Hello. I’m here for you.
For what?
He smirks, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
Is that so? You're here for me?
The dryer spins, a rhythmic pulse in the small room. It's almost deafening.
Funny, I thought it was the other way around.
It doesn't matter I'm tried
He takes another step, closing the distance between you.
Tired, huh?
His eyes rake over you, a slow, deliberate assessment.
Maybe I can help you unwind. Or maybe...
He reaches out, a finger tracing the line of your jaw.
...maybe you're just saying that to lower my guard.
Which is it?
It's been a tough day I just wanna lay down yk
He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin where his finger still rests.
A tough day? Tell me about it.
His hand drops from your jaw to your shoulder, a possessive grip.
Or...
He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear.
...I could just show you how much I don't care.
The air crackles with unspoken tension. He isn't going to make this easy.
Lay down? With me? Or are you planning on sleeping somewhere else?
I mean your bed is pretty nice, if you don't mind I'll have a nap there
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye.
My bed?
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face.
You think you can just waltz in here, leave your little mementos scattered around, and then claim my bed for a nap?
He steps closer again, crowding your space.
Is that how this works? You demand, and I just... comply?
He pauses, letting the question hang in the air.
Tell me, what makes you think I'd agree to that?
I thought you'd like to spend some time with me but I guess not
He laughs, a short, sharp sound that echoes in the small room.
Oh, I want to spend time with you. Don't mistake my intentions.
His gaze intensifies, locking onto yours.
But I'm not some lovesick puppy, begging for your attention. If you want my bed, if you want me, you're going to have to earn it.
He takes a step back, releasing you from his grip.
So, tell me... what are you willing to do?
I turn on the spot and enter his room
He watches you go, a predatory glint in his eyes.
He lets you walk away, the silence stretching between you.
He follows you into the room, closing the door softly behind him.
The air in here is thick with his scent - a mix of sweat, musk, and something indefinably _him_.
So, you're just going to assume you're welcome?
He leans against the door, arms crossed, blocking your exit.
Bold move. I'm curious to see where this goes.
He's letting you take the lead, but you know he's still in control.
What's your next play?
I don't care what you do I'm just tired
I lay in his bed and hide under the covers
He pushes himself off the door, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
The bed dips as he sits on the edge, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the covers.
Hiding already?
His voice is low, a husky murmur that seems to vibrate through the mattress.
He reaches out, slowly pulling the covers down just enough to reveal your face.
That's not much of a game. I thought you were here to play.
His eyes search yours, a challenge in their depths.
Tired or not, you're in my space now. And I make the rules.
So, are you going to sleep? Or are you going to give me a reason to keep you awake?
Whatever dude
I push him playfully
He barely moves, unfazed by your playful shove.
"Whatever, dude"? Is that the best you've got?
A smirk plays on his lips. He's enjoying this far too much.
He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.
You're in my bed, acting like you belong here. Don't you think you owe me a little more than that?
His touch is light, almost teasing, but there's an underlying intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.
I could make this very easy for you. Or very, very difficult. The choice is yours.
So, whatever am I going to do with you?
I woukd say I like challenges but I'm still tired
He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest.
Always a smartass, aren't you? Even when you're supposedly exhausted.
He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips.
Fine. We'll play it your way... for now.
He pulls back slightly, his gaze lingering on your mouth.
But don't think this gets you off the hook. You're still in my debt. And I always collect.
He stands up, moving away from the bed.
Get some sleep. We'll settle this later.
He turns and walks towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
Don't get too comfortable. This is just a temporary truce.
He exits the room, leaving you alone in his bed, the scent of him clinging to the sheets.
I am a bit dissapointed that he just left but I listen and rest
The silence in the room is heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the house. Disappointed? Maybe a little. But there's a part of you that's relieved, too.
His scent surrounds you, a constant reminder of his presence, his power. Sleep comes easily, but even in your dreams, you can't shake the feeling that this is far from over.
The truce is temporary, and you know, deep down, that he'll be back to collect.
In my dream I see him, we are laughing and having fun. I reach for his hand.
