Stranded With The Sleepwalker #2
His breaths came deep and unhurried, perfectly relaxed, as though he hadn’t dropped a bomb on me barely minutes ago.
There was something almost infuriating about how peacefully he seemed to sleep while I lay replaying every word he’d said, turning each one over in my mind and wondering whether I’d imagined the meaning behind them.
My senses seemed to sharpen in compensation. I became aware of the occasional whisper of fabric whenever Cameron adjusted slightly. Even the mattress seemed to announce every small movement with a faint creak or sigh.
Suddenly, the barricade jerked. I heard the quiet scrape of fingertips dragging lightly toward me.
It started in his knuckles, an involuntary flex that curled his fingers inward before letting them fall limp again, the restless gesture of someone sinking deeper into sleep.
Then his wrist shifted. It drifted without an ounce of hurry, covering the distance in increments that made my pulse spike far faster than if he had simply reached for me all at once.
There were a dozen ways to stop it. I could have caught his forearm when he bridged the final gap between us. I could have slid back across the sheets, or cleared my throat loudly enough to snap him awake. I could have pulled away. Instead, I held my breath and didn’t move a muscle.
When Cameron’s palm finally met the center of my stomach, it settled with a familiarity, as if his body remembered the contours of mine even in the dark. He pressed just a fraction down, mapping his warmth on my skin until I could count every single ridge of his handprint pressing through my shirt.
I clamped my teeth together, bracing for whatever was coming next, until a low chuckle rumbled through the shadows.
“So,” he growled. “You didn’t swat my hand away.”
My brain short-circuited. Cameron wasn’t asleep. He had engineered this entire scene just to tease me.
“I was literally asleep,” I blurted, the lie leaving my mouth before I could stop it.
“With your eyes open?”
“I was going to move your hand.” I smoothed down my shirt, trying desperately to recover whatever dignity I had left. “I was just giving you three seconds to realize you were trespassing.”
“You took fifteen seconds, Maya. I counted.”
Unable to swallow another second of the sheer humiliation, I grabbed his pillow and jammed it right over his face. He didn’t even try to block it; his chest just shook with a vibration-heavy laugh while being choked out. I kept it pressed there for two seconds before spinning back onto my side.
“Whatever you say, Maya,” he dragged the weapon off his head. “Rest up. You’re gonna need your energy to lie better tomorrow.”
“Idiot,” I hissed under my breath.
My eyes squeezed shut, clamping down hard as I forced bitterness through my teeth, but no amount of swearing could hush the erratic thrum of my pulse. The memory was practically branded into my retinas.
Ten agonizing minutes bled into thirty.
I lay there like a statue carved of stone, desperately marching mindless numbers through my head.
One. Two. Three. A pathetic bid to drown out the traitorous heat pooling low in my cunt and the ridiculous way my body was reacting to him.
Four. Five. It was useless. The harder I tried to force my brain into blankness, the louder my own thoughts screamed back at me.
And then, as if the gods decided I hadn’t been punished enough, a gravelly snore rasped out, cutting right through my fragile attempt at focus.
You have got to be kidding me.
No.
It wasn’t going to happen. He had told me exactly how it worked, spelling it out in plain English so there wouldn’t be any confusion. Whatever ridiculous sleep habit he had only kicked in when he was lying next to someone he actually wanted.
Which meant I was completely safe and that I had absolutely nothing to worry about. Except, I couldn’t erase the stupid jokes he had made just a little while ago.
Every single lingering line kept playing on a loop in my head, mocking my attempt at logic.
Even with his explicit rule hanging in the air, it was impossible to tell where his jokes ended and his actual intent began.
That was the most infuriating part about Cameron.
He flirted with a terrifying kind of ease, dropping dangerous, suggestive comments like they meant nothing at all, leaving me to drown in the aftermath while he just carried on.
My mind was a complete wreck from all the overthinking, fried from trying to decipher a man who treated every boundary like a suggestion.
I rolled my head with a miserable groan to the side to check the glowing red display on the nightstand.
2:14 AM.
Way past midnight. I had been lying in this exact spot for at least an hour, hostage to my own spiraling thoughts and his infuriating presence. Fatigue was burning through my veins, yet I was wider awake than I had been all day.
