Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Emily
It feels like a dream. My eyes are closed.
I turn onto my side, my breathing slowly rising and falling. My whole body hurts, yet I remain calm. I dream that I drown, and that he saves me. That Zayne Mercer, the one killing everyone, actually saves me.
I dream that I am floating at the surface of the water, drifting away, but he pulls me toward the shore.
If one of my patients said this to me, I would say that because of their lack of self-control, they began to drift away, to detach from situations, craving someone to save them from themselves and bring control back.
But for me, the meaning feels different.
The monster saves me because the world that should have saved me did not.
I have felt alone for so long that him bringing that control back to me makes me feel safe.
Dreams always have meaning. There is always a reason we dream, even when we dream within dreams.
I think the worst part is not the water in my lungs. It is that no one notices I am sinking. Not once do I imagine hands reaching for me from the surface, voices calling my name, panic breaking the air. In my dream, the world stays exactly the same while I disappear beneath it.
That is how I know it’s not really about drowning.
It’s about how easy it is to go. How familiar it feels to let myself slip away without being missed. I have lived so long carrying my own weight that the idea of someone else noticing, deciding I matter enough to pull me back, feels almost unbearable.
He is the only one who sees me leave.
And maybe that is why something inside me breaks. The simple, devastating fact that someone notices I am gone.
For all these years, I was afraid that no one would miss me if I closed my eyes forever.
I feel him lying down in bed with me. He moves one hand beneath me while the other rests on top, pulling me closer. I feel the weight of him behind me.
Even if this is a dream, it feels real.
His hands hold me so close that I can rest my face against them. It almost feels like I am sitting in his lap, like no one can reach me here.
“Aren’t you afraid?” he whispers against my ear.
“Yes,” I whisper back. A small gasp follows as he pulls me closer. “But I am more afraid of everything else.”
“Sleep,” he says, lowering his head to my neck.
“Why are you stuck in my mind all the time?” I ask, pulling his hand closer as I hold it against me.
“It’s just a dream, Freckles,” he says, but I feel his lips move as he speaks.
“Then how come every time I wake up, it feels like a nightmare?” I ask.
“Am I that horrible in your dreams?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my breath catching.
He turns me around. My eyes stay shut, and I am afraid to open them. Fearful that if I do, he will disappear.
“Let me prove you wrong,” he says. “Let me erase every man that touched that pussy of yours.”
I bite my lip, losing control of my body as he pushes me on top of him, guiding me down his chest until I feel his chin brush my clit.
“Sit on my face, Emily.” His deep voice slices through me with a growl. “Let me eat you up.” He whispers it, and I feel the vibration against my pussy as it throbs for him. “I want to choke on your pussy while you moan my fucking name.”
I gasp and lean down.
His palms grip my hips, pulling me lower, holding me in place.
His tongue slowly slides against me. His teeth nibble my clit before his lips pull it into his mouth.
I moan, my back arching as I sink lower.
His tongue curls around me, his teeth dragging from my slick inner flesh up to my clit. He works his mouth, eating me just like he promised.
His hands glide from my hips to my inner thighs, spreading me open, leaving me exposed.
I feel his breath against my throbbing pussy as he pushes his tongue inside me, twisting it as he licks along my inner walls, moving in and out.
His nose presses against my clit while his face moves in slow circles, his fingers spreading me wider.
“Fuck,” I moan. “Fuck, please.“ My voice breaks. “Oh, God.”
He stops for a second. I feel his lips moving beneath me.
“God has nothing to do with this, Freckles.” He drags my clit through his teeth. “But I will make you pray for more after I am done with you.”
He licks me slowly while pressing me down. “And if you didn’t know God, now you do. I am your new religion.”
He digs deeper, his tongue pushing into my inner flesh. I lose my balance above him, my hands reaching out until my palms hit the wall. I brace myself there, nails scraping the paint as my body tightens around his mouth.
I moan again and again, each sound spilling into the next. My head tilts back toward the ceiling, my eyes squeezed shut. I don’t want this to stop.
“Open your fucking eyes,” he says as he suddenly stills. “I want you to look at me while you come all over my face.”
“No.” I shake my head, but he pulls me closer, licks from my inner flesh up to my clit, then traps it between his teeth again.
“Now, Emily,” he growls.
My head tilts down. My eyes open slowly as his tongue slides inside me again, twisting. The moment my eyes open, they lock with his.
I look down and see only his eyes, two blue flames fixed on mine. It is the most beautiful color I have ever seen. They watch me with hunger while the rest of his face disappears beneath me.
Is this real?
He moves my hips up and down, dragging me over his chin and his rough beard. My sensitive flesh throbs as he licks his way back to my clit, circling it, then sucking until my thighs begin to shake.
I close my eyes for just a blink, but when they open again, his gaze never leaves mine. He keeps going, and when I think he will stop, when I think I am already done, he doesn’t.
He pushes his tongue inside me again, deeper this time. I scream, my moans breaking into short gasps. My mouth falls open, my brows pulling together as I try to hold myself together, but I can’t.
I fall apart, and he takes every piece of me.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “God,” I moan.
My hips slide down from his face to his chest. I sit on him, my hands gripping my head, trying to understand if this is real or just a dream.
