17. Fantasize
Fantasize
Eamon
Isla might actually be trying to kill me.
If death by erection were possible, it would have happened long ago.
No matter how loudly she plays her music or how much I try to drown her out with my headphones, I can't escape her.
She's getting herself off with a toy. For at least the 3rd time today.
Each and every time, it's been to sordid, ungodly fantasies of us together. And no matter how much I try, I can't stop her thoughts from calling my name like a blinding lighthouse guiding ships home.
I am at my wit's end, feeling like there's a bomb in my chest and my dick that's about to go off, leaving destruction in its wake from here all the way back to the mainland. If I don't find some relief, some way to ease this tension, there's no telling the consequences of the explosion.
There are only so many times I can fuck my fist; only so many goddamn towels and tissues in this house to deal with the mess she's created. I can't do it again. It doesn't even help anymore, doesn't ease the ache at all.
Her moans carry across the hall and into my room as her mind wanders to visions of her bent over the kitchen table, one of my hands in her hair, pulling her until her back is arched enough to bite into her neck as I use my other hand on her clit, making her come all over me as she feels the warm dribble of blood running down between her breasts, leaking all over the steel countertop.
As she falls apart in her fantasy, the sound of her orgasm in the real world brings my world into a scarlet haze, pulling a growl from my chest as I fight against the urge to barge in there and see how much louder I can make her scream.
She imagines how fucking full she'd feel with me inside her as her body would squeeze around me, dreams of me bringing her past the point of pleasure, skating on the edge of pain. I crave seeing how she'll stretch around me.
I'm losing my goddamn mind.
As soon as her fucking period was over, something inside of her snapped, and she started playing with herself every chance she had. She has the decency to turn her music to a deafening roar, but I still hear her.
Her thoughts, her sounds, even the last taste of her I had weeks ago have imprinted themselves in my head so thoroughly I'll never be rid of them.
Finally, once she's pulled every dreg of pleasure out, I get blessed silence.
I throw myself out of bed, a predator needing a distraction, lest I tear apart the only prey within 200 miles.
Coffee.
Spiked, preferably.
I'm going to lose my fucking mind if I stay sober for even one more second. The alcohol won't help much; I would need a lot more than a single drink to find any comfort in it, but I have to start somewhere.
Pouring myself a scalding hot cup from the pot, I search the cupboard for something other than tequila.
A beautiful dark whiskey appears in my line of vision, the closest thing I'll find to solace in this hell.
A gorgeous woman is fucking herself and thinking of me. Why is this a problem again?
Through the foggy layers of lust clouding my mind, I have to try very hard to find a reason this is bad.
Isla hates me. But the sex would be so fucking good. She can point a gun at my head while I make her squeal, then we'll both be happy.
Isla made it perfectly clear that her sexual power is a wicked, wild thing. One that can be used against me without any remorse, leaving me aching and utterly defeated. But she also wants me, against her better judgment.
She made this into a game, a contest. Who's going to break first. And I'll be fucking damned if it's me. Based on how she's imagining my face and my cockand my fingers when she gets herself off, she's going to break first.
It won't fucking be me.
It won't.
And yet, here I am at the foot of her bed four hours later.
Sound asleep, she lies almost perfectly still. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, the ebb and flow of it comforting and enraging all at once.
She's showered since her last self-romp, but even still, this room smells of her sex. Her stupid toys are meticulously put away, thankfully for her. Otherwise, they'd be my next victims, on a one-way trip out to the middle of the frigid waters of the Strait outside.
I ease into her mind with a gentle nudge, whispering calm reassurances to keep her from waking at the intrusion. Blissfully blank, she leans into my voice, welcoming it like she's been waiting for me.
While I can't force her to remain asleep, I can keep her calm and hope for the best. I just need to get a little closer, I need to feel her in my palms, make her body bend for my touch.
She needs this, too. She thinks she can get it from a toy and her imagination, but deep down, she must know nothing will compare to the real thing, raw and unhinged. I'm under no impression Isla and I could be companions, but this primal pull is unlike anything I've ever known, and I know she feels it, too.
With my influence on her mind, I feed her another fantasy.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say fantasy since it's so very, very real. Isla just thinks she's awake.
Projecting this into her mind is strange, filling in the gaps of how she would want me to approach, how she's already imagined me doing so. But here, in the dark, towering over her sleeping form, is exactly where I'm meant to be.
Her breathing remains steady, the dream starting slowly, taunting her before we begin.
Somewhere, my conscience whispers that I shouldn't be here, shouldn't even be considering what I've already 100% decided on doing. But Isla's so perfect right now, and she's done nothing but imagine me doing this to her for days now, and if I don't find some kind of relief between her legs, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.
I cannot, will not, fuck her like this. When I finally get to bury myself in her hot body, she's going to be desperately, deliriously needy for it, begging me for it.
But this'll at least make me feel slightly better.
My fingers drift across the leg already exposed from her blanket, goosebumps rising in its wake. Her pleased sigh makes me shiver, and I traverse higher, gently easing my fingertips underneath the covers and lifting them off her, showing me the beauty of her body in those tiny pajamas.
I'm impressed she managed to get the blood off of them after I soaked the top in her blood. Honestly, I can't wait for another chance to do it again, watch the sticky red substance cling her clothes to her perfect chest.
With her sleeping form bared to me, I project into her mind, telling her how gorgeous she is, how much I love her body, how I crave her every second of the day. A needy, quiet whine leaks between her lips, and I lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on her soft stomach while I climb over her.
In her mind, she starts to worry, the feeling of me moving on her bed almost too real. Which... I mean, yes, it is. But she can't know that. Instead I soothe her mind, making her believe it's just a blissful dream.
