seems pointless, before heading down the hall to my bedroom. I change into my shorts and a pajama top and then intentionally lay down to go to sleep without locking my window. Worst-case scenario – the intruder comes back and doesn’t kill me.
…
I wake up groggy, all my limbs heavy, maybe from the stupid alcohol still in my system or the orgasm from earlier tonight. The creaking floorboard alerts me to the fact that I’m no longer alone. Lying unmoving in my bed, facing the wall, I try to hold still, which is easy since my body doesn’t want to move.
“Hey, baby girl,” his deep, rumbly voice says from above me, and then I feel the brush of his smooth leather covered finger stroking my cheek.
My entire body shivers awake, but it’s not a reaction to fear since I’m not scared of him, even if I should be. That warm sensation between my legs like earlier tonight with Brede is back. This time, there’s an almost desperate need for relief. Obviously, my head is more fucked up than I thought if this, a stranger sneaking into my room at night, makes me horny. Or maybe that’s just the result of being sexually repressed for so damn long. Before Brede, no one had ever touched me before. Now, I guess I’m desperate for any sort of human contact, the exciting and comforting sensation that’s obviously addictive.
“You didn’t call the police, and you didn’t run,” he says softly, his voice sounding vaguely familiar in my foggy sleep-hazed mind.
What does he mean by I didn’t run? Did he think I would be scared to come back here because of him? And how does he know I didn’t call the police? Has he been following me?
“Why not?” he asks, and I feel the mattress shift behind me with his weight when he climbs up on it. My heart begins to race with anticipation wondering what he’ll do next, so loudly he can probably hear it.
Almost forgetting he had asked a question, I shrug my shoulders in response since I’m not sure I would have the words needed to explain, even if they did come easy for me. I certainly don’t want to tell him that the police are probably looking for me.
“I was hoping you would be here,” he says, causing my breath to hitch, thrilled beyond reason that he wanted to see me tonight. Maybe I’m not the only crazy one since I missed him after he left last night, this late night prowler who knows my secret.
While I’m still contemplating his words, the front of his warm, hard body curves against the back of mine, and his large, leather covered palm strokes down my bare arm. I know he’s still wearing his clothing, except for his shoes since his sock covered feet are rubbing against mine.
Are we spooning? This man broke into my father’s house last night and again tonight, gets into my bed and…spoons with me? I can’t help but doubt that what seems like reality is actually a very detailed dream.
“Is this weird?” he asks, his lips right above my ear, but not touching. “This is weird, right?”
Shaking my head in disagreement, my hair brushes his face or mouth or what could be his mask. It may be weird, but it’s…nice not to be alone. The size and heat of his body enveloping me makes me feel safe and protected. I haven’t seen him closely in the dark, but I can tell he’s tall, lean, and muscular. His chest moving in a regular rhythm against my back is soothing, and soon my tense, uncertain body begins to relax into him. Right until his palm leaves my arm, and grasps my hip, the tips of his fingers stroking the skin where my pajama top has shifted upward.
“I wish I could see this beautiful body in the light,” he says. And with those words, his lips do brush over the shell of my ear, at the same time his palm moves inside my top, caressing my stomach. I gasp in surprise as nervousness and arousal floods my body. “But I definitely shouldn’t touch you,” he adds, and I nearly shout in protest when his touch slips away from my skin.
Before I realize what
…
I wake up groggy, all my limbs heavy, maybe from the stupid alcohol still in my system or the orgasm from earlier tonight. The creaking floorboard alerts me to the fact that I’m no longer alone. Lying unmoving in my bed, facing the wall, I try to hold still, which is easy since my body doesn’t want to move.
“Hey, baby girl,” his deep, rumbly voice says from above me, and then I feel the brush of his smooth leather covered finger stroking my cheek.
My entire body shivers awake, but it’s not a reaction to fear since I’m not scared of him, even if I should be. That warm sensation between my legs like earlier tonight with Brede is back. This time, there’s an almost desperate need for relief. Obviously, my head is more fucked up than I thought if this, a stranger sneaking into my room at night, makes me horny. Or maybe that’s just the result of being sexually repressed for so damn long. Before Brede, no one had ever touched me before. Now, I guess I’m desperate for any sort of human contact, the exciting and comforting sensation that’s obviously addictive.
“You didn’t call the police, and you didn’t run,” he says softly, his voice sounding vaguely familiar in my foggy sleep-hazed mind.
What does he mean by I didn’t run? Did he think I would be scared to come back here because of him? And how does he know I didn’t call the police? Has he been following me?
“Why not?” he asks, and I feel the mattress shift behind me with his weight when he climbs up on it. My heart begins to race with anticipation wondering what he’ll do next, so loudly he can probably hear it.
Almost forgetting he had asked a question, I shrug my shoulders in response since I’m not sure I would have the words needed to explain, even if they did come easy for me. I certainly don’t want to tell him that the police are probably looking for me.
“I was hoping you would be here,” he says, causing my breath to hitch, thrilled beyond reason that he wanted to see me tonight. Maybe I’m not the only crazy one since I missed him after he left last night, this late night prowler who knows my secret.
While I’m still contemplating his words, the front of his warm, hard body curves against the back of mine, and his large, leather covered palm strokes down my bare arm. I know he’s still wearing his clothing, except for his shoes since his sock covered feet are rubbing against mine.
Are we spooning? This man broke into my father’s house last night and again tonight, gets into my bed and…spoons with me? I can’t help but doubt that what seems like reality is actually a very detailed dream.
“Is this weird?” he asks, his lips right above my ear, but not touching. “This is weird, right?”
Shaking my head in disagreement, my hair brushes his face or mouth or what could be his mask. It may be weird, but it’s…nice not to be alone. The size and heat of his body enveloping me makes me feel safe and protected. I haven’t seen him closely in the dark, but I can tell he’s tall, lean, and muscular. His chest moving in a regular rhythm against my back is soothing, and soon my tense, uncertain body begins to relax into him. Right until his palm leaves my arm, and grasps my hip, the tips of his fingers stroking the skin where my pajama top has shifted upward.
“I wish I could see this beautiful body in the light,” he says. And with those words, his lips do brush over the shell of my ear, at the same time his palm moves inside my top, caressing my stomach. I gasp in surprise as nervousness and arousal floods my body. “But I definitely shouldn’t touch you,” he adds, and I nearly shout in protest when his touch slips away from my skin.
Before I realize what
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