Willing (The Un #1)

3. Chloe

Three

Chloe

Present

New Elysium

Soft lips press against my neck, lingering over my pulse. Placing a kiss that’s both sweet and somehow deeply disturbing at the same time.

“Chloe,” a seductive voice whispers into my ear, tugging me slowly into consciousness. “Wake up, beautiful. Wake up and see me .”

The nightmare always begins the same.

And yet it always catches me by surprise. As if somehow, someway, I’ve forgotten about the other terrible dreams.

One second I’m encased in darkness. At rest. At true peace. Sleeping in the warm comfort of my bed. Blissfully free of the perils that haunt my every waking moment.

And the next…

He ’s above me.

The shadow that has been stalking me since I’ve taken my first breath.

That’s all he is at first—a dark, blurry shadow above me with the form and shape of a man.

But even here, in this strange dream space, I know he’s not a man.

No, he’s something more . Something that feels too big and too deep for my fuzzy thoughts to comprehend.

The weight of him... Not just of his body—but of his will, his desire, his hunger—is a palpable thing.

I can feel it pressing down on me and wrapping around me like tendrils.

Sucking me into his madness.

A madness that revolves completely around me .

It doesn’t alarm or frighten me at first.

Not like it should.

No, I find it comforting.

After all…

“It’s only a dream,” his enchanting voice reminds me before he places another lingering kiss against my neck.

Here, where only the two of us seem to exist, there is no worry about the purity of my soul. No worry of burning in eternal damnation.

It’s a relief as he presses me down into a soft mattress.

As if I’ve been holding my breath and waiting for this moment. All my life I’ve been holding my breath and waiting for this. For him.

He is completion .

My body loosens and my limbs spread open as if commanded. His shadowy form settles between my legs, and I can feel the solidness of his shape as he presses against my thighs.

I can feel the warmth of something hard as he pushes his hips against my hips.

“Yes, that’s it, angel. Open for me. Accept me .”

Yet another kiss is pressed against my neck.

But this time there’s the tiniest pinch of pain, as if I was nipped.

An electric tingle zips down my spine, and I instinctually gasp and arch up. Clutching at him.

He groans a deep, throaty sound of pleasure as my nails sink into his dark, shadowy skin, and kisses the same spot on my neck. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? How long I’ve ached for you?”

I don’t know what it is about the spot, but as soon as I feel another pinprick of pain my entire body lights up with crackling sensation. My very blood somehow becoming electrified with pulsing energy.

A pulsing energy that seems to pool and gather force between my thighs. Filling me with a sudden, intense need of… something.

Something I don’t quite understand.

Before my fuzzy, muddled thoughts can work it out, he’s kissing me again and again.

Nipping and sucking at my neck.

His mouth pulling at me with a strange, unexpected urgency that doesn’t make any sense.

We have so much time…

We have an eternity.

What’s the rush?

My skin vibrates as he suddenly growls, and the sounds slipping out of him become gruff and animalistic.

“Chloe, stop resisting me,” he demands.

His body rocks into mine, and the energy inside me moves with him like waves rolling through an ocean. Lessening as his hips pull away, but so strong when he pushes back against me, I’m sinking into a mindless oblivion.

Just as I’m being completely swallowed up by the darkness, the pain in my neck increases tenfold.

Pleasure crashes into me, overwhelmingly strong, and I can barely breathe from the intensity of it.

All I can do is try to survive it.

In the back of my head, I know something about this isn’t right. Something about this isn’t natural .

But the moment I part my lips to protest, he steals my breath again.

A warm, velvety hardness slides inside me, spreading me open. Filling me where I’ve always been empty. Using my own slippery wetness as guidance.

Crying out, my nails bite into the skin of his shoulders, and he groans a long, toe-curling groan before moving against me once more. His body rocking me past the shock and thrusting me back to the edge of oblivion.

I try to let go. I try to slip back into the nothingness.

I want to give up the weight of this mortal coil I’ve been carrying.

To finally be free of every burden…

But there’s this tugging on my neck. A hard, persistent tugging that’s making me feel like he’s trying to suck my soul through my flesh.

