Chapter 7 Nightmares #2
Not my tits. On my face, as though he wants to see every ounce of my reaction as he explains why my father gathered us here…
“You have to understand, Lucy, that you’re only getting in his way.
If the two of you continue this”—he uses airquotes—“‘hidden’ relationship of yours, I’ll have to finally step in and do something about it.
The boy is my heir, and a King is only as good as the queen at his side.
No offense to you, Wright,” he says, nodding at my father, “but we all know that I expect a higher level of Offering for my son. Still, I don’t want you to feel as though he’s ruined you. ”
The man moves behind the couch, bracing a hand on the dark-haired guy’s shoulder. “I have an Owed who is more than willing to Claim you, despite your being… less than pure. A husband who will provide for you, so long as you end things with my boy tonight.”
Husband… but that’s not Dallas. That’s—
The dream goes hazy. In it, I plead with the man who is my father, my blood, my kin, telling him that I can’t, that I love him, that he loves me… the words fall on deaf ears, though, and all he does is whisper nervously that he’s done bad things, that he’s made mistakes, but I have to do this.
I have to listen to the King.
And if I don’t?
The other man’s smile only grows sharper, hiding a row of shark’s teeth behind it.
“Wright knows all about accidents and how easy it is to create them. Maybe I don’t want my boy to be my heir.
Maybe I take the way he’s been fucking some whore behind my back and use it to have another accident like—” He pauses, dark green gaze…
so vicious, yet so familiar… going right back to Dad.
He pales, and the man’s expression is victorious. “Do you understand me, Lucy?”
I do. I wish I didn’t, but after what happened… “If I don’t end things with him, you’ll kill me.”
He laughs. Even in my nightmare, the sound sends chills down my spine. “No. I’ll kill him.”
I jerk, whether it’s in my dream or in my sleep, but the scene shifts, and I’m not in my old home anymore. I’m in my new one, in California, the gold band on my finger almost scalding me. Because it’s not mine. At least, it shouldn’t be. I didn’t want to marry—
The same dark-eyed, dark-haired man from my earlier nightmare comes stalking into the bedroom. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, hair falling forward into my eyes. I’m trying to hide from him, but I can’t, and his cruel laughter echoes around the room at my pathetic attempt.
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t look for you in here, Lucy Anne?
” Lucy Anne… I mentioned once I didn’t like to use my middle name, and from that moment on, I was always Lucy Ann…
“I told you to have dinner ready by six. It’s six-oh-three and the chicken is still in the oven.
Do you like to piss me off? I took your worthless ass off of your father’s hands, saved you from the King, and this is how you thank me? ”
My tongue darts out, dabbing my dry bottom lip. “No. No… it’s just, I forgot to pre-heat the oven in time and—”
And nothing.
He grabs my upper arm, so tightly that I know there will be another bruise added to the countless others come morning. Knowing I won’t refuse, knowing I won’t fight back, he tosses me to the floor.
“On your knees,” he orders, hands already going to his belt. One he unzips his slacks, he reaches in, pulling out his limp dick. Already it’s twitching; knocking me around is a sure fire way to get him going.
If I don’t obey him, he’ll grab my arm, pull me up until I’m on my knees, and he’ll be even rougher to make me pay for it. At least, if I pretend like I want him, he won’t gag me on his length as he shoves it in my mouth.
Which he will. He always does.
Even as he laughs to himself, angling my chin so that he can prod the head of his cock against my lax jaw, I know what’s coming as he says, “Since dinner’s late, you must be starving, wife. Open up and I’ll give you something to fill you for now.”
I open, and I realize that—once again—I underestimated him. Being docile, doing what I’m told… now he thinks that I do want this, and he feeds me more of his dick than I can take before he starts fisting my hair, forcing me to suck.
As I choke on him, tears stinging in my eyes, I slip out of myself for a moment, throwing my consciousness into another time, another past, with another man…
It’s dark out. Autumn and chilly. I was walking home from work, trying to make sense of what I was going to do, how I was going to get out of it, when a black truck pulled up at the curb, the gorgeous driver rolling down the passenger side window so that he can nod at me and say, “Get in.”
I did, and before I knew it, my skirt was bunched up, my panties and my stockings yanked down, and I was riding him, telling him with everything but words that I love him.
That I love him, and that it was goodbye—
My eyes spring open. I’m used to my nightmares fluttering away, disappearing like the rest of my memories the moment that I return to consciousness completely.
Only this time? I have the vivid imagery of my pussy stretched around a delicious cock, my back slamming into the dash of a truck, digging my fingernails into a solid chest as I peered down into a pair of deep green eyes that didn’t look at me in contempt, but in heat and love and obsession.
“Dallas,” I gasp.
The man I was fucking in my dream was Dallas.
I didn’t recognize any of the others, though I instinctively know that my father was in one of the visions I saw.
I don’t care about that, though. None of it could be real, just flashes I made up to replace what I’ve lost, but as I close my eyes and see the look of pleasure twisting Dallas’s features in my dream…
I don’t care if it was my imagination or not.
I’m not imagining how fucking turned-on I am right now, or how attracted I’ve been to my husband since he told me he was my husband.
My husband… the man who paid for the silk nightdresses that Loni picked out and put in my dresser, along with my underwear. My husband… the one who can’t help watching me from the corner of his eye, the look of longing there whenever he thinks that I’m not looking back.
My husband… who told me that I can sleep in here for as long as I want.
But what if I don’t want to anymore?