But he pushes me down. I fall beside him, and then he moves on top of me, forcing my body into the mattress beneath us.
He unbuttons his pants and pulls them down. His cock springs free and brushes against my throbbing, oversensitive pussy. He shrugs off his black hoodie, revealing a body carved with muscle and scars. Every scar feels like a map, each one leading straight to his heart.
He grabs my ankles, lifting them into the air and spreading my legs wide. Every muscle in my thighs stretches, burning as tingles ripple through me.
One hand keeps my left leg raised while he releases the other. He grips his cock, and, without hesitation, shoves it inside me. He doesn’t wait. He pushes in, inch by inch, filling me completely. All nine inches he promised, until I stretched around him.
My mouth falls open as I gasp, my body arching as he fills me.
“Spread your pussy and show me how you want me,” he says, his voice commanding me as every inch sinks inside me.
He leans down, his hand closing around my throat. His fingers tighten, squeezing just enough to steal my breath. Then he starts to thrust, driving into me again and again.
My legs lock around his hips, a desperate attempt to hold onto what little dignity I have left, but he takes it anyway. His fingers slide into my mouth, holding me there as he fucks me so hard my mind goes completely blank.
There is no scientific explanation for this.
This is not some psychological phenomenon written about in textbooks.
This is pure lust. A woman unraveling beneath a dangerous, questionable man while he fucks her senseless.
If you told this story to someone, even a psychiatrist like me, they would call you insane.
But diagnosis or not, I know the truth.
I am crazy about Zayne Mercer.
I gasp for air. He does too. His body crushes into mine as his mouth crashes onto my lips, his tongue thrusting inside just as his cock drives deeper into me. My inner flesh tightens, trying to build walls around him, walls he is determined to break.
I can still taste myself on his lips, and I don’t mind. I am already losing myself in his touch.
He pins my hands above my head, forcing me to arch my back until my stomach presses against his abs. He keeps thrusting, deeper now, and my legs spread wider beneath him.
“Do you want me to be your dream or your nightmare?” he asks, locking his eyes with mine.
He releases my hands only to grab my neck, making me gasp.
“Say it,” he says as he thrusts deeper inside me.
My pussy pulses around him, begging him to slow down, but he only grows rougher.
“I…” I gasp, my breath shallow.
“Say it,” he repeats.
“Nightmare,” I finally whisper. No one in sweet little dreams fucks like this. “Be my nightmare.”
A smirk curves the corner of his lips as he drives deeper into me, faster now. My inner flesh tightens around his throbbing cock.
“Fine, Freckles.” He leans into my neck, dragging his skin against mine before biting down. “I will fuck you like your worst nightmare and keep you like the best dream you would sell your soul not to wake from.”
“Yes,” I whisper, arching my back for him.
But he pulls out. His hands grip my hips as he turns me around.
“I will delete every trace of innocence,” he says with a low chuckle. “Until you are my little slut.”
He slaps my ass, lifting my hips before driving his cock back into my inner flesh.
He leans over my back, one hand gripping my neck as he lifts my head, forcing my spine to arch. His other hand twists into my hair, yanking my head up as he pounds into me, hard and relentlessly. My body rocks with every thrust, my ass slapping against his skin as he takes me from behind.
I moan. “Fuck.” The word breaks from me as I feel every single inch inside.
He thrusts faster. My moans spill out one after another until I reach the edge, until I know I can’t take any more.
My breasts bounce with every move he makes.
My ass absorbs every impact as it slaps against his skin.
My breath comes in broken gasps under his tight grip, and my pussy tightens around him, squeezing, clenching, until my clit betrays me and I come again.
My knee buckles, and I collapse, but he doesn’t stop. His hand leaves my hair only to lift me back up, as he keeps thrusting inside me.
I feel his cock grow wider, his warmth filling me. He keeps moving, slower now, drawing it out until he finally stills and groans.
“Fuuuck. You feel so good.”
He spanks my ass once more before pulling out. I fall onto the sheets, my body trembling with aftershocks, my inner flesh still aching with the memory of his nine-inch cock.
He sits down with his back to mine while I lie on my stomach, my pulse still racing.
“You know this isn’t real, right?” he says, breathless.
A tear slips down my cheek. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Just a dream.”
I feel him standing. My eyes close as I speak again, my voice dropping lower. “And if it isn’t… are you going to kill me?”
Silence.
This isn’t something to talk about after sex, but it’s just a dream. My dream.
“Do you want me to?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and something inside me shuts down.
I feel the mattress dip as he leaves, then returns. He pulls me back against him. My body presses into his skin, his head settling against my neck.
“I had a chance to kill you thirty-two times,” he says quietly. “And every time I failed, I killed someone else instead.”
My heart pounds faster, my eyes burning. “And the other thirty?”
He chuckles. The sound breaks into laughter. “I had to practice.”
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me—his arm slides between my chest and jaw, pressing against my neck.
I tap twice, my voice breaking between gasps. “I… can’t… breathe.”
“Shhh,” he whispers. “Sleep.”
My eyes begin to close. The last thing I hear is his voice.
“The only reason you lasted longer is because you begged to die. The others begged for life.”