Page 11 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Fear clawed its way up my throat to strangle me, my heart galloping inside my temple. His hand slid from mine, only to brush up against the back of my knee before trailing a burning path up my thigh. Torturously slowly, he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of my oversized tee.

Palming my left ass cheek, he dipped his hand between my legs.

Barely daring to breathe, I stilled.

His breath danced across the side of my heated face and he chuckled darkly as he traced the line of my slit. “You’re growing wet.”

I gritted my teeth, refusing to answer. I wished I could see him. To see the figment of my imagination that seemed so real and so tangible. I was still locked in a terrible nightmare—a dream within a dream, unable to wake up.

“Tell me, Skyler. Are you a virgin?”

When I refused to answer, he dug his fingers into my neck and squeezed my pussy, forcing a whimper from my lips. It was the perfect blend of pain and pleasure, balanced on a thin tightrope.

He squeezed harder before releasing my neck and fisting my hair tightly. His wet tongue dragged over the slender curve of my neck, and then his sharp teeth sunk into my earlobe. I cried out, but he didn’t let up on me. If anything, his touch became rougher.

“Has anyone touched this cunt before?”

Sparks of pleasure shot a direct line to my core and I squirmed beneath him, in need of more. It was just a dream. Nothing more than a twisted, warped nightmare.

“Greedy little whore, huh?” Biting down on my earlobe again, he rammed a thick finger inside me, and when I cried out again, he forced my head into the pillow. “You should have checked that I was really dead that night.”

I could barely focus on his words when he was dominating me like this. I was coming apart beneath him, craving more pleasure, more pain. This was why I’d never cared for the boys at school. They were too nice. I needed this, and I never knew I craved it until now.

“You’re just a dream,” I choked out, the sound of my breathy voice muffled in the pillow.

His answering chuckle dripped with nefarious intent, like a raven feather dipped in blood. My pussy welcomed his second finger.

He stretched me to my limit, forcing me to swallow a sob. “I’m your worst nightmare, princess.”

The wet sounds of my cunt competed with my racing heartbeat and the whimpers dancing on my parted lips. I was struggling to breathe, my face pressed into the pillow, which was damp with salty tears and smelling of my coconut shampoo.

Nate’s assault on my trembling body refused to ease up. The shadows in the room stretched across the bed, shrouding me in darkness as he pumped my virgin cunt with his thick digits until tears streamed from my eyes.

My inner walls clamped down on him and something hot and fierce melted my insides. A sensation so mind-blowing arched my back against him, in search for more pressure, more friction, more of everything.

“There’s a good girl,” he whispered cruelly. “Come on the fingers that will one day steal the last breath from your lungs.”

I cried out with pleasure, my pussy pulsing as every muscle in my body tensed. It was too much. The orgasm ripped through me with such intensity, I quivered and shook beneath his hold.

Sounds I never knew I was capable of escaped my lips in a stream of moans and whimpers. The power he held over me in this moment should scare me. His words should scare me.

The taunting laugh he breathed through his nose chilled me to the bone. Slipping his fingers out, his weight disappeared. The shadows retreated too, leaving me ruined and alone in the hazy remnants of a nightmare that felt all too real.

I waited for a beat, listening for any sounds or any signs of his lingering presence.

He was gone, but the memory of his burning touch remained engrained in my mind like ancient carvings on a headstone.

CHAPTER

FOUR

SKYLER

I’d felt uneasy all day, ever since I woke up this morning with an insistent throb between my thighs, the dream lingering at the fringes of my consciousness. It unnerved me how real it had felt. It worried me even more that I was sore when my fingers dipped beneath the blanket to take care of the ache.

Now I was at school, failing to focus on the paper before me. The teacher, Mrs. Jones, had surprised us with a quiz the moment we entered the classroom before lunch, and while I was usually good at these things and rarely got caught off guard, I couldn’t concentrate. Not when my sore pussy stung every time I shifted. It was a delicious pain—a persistent reminder.

Tapping my pencil on the paper, I chewed on my bottom lip while staring blankly at the questions. Twenty in total. I had filled out eight.

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