Chapter 22 Violet #2
Ever since Mama died, I’ve always had some form of light on when I go to sleep, having spent too much time in that oppressive closet. Pitch darkness sends a shiver of trepidation down my spine.
As I drift off, I keep picturing Jude’s face from last night.
And as I fall into slumber, I feel big hands wrap around my waist.
He’s always rough and impatient in these types of dreams, his massive body looming over me like a threat.
A promise.
A possibility.
And it makes me rub my thighs together, the friction doing nothing to scratch at the hidden ache.
The need for…something.
Hot breaths, warm skin, and that intoxicating cologne I can’t help but sniff and breathe into my lungs.
God, he smells good.
Feels good.
And forbidden.
I shouldn’t want a monster this deeply, shouldn’t wish for him to visit me in my dreams instead of the ghost of my mother.
Because unlike her, he doesn’t call me names, doesn’t remind me that I’m back to being alone, that I’ll die alone, that someone like me doesn’t deserve any form of companionship or happiness.
No.
Not like that.
The Jude of my dreams touches me sensually, like right now, his hands running up and down my sides, his muscular body pressing into my softer one, his breaths skimming my skin in a low, intimate whisper.
I’ll wake up and feel shame later.
I’ll wake up and question my sanity and beat myself up.
But since this is a dream, I fall into his touch, feeling the pad of his fingers, his presence, letting him awaken that insatiable hunger that’s chained in self-imposed shackles.
I truly thought I didn’t care about sex, and I had extremely bad first impressions of it. Whether with my mom’s job or with my bad choices of men.
And yet these dreams, coupled with the strange sensations I felt whenever Jude touched me, have awakened a beast inside me.
And I’m starting to accept this different part, even if it’s only in my subconscious or I talk about it in my journal.
My hand slides down, parting the bathrobe, and I flinch when the pads of my fingers stroke my folds.
“Mmm…” My dream Jude’s voice is all rough and deep, and I’m wet now, my fingers rubbing and circling my clit.
“Are you dripping for me, sweetheart?”
“Y-yes…” I say, falling into those dark eyes from memories, picturing him looking at me with intense lust.
I don’t want to open my eyes, because the second I do, he disappears.
Or worse—the momentary bliss transforms into a nightmare.
“Open your legs wider, let me see how you touch that wet pink cunt.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I do as he asks, stroking myself faster, the obscene noise of my horniness echoing in the air.
“Push a finger inside you. Fuck that tiny cunt for me like a very good girl.” His voice is rougher now, more gruff, and I think I hear a choked breath as I thrust a finger inside me.
“Mff…” My lips part.
“Does it feel good?”
“Yeah…”
“Add another finger, sweetheart, we have to stretch that cunt so you can take my cock.”
“Okay…”
The second finger makes me feel so full, and I arch my back, feeling my nipples rub against the bathrobe I’m wearing.
“You’re dripping all over the place.”
“C-can’t help it. It feels good.”
“It does?”
“Mmm.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re watching me. Your gaze makes me so turned on.”
“Fuck, sweetheart.”
He shifts above me, and I hear the sound of unbuttoning and can imagine him pulling out that huge cock of his or tugging down on it.
“Spread that cunt for me. How else will you be able to fit this big cock?”
“Fuck…”
“You will take my cock, Violet. You’ll open and stretch and moan when I stick it in your soaking pussy, won’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it,” he rasps. “Fuck yourself for me like a very good girl.”
“Mmm.” I rub on my clit with my thumb, pressure building inside me faster and more persistent.
I’m going to come from these dreams again.
I’ll feel shitty again.
But I can’t seem to give a damn.
“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?”
“Y-yes…”
“Because you love how I watch you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look like it, but you have fucked-up fetishes, don’t you?”
“Mff, yes.”
“You like being ambushed in the dark? Fucked while you sleep like a dirty little whore?”
It’s screwed up, but it’s my dream and I can be myself in my dream. I can let my subconscious roam free a la Freudian, so I nod, touching myself faster.
“I do.”
“You like being fucked hard and deep until you’re screaming?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Who do you think about when you’re dreaming, when you’re rubbing that clit and moaning?”
“Y-you…”
“Am I the one you write about in the journal? Your forbidden fantasy?”
“Yeah…mmm, please…keep coming over, okay?”
“Oh, I will, sweetheart. I fucking will.” The rough edge of his voice makes me delirious. “Come for me. Let me watch how I make you feel.”
Not sure if it’s his dirty talk or the way I can smell the sex, too potent and more real than any other dream, but my orgasm is paralyzing.
It rushes through every inch of me, my belly and legs going stiff, then erupting in tremors as the waves of pleasure roll through me.
I think of his face when he was eating me out on the kitchen counter. Of how I was reflected in his rich brown irises when he looked fucking gorgeous just staring up at me. Or how he grunted and moaned when I had his cock in my mouth and he made me come like I’ve never come before.
This time is similar.
“You look so beautiful when you break apart for me, sweetheart.” His voice sounds closer, his breath sending goosebumps along my skin.
I know I shouldn’t, I know I should hold on to this dream for a while longer, but I open my eyes.
And my heart stutters.
Because Jude doesn’t disappear.
His massive body looks ethereal in the low glow of the light as his knees straddle my face, his jeans open, his cock so hard, the veins are bulging.
And his eyes.
God, his eyes are the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Like the night, with tiny flecks of bright gold.
I can see myself in them again as he jerks himself roughly. “Fucking Christ, you’re addictive. I can’t quit you.” He places the tip at my mouth. “Open. Take my cum.”
I let my lips part and he comes deep inside my mouth, his body tightening, and he releases gruff noises that make my spent pussy throb.
Cum trails on either side of my mouth as he pulls out and tucks himself in. I’m watching in pure bemusement as to why I can still see him in my dream when I already opened my eyes.
Not that I’m complaining.
This is not a bad development per se. And I certainly love this over the tension I sensed from him at the arena last night.
He gathers the cum and thrusts it back into my mouth, watching me suck his fingers clean with darkened eyes. “That’s a good girl.”
A noise of protest leaves me when he pulls out his fingers and stands up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Violet.”
And then he’s out the door, and I close my eyes, a weird sensation wrapping around my throat like a noose as I drift off.
That was a dream…right?