Only when her mind settles do I continue, my hands hooking into her shorts and underwear, pulling it all down in one slow, gentle movement until they hang off one of her ankles.
With another kiss just below her belly button, I ease her legs apart and settle between them, gaining me the first real look I've had at her pussy. I've brought her to orgasm more than once, yet I haven't even really seen it yet.
My fucking god, it was worth the wait. Even in the almost pitch black of the room, her perfection glistens, every fold, every curve beckoning me to spread her open and feast. With one hand, I gently open her folds, groaning at the delicious view of her opening. That soft touch alone makes her moan, legs moving as she searches for more sensation.
In her dream, she reaches for me, her hands buried in my hair to guide me where she needs my touch. With painstaking slowness, I ease forward, running my tongue between my fingers, tracing a long line from her opening to her clit. Her unabashed moan drives me wild, the need to force that sound from her again maddening. With another long lick, I savor the taste of her, moaning into her flesh and speaking into her mind, You taste divine, my Isla. Like sin and salvation.
A choked moan escapes her chest, her need growing in both her dream and reality. Stop teasing, she pleads, far more willing to be vulnerable in her imagination than she would ever dare to be in the real world.
And how can I deny her when she asks so sweetly?
Flattening my body as much as I can on this small bed, with my legs awkwardly hanging off the edge, I ease one of her thighs over my shoulder, followed by the other. I'm fully immersed in her, my whole line of sight nothing but the greatest wonder in the world.
From here, I can see her flushed face, brows furrowed in her sleep. Then her tits, barely confined in the pajama top, the peaks of them hard and no doubt aching. But I don't have time to play with them, don't have any time to waste. The longer I'm here, the likelier it becomes that she'll wake up and try to kill me for the violation.
But I fucking need this. Need Isla's delicious cunt right in my face where I can lave my tongue across it again and again. And I do, her hips moving in time with my deliberate swipes through the gathering slick.
Quietly, she moans and groans, trying to ride my face, begging in her dream for more.
All I want is to comply with her demands, but I fucking can't. If I use anything but the most gentle touch, she's going to wake up. My fingers ache from the effort of holding back, keeping my grip on her full thighs tender.
My dick leaks in my pants, pleading with me to climb up her body and drive it into her, wake her up with a punishing, brutal fucking, and make her scream from the overwhelming stretch.
But she's already barely holding on to unconsciousness, her mind scrambling because it can't comprehend that this could be just a dream.
Don't go, I beg her inside her dream. Stay here with me. Stay inside this fantasy where we can be who we are and forget what we are.
Her fear of vulnerability and my need to keep her safe don't exist in the world I've created inside her mind. The only things here are us, as we are, as we were meant to be, together without walls and trauma and a million little cuts keeping us apart.
She nods frantically in the fantasy realm, fighting against her instincts to wake up, fighting to stay with me just a little bit longer.
My tongue traces small, firm circles on her clit, my hips moving of their own accord, humping into her bed just to give myself some kind of relief while I bring her slowly to orgasm. Her moans grow, her hard, panting breaths coming quicker as she moves with me. Her heels dig into my back, fingers twitching where they lay around her head.
I project all my thoughts, all my praise, into her mind.
I love being between your legs.
You sound so beautiful; The music of your pleasure is my favorite song.
You're so delicious, so fucking warm and sweet.
I need to feel you coming on my tongue.
The last one drives her almost to the edge, her moans reaching a higher pitch as I work her closer and closer to orgasm.
I know I shouldn't do this, shouldn't even risk anything more firm than this touch, as she's almost certainly going to wake up if I do. But fuck, I need her to come more than I've ever needed anything.
I wrap my lips around her clit, sucking the swollen, slippery bundle of nerves into my mouth, using a firm hold on it while I rapidly use my tongue to flick up and down, pleading for her to at least orgasm before she wakes up and murders me.
With a sharp, quiet cry, she finally does, falling apart so perfectly, the flexing of her cunt so powerful I can feel her whole body shaking, writhing on my face while I let her, letting her soak me with her perfection, rubbing herself freely against my mouth and chin until she's wholly spent.
Utterly pleased both in reality and in her mind, the suspicion abates, the orgasm clouding her judgment. As gently as I can, I lift her underwear and shorts back into place, sorrowfully saying goodbye to my favorite place in the world. With a final chaste kiss to her pubic bone, one that she tries to chase with her hips again, I tuck her back into the blankets.
I steal one last look at her: the strands of hair strewn across her face and pillow, the pinkness in her cheeks, and the slowing of her breaths. A cold feeling fills my chest, a hollowness, almost, as I take in her beauty. A completely unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation, like as I walk out of here, I'll leave something behind. Some part of me that I'll never get back.
But I can't stay. I've already risked too much of her ire, violating her body this way. I know full well that I've just done a horrendous, unforgivable thing. Something I can't take back, and honestly wouldn't even if that were possible.
I did this to feel better, and do I?
Yes, and also no.
I feel sated, carrying her flavor with me as I silently escape her room, and yet I feel a hunger like I've never known. That small taste of Isla as she could be, free and vulnerable, is all I'll be able to think about from now on.
But I'm not worthy of that version of her, not worthy of her trust and openness. I just have to take solace in having her body crave mine until she can return to her life and hopefully find someone who might be worthy of her.
The thought makes me physically nauseous and murderous, but I can't keep her, even if I want to. Which I don't. I just want to fuck her. Take out all this aggression on her cunt and make damn sure that when she does find someone, she'll live the rest of her life imagining me in the quiet of the night when her future partner fails to give her the devastating, borderline violent orgasms I can.
That knowledge won't be nearly enough for me, but it'll have to be.
I don't deserve any part of her, even the ones she's given me.
I've already taken too many of her choices away.
I won't take her whole future, too.