29. Bastian
Chapter 29
Bastian
The brain releases more dopamine when someone fantasizes about sex than when they’re actually fucking. Fantasies, then, should be enough of a thrill.
We convince ourselves they’re not.
Perhaps because humanity’s survival depends on copulation and reproduction.
Or, perhaps, because we crave the emotional aspect of such a primal connection with another being. Seeing their desperate need reflected in ours.
Their emotions. Their arousal.
The realization of their own fantasies.
I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, palms flat on the vanity’s cool white marble. The line of coke I just snorted lights up my nerve endings like the Fourth of July, sending my heart into a frantic patter that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.
Balancing on this cusp is what I’ve always craved.
The moment where I always wonder if, this time, it’ll be too much.
I’ve been toying with death since I was a child. Leaving it to chance if I’d die, playing Russian roulette with God.
Or Lucifer.
If I die before I wake,
one of them my soul will take.
But if I stay it must mean,
I still have places to be.
A grin flashes over my face, but I quickly smooth it away. No one enjoys looking at the visage of a lunatic. They prefer charming, intelligent, rational Professor Rooke.
That’s why I had to come to this shitty town. People became opinionated about me at my old haunt. They became nosy. Guarantee it will happen here, too. But in such a small town, it’s easier to control the flow of gossip.
I pause on the bedroom’s threshold, watching Haven as she tries to pull herself together.
There’s a smile on my lips. When this pretty little student came to me for help, she had no idea she’d be succumbing to a sedative I fed her.
She touches her neck where I’d applied the salve.
Pushes damp hair out of her face.
Her blue eyes are wide when she whips her head around to look for me. They widen even more when she spots me leaning against the doorframe.
“Professor?” There’s a note of panic in her voice.
I believe Haven now, saying that she fought off her attacker, because she fights the pill I gave her too.
But, just like her attacker, the pill is too strong. Haven, too weak.
Or she simply realizes there will be less pain if she submits.
I unbutton my shirt. “Please. Call me Bastian.”
Her eyes follow my hands down my chest, her rosy lips parting as her eyelids grow heavy.
“Bast…” She slowly licks her lips, forcing her eyes open. “I don’t…feel…”
I dart forward, catching her when she slumps to the side, then gently laying her down the rest of the way. Her eyelids flicker as she fights to stay conscious, but in a minute or two, she’s going to be dead weight.
“The body heals in sleep.” I strip off my damp shirt, tossing it to the corner of the room. “Let it heal, Haven.”
The bedsheets rustle as I rip them aside. Haven flinches when the corner touches her back, but that’s the only response she gives.
I grab her under her arms and drag her up the bed until her head is on a pillow. Her head lolls to the side, and I brush damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
Then I drag the sheets over her and head into my closet to collect a pair of sweats. A quick shower to wash off this god awful day, then I’ll catch a few hours of sleep on the couch.
I’m sure Haven will have a different picture of events tomorrow, when she wakes up. Maybe, then, I’ll be able to convince her to report her assault.
I close the bathroom door, strip naked, and head for the shower.
The sight of Haven’s wet sundress hanging from the towel rail stops me in my tracks.
No.
It’s the underwear beside it that makes me stop.
Washed-out pink bikini briefs made of cheap cotton. A tiny satin bow its only decoration.
I’m instantly annoyed that she can’t afford better underwear. That’s another thing we’ll discuss tomorrow. She can’t keep living out of her car. I will ensure she joins a sorority. That they provide her with free housing and board.
If she’s working, and she must be if she’s gone this long without being found out, then I will have her quit.
I can cover her expenses.
Make sure she never wants for anything.
Whatever she desires, she will have.
If she sees a pretty dress in the shop, she can buy it without bothering to look at the price tag, and the shoes that go with it, she can have those too, and I won’t ask anything of her, won’t even?—
A deep, throaty groan forces my eyes open. I stare at the pink panties stretched over my knuckles, fingers curled into a shaking fist that’s pressed to my nose.
I drop her underwear to the floor, huffing out her scent.
Jesus Christ.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I pick up the scrap of fabric and carefully hang it up beside her dress again.