It’s so distracting, I start to push at his shoulders to get him to stop whatever it is he’s doing.

Growling like a beast that doesn’t want to give up its kill, he thrusts into me harder, and the tugging on my neck becomes nearly unbearable.

Desperate to be free of the distraction, I pull my neck away, tipping my head in the opposite direction.

Only to be stopped by a shadowy hand wrapping around my throat.

“Be still, Chloe. Stop. Fighting. Me ,” he commands.

His words, needle-like, stab into my brain while his fingers squeeze and cut off my air.

Against my will, my body reacts to his command. Every muscle becoming weak and loosened until I’m utterly limp beneath him.

Fingers relaxing, he murmurs, “Good angel,” attempting to convey softness.

But his voice is too raw and gruff to achieve it.

If anything, those two words bother me so much I start to question what is happening.

Good angel? What am I now? An innocent child?

And who is he to boss me around? Why should I listen to him?

Pulling back his hips suddenly, he slams into me deep and grinds against my clit.

I find myself seeing stars as he moans against my ear. “It’s time you’ve given up this futile battle, for both our sakes.”

Slowly he slides out of me, granting me a heartbeat to take a breath.

Then he slams deep again.

More stars explode in front of my eyes, and when I try to blink them away I notice the shadowy darkness cloaking his body is fading.

The black melting into flesh so pale and lacking in color it’s nearly as white as my sheets.

Again, the word unnatural springs to my mind, filling me with more unease.

“We are meant to be, fate has decided it,” he pants as the thrusting of his hips becomes harder and more determined. “Not even your God can change this.”

Panic and a sense of impending doom war with the crackling waves rolling through my body. My hands push at his shoulders as the walls of my sex pulse and squeeze around his thickness.

My mind is unwilling to submit, but my body is hungry and desperate for the release only he can give.

Growling at the push of my hands, he begins to pound into me faster and faster. “ Tell me where you are, Chloe .”

The words he seeks leap to my lips, and one manages to slip out on a moan as a spike of intense pleasure momentarily robs me of my senses. “New—”

“New what ?” he grunts, his thrusts momentarily slowing. “New Orleans? New York?”

Realizing my mistake, I quickly clamp my lips together to keep the full answer from escaping.

Irritated, he draws my name out in warning, “Chloe…”

The urge to please him, to give him what he wants, presses down on me so hard all I want and desire is to be free of it.

I almost give in. After all, what’s the harm? Don’t I want this when I’m awake? When it’s real?

But then I feel that pain in my neck again.

The pain of him biting me.

Oh God, he’s biting me…

“ Chloe, tell me where you are .”

His words slam into me. Too powerful and too wrong .

I push harder on his shoulders, trying to get him off my neck. I still don’t fully understand what is happening, but I don’t want him doing whatever it is he’s doing.

Growling another animalistic sound, he finally pulls away from my throat and lifts his head.

His shadowy face stares down at me as his body crashes into my body.

The speed and strength behind his pounding hips too powerful to be human.

“ Tell me where you are, Chloe,” he commands with a touch of desperation.

Shaking my head, I resist the temptation to give into his demand. Resist the temptation to explode from the pleasure he’s forcing on me with his deep thrusts.

Only I have the power to end this for us… I somehow remember that now. I have the power to end our suffering and misery.

But even if I can’t remember why, I know I can’t…

I can’t .

“You can,” he declares, and I don’t know if I spoke out loud or if he’s reading my thoughts, but both frighten me.

This entire situation scares the shit out of me, to be honest.

Thrashing my head, I try to dislodge him from my mind and fight off all the pressure building in my core.

Something is going to give soon, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.

I don’t know how much longer I can resist breaking.

As if he can sense my strength slipping, he drops his head and drives into me so furiously I fear my bones might snap.

But there’s no pain.

There should be pain… I know, logically, there should be pain, but there’s only more pleasure.

More sensation.

So much sensation I’m freaking choking and drowning in it.

“Tell me where you are, Chloe,” he grunts, each word strained with exertion.

