22. Annalise
Chapter twenty-two
Annalise
"Are you sure you're fine staying home alone? You don't want to invite anyone over?"
"Yes, Hunter, I'm a big girl. Matt's on a mock mission and Sasha has date night with Antonio."
"A date?"
"Well, a video date. He sent her some of her favorite snacks and they're going to watch a movie together."
"Uh huh... But you're sure?"
"Now stop worrying! I have Pete if anyone decides to break in to try to kill me before Tyr gets back."
"I'll just wait—"
"No, you won't. Now get your shoes on and go meet your friends for dinner. I'm just going to finish my Environmental Tactics homework then I'll probably just watch a movie or something."
With a nod, he disappears down the hall muttering, "So mouthy".
Hearing his bedroom door close, I turn back to the report spread across the kitchen table, still smiling.
Three lines. I manage three whole lines before my eyes glaze over…Combat medicine is infinitely more interesting when mannequins are actively bleeding.
Five minutes later, I'm still staring at the same paragraph when a loud thud sounds from down the hall.
Then another, and a moment later, Hunter emerges…and I forget how words work.
"Oh."
His eyebrows lift.
But "Oh" is apparently all I've got because this is not what I was expecting when he said he was going riding.
Gone are the loose fitting gym clothes he'd been wearing minutes ago.
Instead, he's dressed entirely in black.
Heavy boots, dark jeans, a fitted long-sleeve shirt stretching across his shoulders and chest in a way that looks far too good for how much skin it's covering while still revealing his tattoos below his rolled sleeves.
Slung over one arm is a leather riding jacket, and hanging from his fingers is a motorcycle helmet.
I blink.
Then blink again.
"You're riding...a motorcycle?"
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You don't miss anything."
"Shut up. I'm just surprised."
His grin widens, and the full picture of the man in front of me feels unfair to look at. "Why are you surprised?"
"I thought you meant Kali."
"Why?"
"Because you have a bonded dragon!"
"I do...I also have a motorcycle."
"Obviously…Yeah, I can see that."
Hunter shakes his head, "You're making this weird."
"I'm making it weird? How?"
"You're staring."
"I’m not."
"You are."
"I'm definitely not! But if I was…it would be because you look like you're about to go rob a bank or something."
"Committing crimes, huh?"
"Crazy, I know. That's definitely more up my alley than yours." Oh. My. Gods. Why am I still talking?
His laugh is light and easy, until he glances toward the clock. "Last chance, are you sure—"
I groan, cutting him off. "Hunter. If you don't leave, I'm going to tell Varin you're the reason my schoolwork didn't get done."
"Is that a threat?"
"Go!" I laugh, pointing toward the door.
Hunter smirks before heading for the front door. "I'll be back late. Please don't shoot me when I walk in."
"Depends how good the dessert is that you bring back."
"Goodnight, Annalise."
"Goodnight, Hunter."
The door closes behind him and a few minutes later, the unmistakable growl of an engine rumbles through the open living room window.
Before I can stop myself, I'm peeking through the curtain just in time to see Hunter swinging a leg over a blacked-out motorcycle now parked in front of the shed on the side of the house.
The engine vibrates beneath him as the leather jacket settles across his shoulders.
And when he pulls the helmet on and glances toward the house one last time—
I immediately step back from the window.
Absolutely not.
Nope.
Not happening.
Smug asshole is NOT about to catch me checking him out.
Forcing my weight onto my good leg, I more fall than climb out of the bath I’d drawn when my leg locked up earlier.
At first, I’d assumed it had simply fallen asleep from the way I’d been sitting while reading the books I’d picked up from the library, but when readjusting my position and trying to walk it off did nothing, I decided a nice, warm bath was the obvious solution.
Man, was I wrong.
The pain only seemed to worsen the longer I lay buried beneath the supposedly healing bubbles. Every scrape of a branch against the windows while I read felt like a blade twisting deeper into my skin. Every maddening drip from the sink faucet felt like an infuriating tap against my forehead.
And now, with a head-splitting headache and pain pulsing through me so viciously I can barely stumble toward my towel, I finally reach for one of the bottles of pain pills on the counter.
Guess my wild night of studying and snacking on slightly burnt popcorn with melted chocolates is getting cut short.
What a pity.
Using the walls for balance, I struggle to find a single one of Mattey’s shirts in the drawer. I’m about to give up and grab one of my old gym shirts when the soft, overly worn fabric brushes against my skin.