But the smell lingers. No blood, no semen. Just…Haven.
Silly, silly, Haven.
Waiting in the dark, in the rain, like I’m the only person in the world she trusts. Makes no sense. None of this.
She’s toying with me. Using me.
But for what?
Cool tiles under my bare feet, then warm, plush carpet.
My shadow touches the bed before I do. It spills over Haven’s shoulders moments before I pull the sheets down to her feet. It coats her in inky blackness before I turn on the lamp.
Warm, amber light floods Haven’s features. The soft creases of the hoodie.
Never thought anything in my closet could look this fucking good on a person until she came out of my bedroom wearing my hoodie as a dress. I slip my fingers behind the collar, tugging it away so I can see the marks on her throat.
The salve has barely had any time to work, but the handprints on her throat seem to have faded.
I keep pulling, baring her shoulder, scanning her skin. A scratch near the top of her arm. Faint, barely visible. I run my thumb over it, trying to estimate if it’s a fresh wound or something that happened a few days ago.
Should fetch the kit again. Apply more ointment. Help Haven heal.
I leave the hoodie pulled down her shoulder, picking up her wrist, turning her hand over in mine, examining it. Some dirt under her nails, embedded deep where only a nail brush could have reached. Another small tear in her skin, near one knuckle.
The smell of my body wash on her skin is inebriating. I inhale deep as I press my lips to the small cut, as I lick her finger.
My cock was already hardening in the bathroom after I examined her underwear. It bobs as a fresh wave of blood is pumped into it.
I set her hand down, my gaze already gliding down her body, hungry for more. A predator deciding where to tear open its fresh, succulent kill.
Her bare feet twitch as I stare at them, but she’s unconscious, trapped in sleep.
Resting. Healing.
Her ankle bone is a sharp point in my palm as I lift her leg, my knees sliding onto the mattress beside her so I can get closer.
To examine her.
To heal her.
She washed her feet, but there are a multitude of small cuts and abrasions on her skin. How far did she walk to get here? I didn’t see her car, but I wasn’t driving, so it’s possible I simply missed it.
“Poor baby,” I murmur, closing my eyes as I inhale her scent, the tip of my nose trailing along the elegant arch of her foot. “Why did you do this to yourself?”
I kiss one of her cuts. Trail my tongue along a scratch.
There’s a bruise on her shin. I lavish it with my tongue, inhaling deep. My fingers dimple the flesh of her calf, then her thigh.
That’s when I see the scratch marks on her inner thigh.
Four jagged lines, livid against her pale skin.
My cock drags over her ankle as I roll her onto her back. Settles heavy and hard between the cradle of her shins as I lean on one arm and peel back her thigh with the other.
I crouch over her like an incubus, angry sounds rumbling out of my throat as I run my thumb over that blatant evidence of violence. I claw my hand, spreading my fingers until my nails are the same distance his was.
This must have hurt.
I stroke my nails down her thigh, her damaged flesh warm against my fingertips. Then I duck my head, nose touching her skin.
She washed herself here too. Familiar scents from my body wash linger on her.
I drink in a long breath before tracing each scratch with my tongue.
My hips rock, grinding my cock against her shin bones, the pain making me flinch as I lick, and lick, and lick.
I taste blood in my mouth, but my eyes are closed, and I can’t stop. It’s not just the pressure building in the base of my spine the longer I stimulate my rock-hard cock with her inert body…it’s the smell of her hitting my nose.
Not my body wash.
Not fresh blood from the wounds I’ve licked open.
Her .
I’m inches from her pussy. The heat of her closed legs, my body covering her legs, I can feel it radiating against my face, and with it, her scent.
I don’t know at what point I could have stopped myself.
Before I picked up her underwear?
Before I walked back in here, naked, determined to see how much damage she’d suffered?
Before I began examining her like a Jane Doe on an autopsy table?
Definitely before I split open her thighs, push up her hoodie, and press my lips against one hip bone, then the other.
But she’s bewitched me like a siren. I’m helplessly drawn to the center of her body, where warmth spills out and coats my skin when I drag my fingertips up through her slit.