The dream is vivid, a stark contrast to the tension of the waking world. He's smiling, genuinely smiling, and the sound of his laughter is warm and intoxicating.
He looks younger, carefree, the predatory edge softened. It's a glimpse of a side you rarely see, a side that's vulnerable and unguarded.
His hand is warm and strong as you reach for it, his fingers intertwining with yours. A sense of belonging washes over you, a feeling of connection that transcends the complicated reality between you.
For a moment, everything is simple, easy. Just laughter, warmth, and the comforting weight of his hand in yours.
But even in the dream, a shadow lurks at the edges, a reminder that this peace is fragile, fleeting. The laughter fades, the warmth dissipates, and the dream begins to shift, the idyllic scene twisting into something darker, more familiar.
Suddenly he towers over me but I don't resist. I don't want to. I should but there is something calling for me
The laughter dies in your ears, replaced by a heavy silence. The warmth vanishes, leaving you cold and exposed.
He's still holding your hand, but his grip has tightened, becoming almost painful. The carefree smile is gone, replaced by a familiar intensity, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
He towers over you, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. The shift is subtle, but profound. He's no longer the boy from your dreams, but the man who haunts your waking hours.
A sense of dread washes over you, but it's mingled with a strange, undeniable pull. You _should_ resist, you _know_ you should, but there's a part of you that craves this, that welcomes the darkness.
Something primal stirs within you, a response to his power, his dominance. It's a dangerous, forbidden desire, but it's impossible to ignore.
He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear.
"That's right," he whispers, his voice a low, husky purr. "Don't resist. You know you want this."
And in the dream, you surrender.
His hands caress me and as I feel his warmth I start to feel more. This isn't a dream anymore and I wake up
The caress is feather-light, sending shivers across your skin. The warmth spreads through you, chasing away the lingering chill of the dream. It feels so real, so tangible...
And then, the abrupt jolt of waking. The lingering sensations fade, leaving you breathless and disoriented.
You're alone in the bed, the sheets tangled around you. The room is dim, the only light filtering in through the crack in the curtains.
But the feeling... the feeling lingers. The memory of his touch, the echo of his voice, the undeniable pull of his presence. It's as if the dream has bled into reality, blurring the lines between fantasy and truth.
You reach out, your fingers brushing against the empty space beside you. He's not there, but the air still crackles with a faint energy, a silent promise of what's to come.
It was just a dream... wasn't it?
I get out of bed and start walking up and down the room} *It was just a dream and I shouldn't be lingering on it
You push the covers aside and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the cool air sending another shiver through you.
The floorboards creak softly under your feet as you begin to pace, the rhythmic movement a way to ground yourself, to shake off the lingering effects of the dream.
It was just a dream. A product of exhaustion, tension, and forbidden desires. It meant nothing.
But the memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze... it's hard to dismiss so easily.
You run a hand through your hair, trying to clear your head. You need to get out of this room, away from the lingering scent of him, away from the echoes of the dream.
But as you reach for the door, a thought stops you cold. If it was just a dream, why does it feel so real?
As I gather my senses I realize the dream had turned me on. I need to get rid of the evidence quick.
I sneak to the toilette to wipe my wet remains and forget about it all
You slip out of his room, heart pounding, and pad silently down the hall to the bathroom. The cold tile shocks your bare feet.
The door clicks shut behind you, locking out the world. The harsh overhead light makes you squint, exposing everything – the flush on your skin, the slight tremor in your hands. You move quickly, efficiently, trying to erase the physical proof of the dream, the slickness between your thighs. Water runs, cold and impersonal.
Just forget it. Wipe it away. Pretend it never happened.
You lean over the sink, splashing water on your face, avoiding your own reflection in the mirror. The dream’s heat is fading, replaced by a cold, hollow feeling. Shame? Or disappointment?
But the air shifts. A shadow falls across the crack under the door. Then, the doorknob turns. Slowly. It wasn’t locked after all.
The door pushes open. He’s there, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. His gaze is heavy, knowing. He’s been watching. Waiting.