The second it's an inch off the pile, a deep thud sounds from the back of the drawer, followed by an intermittent rattling noise.
Pulling it out further, I can't help the laugh that escapes as I find my purple vibrator buzzing against the metal hardware on the setting no one actually uses. Only Matt would have thought to bring this out here.
Like on auto-pilot, I click through the settings, ready to turn it off and put it away until the familiar long, constant vibration sends an unexpected tingle of desire through me.
Sure—I knew it would probably come eventually, especially after researching how I “should be feeling” between homework and time with Tyr.
Of course, like my therapist had said over and over again, every person is different…
my own history of trauma putting me in the solid, “It’ll happen when it happens,” category.
I consider bringing it to the bed with me…consider what it could feel like to get that rush of endorphins right before my body explodes with pleasure.
But as quickly as the thought hits me, medication-induced exhaustion hits harder, and I find myself stuffing it back into the drawer and curling up in my plush comforter instantly.
Sleep takes me so deeply that, for a while, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. The medication’s done its job; the pain I’d felt only a little while ago has completely vanished.
Now replaced by a man’s gentle breathing at the foot of the bed.
For one terrifying second, I’m frozen beneath the covers, every instinct screaming that I’m not alone. The darkness presses in around me, thick and familiar in all the worst ways. My heart begins to pound, but then I remember what my therapist keeps telling me.
In my dreams, I’m in control.
I can decide who he is. I can decide why he’s here.
Tonight, I don’t want to be afraid or alone. Tonight, I want to pretend I’m whole.
Letting my gaze drift to where I imagine him sitting, his eyes fully focused on me, exactly the way I used to love being watched.
The shape sitting there shifts, and I imagine a body dressed in all black, hair wild from being under a helmet as he races the wind down the long winding roads.
Gods, I shouldn’t want it to be him, but try as I might, his face is the only one I can picture.
“Come here,” I say, and I can’t help the smile I feel when he takes two solid steps in my direction.
He rises.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice a little deeper than it is in real life.
I turn my head just enough to look at him.
“A massage.”
His mouth twitches, “A massage, huh?”
“Mmhmm."
"Seems innocent enough."
"I didn’t tell you where I wanted your hands.”
His low grumble sends a wave of excitement through me that I haven’t felt in far too long.
“I can’t touch you,” he mumbles, and if possible, dream me is almost as embarrassed as real me would be in this situation…that is, until his now gravelly voice continues, “Gods do I want you, but I can't touch you. What else do you want?”
“I want their voices replaced in my head. I don’t want their hands to be the last ones I remember on my body. I want you—Gods how I've wanted you.”
Both admissions are painful to say out loud, but here, in the confines of my mind, I can finally voice the truths I’ve been trying to avoid.
Letting out a deep sigh, he turns to look at me, his eyes connecting with mine, and I can’t help but smile, seeing his hunger mirror my own.
“I can't be the one to replace their touch—but, I’ll be the voice in your head if that’s what you need.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ll talk you through it, Ms. Corvin. I’ll tell you exactly how I’d be touching you if I could.”
My breath hitches, and for a second, I’m scared I’m going to wake up. Just then, his voice picks back up. “If that’s what you want, then show me what you like.”
Embarrassment consumes me for only a second before I’m untangling my hands from the sheets and sliding my fingers against my clit.
Maybe it’s the thrill of being watched that I’ve gotten for far too long mixed with it being by the man who’s already sworn he won’t touch me, or maybe it’s the knowledge that despite handing over my power, I'm in control here.
Finding my rhythm, I can’t help the little noises escaping me as I move my fingers back and forth. I'm just about to push the tip of one finger inside of myself when he breaks the silence.
“That's enough. Now, tell me what you like.”
I raise an eyebrow, a snappy comment on the tip of my tongue when he moves to take the corner chair out from the wall and settles into it a few feet from the edge of my bed.
“Tell me what you like, Annalise, and then we’ll go over the rules.”
“Rules?” I scoff, ready to tell this version of him to fuck off before rolling over to find a new dream.
“The rules are so you’re able to feel safe while I help give you what you need. I won’t push you further than you’re comfortable with, but I need to hear what else you like.”
Shocked by his words, I nearly forget the first part of what he said. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I like anymore. I’ve always liked the thrill of being caught or being watched.”