I lick my fingertips like that morsel will be enough to satiate me, but it only makes my hunger fiercer, my cock harder.
Pre-cum soaks into my sheets as I lay down between her legs, and I buck against the silky fabric with a quiet groan as I nudge my nose against her pussy.
My tongue darts out to taste her. Not hesitant, but torturing myself with the anticipation of how her deepest core will taste.
Jesus, she doesn’t disappoint.
I dry hump the bed as my tongue spears into her.
Despite the tranquilizer, Haven lets out a tiny mewl.
“Hush, sweet girl,” I murmur, drawing back to stroke her clit with my thumb. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”
At the sound of my voice, Haven’s lips part, and a tiny frown appears between her brows.
I give her pussy a long, hard lick. “That’s it. Let me take away your pain.”
The tip of my tongue delves deep inside her, Haven’s arousal coating my lips and chin, the tip of my nose as I eat her pussy.
She whimpers, a tiny flicker racing through her body.
And fuck, that’s when her pussy starts clenching.
“Christ,” I groan, catching a ragged breath. “I’m going to something I’ll regret if you keep making those noises.”
As if she’s spurring me on, Haven’s soft, even breathing hitches.
“Fuck,” I grate, turning to graze my teeth over the tender flesh of her inner thigh.
How badly I want to leave my own fucking marks on her skin. Would she even notice them? With her hoodie pushed up even further, I can see the bruises on her hips.
Playing rough with her like a cheap toy.
I lick her pussy again, suck her clit. My fingers stroke her soaked slit, dipping in and out, tugging as if I can splay her open.
But it’s when my fingers slide in all the way, as deep as I can go, and I tease her clit between my teeth, that’s when she starts moaning.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” I groan against her clit, my head rolling to the side as I try to will myself to back off.
But I’m way past the point of retreat.
I sit up, my cock in one hand as I finger Haven’s unconscious body with the other. Thumb stroking my dick’s slippery crown with each pass as I jerk off inches from Haven’s dripping-wet pussy.
Another shudder courses through her, a soft sound of pleasure spilling out of her mouth.
“My fingers not enough for you? Want a proper fucking, sweet girl? This thick cock stretching you open? Tearing you up?”
I stare down, watching as I stroke my cock, my fingers widening inside Haven’s pussy, opening her up as I drop my hips and get ready to thrust into her tight, wet core.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I snatch my fingers out of Haven, twisting on the bed to scan the dark pools of my bedroom.
Where the hell did that voice come from?
“Alexa, turn on all the lights.”
I squint as white light washes over my bedroom.
There’s no one here.
Just me and…
Haven.
She sits up, throwing a hand over her forehead to shield her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she mumbles groggily. When she sees me so close to her, she scrambles up, blinking rapidly as if to force her mind awake. “Professor Rooke?” There’s panic in her voice, a sudden pallor to her cheeks.
I stand, running a hand through my hair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. You were talking in your sleep.”
She gives me a slow scan, her eyes sticking on my bare chest. “Oh,” she says, dragging the sheets that had pooled in her lap up to her throat. “What did I say?”
I let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t think you want to know.”
Her cheeks flush.
I run a thumb behind the elastic of my sweatpants. “You need anything? Water? More pain pills?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks.” Hesitant at first, her body relaxes as she settles down on my bed again. “Sorry that I woke you.”
“I’ll survive.” I smile at her as I turn to leave. “Alexa, turn off the lights.”
I hear her whisper, “That’s so cool,” before I’m out of earshot.
I collapse on the sofa, elbows on my knees as I put my hands in my face.
Her scent is all over my hands.
Which is fucking impossible, because none of that shit just happened.
I gave her ibuprofen, not a tranquilizer. I never licked her wounds. I tucked her in and came to sleep on the couch.
My dream ended in a sleepwalking episode, something that’s plagued me since childhood. I woke up standing next to the bed.
Everything before that happened in my sick, twisted mind.
A perverted fantasy. One of many.
They always end before I come.
Which is why I fall back on the sofa, drag my fingers over my nose, lips, and chin, and tug my cock out of my pants so I can jerk off to a visceral replay of the things I just fantasized doing to that sweet girl.