's fire escape, the cold metal biting into my palms, anticipation thrums through my veins. It's a familiar sensation, not unlike the rush before a kill, but this time the object of my obsession is far more enticing than any target.
The curtains dance in the gentle breeze, teasing glimpses of Hallie's silhouette as she moves about her apartment. I can't tear my gaze away, transfixed by every graceful motion, every hint of skin revealed by the shifting fabric.
Last night's display on the cameras has only fueled my desire, stoking the embers of my obsession into a raging inferno. The memory of Hallie's delicate fingers disappearing beneath her waistband, her soft gasps echoing through the speakers, has been seared into my mind.
I need more. I crave it like a drowning man craves air. The thrill of watching her, of knowing her deepest desires and darkest secrets, is a high I've never experienced before. Not even the rush of the kill compares to this.
I shift my weight, careful not to make a sound as I inch closer to the window. The faint scent of her perfume drifts out, mingling with the crisp night air. It's intoxicating, a siren's call luring me ever closer to the edge of reason.
Through the gauzy curtains, I catch a glimpse of Hallie settling onto the couch, a glass of wine in hand. The dim lamplight casts a warm glow across her delicate features, illuminating the gentle curve of her neck as she tilts her head back and takes a sip.
My pulse quickens, desire coiling tight in my gut. I imagine the taste of that wine on her lips, the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips. I want to worship every inch of her, to claim her as mine and mine alone.
As if sensing my gaze, Hallie shifts, her body moving with the rhythm of the music coming from the small speaker beside her. Her long legs are bare, clad only in a short silk robe that does little to hide her smooth skin. She takes another sip of wine, her throat moving gracefully as she swallows.
I feel the heat of her through the glass, a scarlet ribbon of desire weaving its way through my core. It's almost painful, this hunger for her. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms, fighting the urge to touch.
She sways, eyes closed, lost in the music. I wish it were me holding her close, moving to the beat. The thud of my heartechoes in my ears, a percussion to our dance. My cock throbs, aching for release.
It’s then that I notice the pill bottle on her nightstand. It’s open, the cap laying haphazardly next to it. The sleeping pills. Hallie isn’t a drug user, but she’s more reckless than I expected taking those with the wine she’s drinking.