He stays silent, but his smirk tells me if he were real, he’d already have figured that out by how easily I fell back into touching myself. “I like being told what to do and how to do it—anything so I don’t want to have to think too much. I like being spanked…or at least I used to…”
“That’s good enough for now. Anything on your hard-no list?”
“Uhm…I haven’t really experienced too much outside of the basics…and the likes list above.”
“Ok, no thinking, just following directions—”
“Sometimes following,” I correct.
“Glad to see your attitude is fully intact tonight. Now, be good and start gliding your fingers along the inside of your upper thighs as we go over safe words.”
My surprise must show because he quickly explains, “No matter the situation, you have full control. Green is keep going, yellow is a pause—whether you have a question or you aren’t sure if you like it—you say yellow, and we slow down to talk about it or switch directions.”
Gently, I start tracing the insides of my thighs with my fingers.
“And most importantly, red means stop. You say red, and everything comes to a halt. This is important, so listen to every word. You hold all of the power here. If you say red, there will be no hesitation on my part. I will walk out of your space the second you say red, and will respect your boundaries. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Move your fingers from one thigh to the other without touching your clit and tell me what red means.”
“Red means—” I start, but the closer I get to my center, the more I crave the pressure against my clit.
“Focus…”
“Red means we stop, and you leave,” I rush out before I can get distracted again.
“Very good. And who has the power in this room?”
Letting my legs fall wider, the blankets fall to my side as I adjust my body so I’m on full display for my dream man, painfully following his instructions.
I’ve only done a few paths before my knuckle grazes the edge of my clit as I pass between legs, and between that and the undeniably sexy feeling of being watched, I can’t contain the moan of need and pleasure that breaks through my lips.
“Annalise…”
“Gods, yes.”
“Not until you’ve told me…”
“I do, Sir! I have the power. Now please, say my name and tell me what to do next!”
His chuckle ignites me. “So fucking bratty…but you’ve been following my directions so well…go ahead and suck on your fingers, Annalise. I want to be able to hear you.”
I do as I’m told without hesitation, letting the sound of my obedience fill the room. The subtle way I imagine him adjusting in his seat is all I need.
“They’re wet enough," his scratchy voice says. "Now, use those fingers to make a V around where I know you want to touch. Yes, just like that.”
The feeling of my fingers so close but so far is obnoxious, but it’s nothing compared to the infuriating attractive smirk on his face as he teases me for the next few minutes. Telling me to switch between stroking my inner thigh again before circling my clit without touching it.
“Do you want to touch it?”
“Yes, damnit!”
“Do you want me to let you?”
“Please,” I plead.
“Beg me again.”
“No.”
“Beg me, Annalise. Beg me to give you permission to slip just one finger into the needy puddle between your thighs.”
“Oh fuck. Please! You wanted me to show you what I like, I promise I will.”
“That’s right, be a good girl and show me how you rub your clit while you finger yourself—but only one finger can go inside you.”
“But—”
“One. Finger. Annalise.”
Rather than arguing, I torturously slowly dip the tip of my finger inside myself before pulling it out to wet my clit.
“Gods, yes. Just like that. I bet you feel so good to touch.”
Each comment pulls me closer to the edge, my quiet whimpers and moaned breaths echoing all around us.
“You’re so beautiful, I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he praises. “Go ahead—let me see how you’d want me touching you. How you’d stretch around my fingers.”
Before he can say another word, my fingers are pushing into my drenched pussy as my other hand squeezes my breasts.
“I’d want you just like this. I'd want your cock deep inside me while you bite my nipples."
His wanting breaths join mine as he continues to praise me with each quickening plunge of my fingers.
“Faster. I'd be going faster, making you moan while you make a gorgeous mess all over me.”
“Gods. Fuck! Yes!” I scream, an orgasm unlike any other tearing through me.
I attempt to reach for a pillow to muffle the sound.
“Unless you’re calling red, don’t you fucking dare deprive me of your sounds,” he groans, and if I’d thought of it earlier, I would have imagined he was touching himself just as much as I’ve been.
A cupboard shutting in the kitchen has my eyes snapping open.
The chair I’d dreamt occupied only moments ago sits firmly in the corner it’s always in, and the man I’d dreamt had stolen my control, and all the air in the room has disappeared.
I don’t know how long I lay staring at the ceiling; but eventually my heavy breaths and worn-out sighs give way to bone-deep exhaustion, and for the first time since I was attacked, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.