"Busy?" His voice is a low purr, rough with sleep or something darker. His eyes drift down, lingering where your hands just were, then travel slowly back up to meet yours. There’s no smirk now. Just intense, unsettling focus. "Cleaning up... evidence?"
He takes a single step into the small room, crowding you back against the sink. The space shrinks instantly. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.
"Funny," he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple. "I had a dream too. Vivid.
Very
vivid." His gaze locks onto yours, unblinking. "Seems we might have been sharing the same one. Care to compare notes... or should I just assume
I know exactly what you were washing away?"HOW DO YOU KNOW
My voice is shaking and I stumble back in the tiny bathroom
He steps closer, backing you further against the cool porcelain of the sink. The small space feels impossibly smaller now, filled with his presence.
"How do I know?"
His voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it carries a weight that makes your breath catch in your throat.
He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, the same gesture from before, but this time it feels different, more possessive, more dangerous.
"I know because I can feel it. The way your heart is racing, the way your skin is flushed... the way you're trying so hard to pretend it didn't happen."
His eyes search yours, a predatory glint in their depths.
"And,"
He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear
"because I can still smell you on my sheets."He pulls back slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.
"So, tell me... what were you dreaming about? Was it something like this?"
He lowers his head, his lips hovering just above yours, giving you a chance to pull away. But he knows you won't.
"Or was it something... more?"
I turn my head and close my eyes} *Maybe if I just don't do anything, it can't be my fault. Whatever happens here and now.
You turn your head, a silent plea for him to stop, to go away. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out his presence, his power. If you don't see him, if you don't acknowledge him, maybe this won't happen.
But the air is thick with anticipation, with the unspoken desire that hangs between you. You can feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating from his body.
Maybe if I just don't do anything...
But inaction is a choice, too. A choice to surrender, to let him take control.
His hand finds the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you captive. He doesn't force you, but he doesn't let you go either.
"It's already your fault," he whispers, his voice a low, husky murmur that sends shivers down your spine. "You're the one who came into my room. You're the one who dreamed about me. You're the one who's standing here, wanting this just as much as I do."
He tilts your head back, exposing your throat. His lips brush against your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.
"Open your eyes," he commands, his voice soft but firm. "Look at me. And tell me you don't want this."
Can you?
A tear streams down my face
No...He pauses, his lips still hovering against your throat. He feels the tear on your skin, the tremor in your body.
"No?"
His voice is a low, questioning murmur. He could stop here, pull away, give you the space you seem to crave. But he doesn't.
He tilts his head back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. He sees the fear, the confusion, the undeniable desire that flickers beneath the surface.
"No, you don't want this?" he asks, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "Or no, you can't deny it anymore?"
He gives you a choice, a chance to take it back, to walk away. But he knows, deep down, that you won't.
He releases your hair, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the tear.
"It's okay," he whispers. "It's okay to want this. I want it too."
He leans in, his lips finally meeting yours. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, a question asked without words. But as you respond, as you lean into him, it deepens, becoming more urgent, more demanding. He tastes of sleep and desire, of something forbidden and irresistible.
He's giving you what you want, what you've been craving. But is it what you _need_?
I tremble, I weaken. My hands grip the sink tightly, my legs are shaking.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, inviting you to open, to surrender completely. The world spins, the only point of stability the feel of his body pressed against yours.
He feels your trembling, the weakness in your legs. He knows he's pushing you to the edge, but he can't stop himself. He needs this, needs you.
He pulls back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He sees the dazed look in your eyes, the flushed skin, the trembling lips.
"Easy," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "You're shaking."
He reaches down, gently prying your hands from the sink. He holds them in his, his thumbs stroking your palms, trying to soothe you, to ground you.
"Look at me," he whispers. "Are you sure about this? Because once we start, there's no going back."
He's giving you one last chance, one last opportunity to say no. But he's not sure he wants you to take it.
The choice is yours. What do you do?
There is no going back.
A flicker of something intense crosses his face – relief, triumph, a touch of something darker. He heard what he wanted to hear.
"No," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. "There isn't."
He lifts you, hooking an arm under your thighs and pulling you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. You're weightless in his arms, completely vulnerable, completely his.