I thrash my head some more in a last-ditch effort to fight off what is coming.

It works for a few seconds, but then he grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him.

At first, all I see is shadow.

Dark mist in the shape of what should be the face of a man.

But then the shadow begins to melt away, dripping into nothingness.

Green eyes meet mine, and the shock of it shatters the last of my resistance.

Almost at once, everything that’s been building up inside me explodes.

“Tell me, Chloe. Goddammit, tell me!” he roars.

But it’s too late.

Just as my body shatters into a million pieces so does the dream.

His face—a face that has no right to be so beautiful or breathtaking—fades away, replaced by the flat white of my bedroom ceiling.

Reality comes crashing back in, and the weight of his will instantly disappears, no longer pressing down on me with suffocating heaviness.

There’s no immediate relief, however.

The dream may be gone, but I’m still caught in the grip of a powerful orgasm.

Writhing and jerking helplessly against my bed, I have no choice but to ride out the waves of sensation. My core, stretched and full just a heartbeat ago, desperately squeezing and pulsing around cold emptiness.

Trapped in unwanted throes, it feels like an eternity passes before the heat in my veins finally cools enough for me to think clearly and get a grip.

Panting against my bed, soaking wet from sweat and… other things… things I’d rather not admit, an icy cold fist wraps around my heart when I realize what just happened.

He came for me again.

And I almost told him where I am.

A sudden burst of adrenaline surges through me and I sit upright in fear. My eyes immediately search my room, sliding over everything. The foot of my bed. The soft yellow of my walls. The pile of dirty clothes I left on the floor. My overflowing hamper, and the small altar in the corner dedicated to Saint Benedict.

I even bend over the side of my bed and check underneath it. Making sure he’s not here right now, hiding like the bogeyman.

There’s nothing there though. Only some dust bunnies big enough to gnaw on my toes.

Thankfully, I’m alone and everything is as it should be.

Collapsing back against the bed, I give myself a moment to finally catch my breath, and stare up at the ceiling. Trying to get my racing heart under control, I watch the first rays of the sun peek over the tops of my curtains, slowly brightening the room.

It must be dawn, or close to it. If it was any earlier…

Shoving that thought away, I sit up again and grab the small bottle of holy water I keep on my nightstand. Popping the stopper, I start to splash the holy water all over my body, like Father McCall taught me, while the prayer of protection pours from my lips.

“Saint Benedict, I implore thy loving heart to pray for me before the throne of God. Protect me from the dangers that which daily surround me. Shield me from the evil connected to my unclean body…”

I nearly choke on the last two words.

Unclean body .

I’ve never felt more unclean in my life.

Despite my earlier terror, the last twinges of the orgasm still tingle through me. From my head, to my core, down to my toes, I’m still slightly buzzing and tingling.

And there’s a warmth.

A soft, fuzzy warmth washing over me like a reward for my release.

Maybe I’m already damned , I fear for a breathless few seconds.

But no… I can’t be.

I did not give in. I didn’t. I fought it with everything I had.

I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t go seeking it. I didn’t want it.

It was forced upon me.

Still… Even knowing he forced me, I feel guilty and afraid.

I didn’t fight hard enough. I felt things I knew I shouldn’t be feeling.

I was too weak.

For women like me, lust is the greatest sin. The sin that will ultimately be my ruin if I give into it. Others in the world may commit lustful acts and revel in all kinds of wickedness and debauchery.

But never me.

No, thanks to the mark upon my thigh—the little red mark in the unnatural shape of a figure eight—I can never allow myself to feel any desire or hunger for another’s body.

To do so will cost me everything.

If I give into lust, my soul will die.

I will be an empty husk for eternity.

And there is no coming back from it. Once I take that path, I’m turning away from God. I’m turning my back on paradise. Even if I try to pass beyond the pearly gates, He will not accept me.

I will be forever doomed and damned. Cursed to wander this earth with paradise just out of reach.

Since the day I had my first period at the ripe old age of sixteen, it’s been drilled into my head that I must not lust. I must not want or hunger . I must not give into desire or other base, human instincts.