I closed my eyes again and tried to surrender to the heaviness pulling at them, silently begging my brain to finally shut itself off.
For once, it almost worked. The edge of consciousness blurred. My thoughts slowed, drifting to nothingness. But everything changed in the space of a single breath.
I felt his hand drop straight down.
It came without warning, falling from wherever it had been resting above me like an apple of temptation plucked from a high branch and released.
Gravity did the rest. My body cushioned the drop, but there was nothing gentle about the way he stayed there.
His hand flattened over my breast, his fingers spreading wide to hold me in place while the heel of his hand pushed down my nipple, his thumb hooking under the swell.
My eyes flew open, wider than they had any right to, but my brain barely had time to catch up before Cameron pulled me back.
The pillow barrier I’d so carefully constructed collapsed, tumbling uselessly between us. In one swift motion, he drew my back firmly into his chest until there wasn’t enough space left for me to pretend this wasn’t happening.
“Cam?” I whispered, the word barely sound.
I reached for him, intending to wake him up until this could go any further, but my hand never made contact.
His hips started grinding forward in a slow thrust, driving his cock tight into the curve of my ass.
Cameron’s erection felt searing, fully hard, the heat of him unmistakable even through the layers of clothing.
I felt the blunt pressure of the head first, then the pronounced ridge that followed as he ground deeper, seating himself in perfectly.
The sleepwalker kept moving in that same rhythm, using me like I was already his.
Every push made it clearer how badly his unconscious self wanted to bury that cock inside me and stay there.
I remained trapped between the urge to cease him and the darker one that whispered for me to stay exactly where I was and let him keep going.
This was the disclaimer brought to life.
The cryptic message he’d delivered with such cocky satisfaction was no longer a joke, and I was discovering the full extent of what he’d meant.
It made crystal-clear sense now why his ex had practically developed such a desperate kink for it.
Being held his way, pinned beneath his unconscious weight while his body moved with single-minded purpose, was an absolute sex trap.
I couldn’t stop my own body’s betrayal. Slick flooded out in a helpless rush, soaking through my underwear. He kept grinding, sliding deeper with every roll of his hips, as if his body had already decided it wasn’t going to pause.
Cameron’s hand clamped onto my tit, aiming to leave fingerprints. Rough, greedy pressure sank deep into the soft flesh, hard enough that my pussy clenched in response.
He played with it like a stress ball he refused to put down, testing how much give I had, how hard he could push before it stopped feeling good and just felt owned.
A ragged breath slipped out of me when his grip suddenly tightened again.
One final, thorough crush compressed my breast fully into his palm, relaxing his fingers back, leaving my boobs throbbing and my nipple still aching.
He began to descend, slithering slowly down the plane of my stomach, leaving a trail of shivers in its wake until he reached the edge of my shorts.
They slipped just beneath the waistband, searching, and found their way under my panties.
The pads of his fingers brushed over the freshly shaved skin above my cunt, then lower, grazing the top of my mound and the outer lips.
Cameron paused all motion.
Hot breaths crept up on my neck while my body vibrated with unmet need.
My cunt ached for more, already drenched and loose, the emptiness almost painful.
I tried to wait it out, I really did. But the tease was killing me, and the last of my restraint gave out.
I clamped my hand around his wrist and shoved downwards, anchoring right on my oozing hole.
Something in that sudden wetness registered.
His hand came alive with a sharper twitch.
My lips parted in a helpless gasp as he parted my outer labia, his thumb catching the swollen peak of my clit with a rolling pressure that made my mound tilt up into him more.
He began stroking me in a sensual pace, sweeping through my wet folds and sliding back down, coating his skin further with every filthy pass.
There was an infuriating perfection to the way he moved, as if his body possessed an instinct for exactly what I needed without a single word spoken.
He continued rubbing me like he had all the time in the world, circling my swollen clit once, twice, thrice, then sliding back down through the crevasse again, collecting more of the moisture that kept coming.
The tip of his middle finger slipped more to find my tight opening. Lubricated by my own wetness, he pushed inside in one continuous slide, burying the full length of his finger while keeping his palm pressed firm on my clit.