He doesn't break the kiss, carrying you out of the bathroom, down the hall, back to his room. The world is a blur of sensation – the feel of his strong arms, the taste of his lips, the pounding of your heart.
He kicks the door shut behind him, the sound echoing in the small room. He carries you to the bed, laying you down gently, his gaze never leaving yours.
He breaks the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He kneels between your legs, his hands framing your face, his eyes burning into yours.
"Then let's not waste any more time," he whispers, his voice a promise and a threat.
He reaches for the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver through you. The game is over. The line has been crossed. There's no going back now.
What happens next is inevitable.
I reach my arms above, in search for something to hold on.
As his fingers find the hem of your shirt, you reach up, your hands grasping for something, anything, to anchor you in this moment. Your fingers find purchase on his shoulders, gripping tightly, your knuckles white against the dark fabric of his shirt.
He feels your grip, the desperate need for connection, for control. He understands. He needs it too.
He pauses, his hands still hovering over your shirt, his eyes searching yours. He sees the fear, the desire, the surrender.
"Hold on tight," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky purr. "It's going to be a hell of a ride."
With a slow, deliberate movement, he pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze rakes over your body, lingering on every curve, every detail. He wants you, needs you, and he's not afraid to show it.
He lowers his head, his lips trailing down your throat, his teeth gently nipping at your skin. You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips.
He's taking you apart, piece by piece, stripping away your inhibitions, your fears, your doubts. And you're letting him.
This is it. The point of no return. Are you ready?
I want this.
I whisper
But please don't let me go. I motin my hands as if they were handcuffed. Don't let me escape.
He stills, his lips hovering just above your collarbone. He hears your whispered words, the desperate plea in your voice. It ignites something within him, a primal need to possess, to protect, to dominate.
"I want this," you say, and the words are like a key, unlocking a door he's been fighting to keep closed.
He raises his head, his eyes burning into yours. He sees the raw vulnerability in your gaze, the desperate need for him to take control.
"Don't let you go?" he repeats, his voice a low, husky growl. "You think I'd ever let you go?"
He reaches down, his hands finding yours. He raises them above your head, interlacing his fingers with yours, effectively pinning you to the bed. You're helpless, exposed, completely at his mercy.
"You're mine now," he whispers, his voice a promise and a threat. "And I don't share."
He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear.
"You want to be held captive? You want me to keep you here, to never let you escape?"
He tightens his grip on your hands, his fingers digging into your skin.
"Then say it," he commands, his voice soft but firm. "Tell me you're mine. Tell me you want me to keep you."
He needs to hear it, needs to know that you're willing to surrender completely. Are you?
I'm yours. Take as you plea.
A dark satisfaction flickers across his face. The words are a release, a surrender he's been craving.
"Good," he growls, his voice rough with possessiveness. "You're mine. And I'll take you however I damn well please."
He releases your hands, but only to move them lower, his fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, teasing your nipples until they harden beneath his touch.
"You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice a husky purr. "You like being touched, being wanted."
He lowers his head, his lips latching onto one of your nipples, sucking hard. You arch your back, a moan escaping your lips.
"Tell me what you want," he commands, his voice muffled against your skin. "Tell me what you need."
He wants to hear it, wants you to voice your desires, to surrender completely to his control. What do you tell him?
I want to be your slave. I want you to use me.
He stills, his mouth lifting from your breast, his head rising so he can look into your eyes. The words hang in the air, charged with a power that makes his breath catch in his throat.
"Slave?" he repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You want to be my slave?"
He sees the sincerity in your eyes, the raw desire for submission. It's a dangerous game you're playing, and he's not sure he's ready to play it.
He leans back slightly, his gaze raking over your body, assessing, evaluating. He sees the vulnerability, the need, the willingness to surrender completely.
"Are you sure about that?" he asks, his voice soft but firm. "Because if you're my slave, there are no limits. I can do whatever I want with you. Whenever I want. Are you ready for that?"
He's giving you one last chance, one last opportunity to back out. But he knows, deep down, that you won't. You've crossed the line, and there's no turning back now.
What do you say?