Whatever I do, I must not give into the creature that hunts me.

Glancing down at myself, I take in my own body as if it’s betrayed me.

My skin is glistening with moisture and my sleep shirt is damp, the faded blue fabric clinging to my breasts. I could have sworn I had my pink flannel pajama pants on… but I must have kicked them off somehow in my sleep.

With my panties.

From the waist below, I’m utterly bare and exposed. Even my socks are gone…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I choke back and swallow my mortification.

Then I lower the bottle of holy water and splash what’s left all over my traitorous pussy.

“Help me. Please, please , help me, Saint Benedict. I implore your strength and grace for the welfare of my soul,” I plead, hoping it’s not already too late for me. “Help me, oh great Saint Benedict, to live and die as a faithful child of God, to be ever submissive to His holy will, and to attain the eternal happiness of Heaven.”

I splash every last drop of holy water on myself, vigorously shaking the bottle until it’s completely empty.

But I still feel unclean.

Jumping up from bed, I dash over to my altar and clumsily grab another bottle. Knocking over my cross in my haste.

Yanking the stopper out, I close my eyes and splash the entire bottle on myself.

Unable to bear the sight of my own nakedness.

And when I reach the bottom, I still feel dirty.

I go through two more bottles, two more bottles I cannot afford to waste, chasing the need to feel clean and whole again.

But the feeling eludes me.

In pure desperation, one more bottle is opened and splashed, leaving me only a single bottle in case of an emergency.

This fourth bottle seems to empty quicker, but like the others, I’m left feeling the same.

Tainted.

Wanton.

Dirty.

Weak .

I almost reach for the last bottle. Almost.

Then I realize I’m literally performing the very definition of insanity.

No matter how much holy water I soak myself with, I will never feel clean again.

Not unless I find a way to open up my skull and splash holy water all over my brain.

Because that’s where it all lies, ultimately. That’s where the true sin was committed.

Inside my head.

I let him in, and I may never get him out again.

Even now, panting in front of my altar and dripping with holy water, desperate to be what I was before I went to sleep, his face flashes across my eyes.

The image is a little blurred and faded from the dream, but his beauty is so powerful, so utterly soul-shattering, my knees nearly go weak.

Then I see his body. Muscles straining against alabaster skin as he moves above me. Furiously driving himself into me…

Knees truly going weak now, I reach out and grab onto the edge of the altar to keep myself upright.

He’s not here. He’s hopefully nowhere near me… but for the first time in my life I ache .

I ache with an unbearable longing.

It’s not lust, though. It’s not even desire.

It’s something else completely and more terrifying.

It’s as if I suddenly realize I’m not completely whole.

There’s a part of me out there… this other half walking around I need to complete me. To fill up the emptiness.

And if he was standing before me, if he was truly here, in the flesh… no amount of prayer or holy water could help me resist him.

It would probably take God himself appearing between us to keep me from succumbing to him.

Jolting with that alarming thought, my nails bite into the wood of the altar, digging through the finish, and I shake my head, trying to clear it.

God… I need God. That’s all I need , I remind myself.

His blessing. His salvation.

Nothing else compares. Nothing else can .

Fortifying myself with these truths, truths that have been spoken to me since I was a baby, I lock my knees and release my grip on the altar.

Breath after shuddering breath, I comfort myself with the idea that God’s love and grace is even more powerful than that creature’s allure.

Whatever that… monster could give me would be insignificant in comparison.

After fifty or so breaths, I start to feel better.

Then I remember I never properly finished my prayer.

Straightening a candle I knocked over, I pick up my cross and grip it in my hand. I squeeze the cross so hard all the nicks and scratches that blemish it’s dull, silvery finish from being passed down generation after generation dig into the skin of my palm.

The pain, just like the idea of God’s immense, never-ending, boundless love, helps dampen the empty ache behind my ribs.

But doesn’t completely banish it.

No, I feel it burning and throbbing like an old wound that’s been ripped open.

Even when I finally say, “Amen.”