Page 36 of While You Sleep

He nodded again.

I knew he was capable of a lot of terrible things, but this? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That’s how you know about my sleep issues?” He’d seen me, watched me while I’d fought the invisible monsters in my dreams, seen me at my most vulnerable. Seen my secret shame.

The look on his face changed. He was looking at me the same way he did when he touched me. My heart thundered in my chest. “Did you touch me?”

“I held you down when you needed it.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “You held me down? Is that all, is that the only way you touched me?”

Another nod, and his eyes darkened.

“Did you get off on it, is that it?” I fired at him.

His nostrils flared. “Aye, I did.”

My fingers tightened around the bottle in my hand, and I glanced down at it, realization hitting me. “And what? You came home and used this to…to…”

“To stroke my cock,” he said, his accent thicker. “Thinking of you while I did it.”

Everything he’d just said was wrong, terrifying, violating, but again, my body responded in a way that it shouldn’t. I had to be as twisted as he was.

“Why?” I whispered.

He grabbed the shirt he’d draped over the chair beside him and slid it on, unhurriedly doing it up. He tucked it in, then looked over at me. “Because you were mine, pet, you just didn’t know it yet.”

Then he walked out.

Chapter Twelve

Sophia

I looked out the living room window. The ocean was wild today.

I’d been living with Cillian for a week. I didn’t see him that much during the day, he was either out or working in his office here at the house. When he was out, he didn’t often come home until late at night, and every time he got into bed beside me, he’d pull me against him, waking me slowly from my sleep with his hands or his mouth.

Because you were mine, pet, you just didn’t know it yet.

He’d said that after he admitted he’d stalked me, watched me, that he’d broken into my apartment, and, on occasion, got into bed with me while I slept and he held me down. That when he came home after doing that, he’d used the same lotion I did to touch himself while thinking about me.

And still I let him do what he wanted to me. Despite everything I knew, I still let him do it.

Because in the darkness, he became someone else, he played a role that he knew I craved. He was Dean. And I was so needy for affection, for attention, I let the monster, my stalker, my jailer, give it to me. I became his pet, his toy to play with. He told me how wonderful I was, and I caved completely. He called me his good girl, and I spread wider, desperate for him to touch me. He took command of my body until I was wet and squirming, then he’d make me come so hard I didn’t know what to do with myself.

After, he’d stroke his cock until he came as well, usually on me, and he’d hold me to him again, tight, to stop me fighting in my sleep.

I didn’t remember having the attacks, but I knew I was, the familiar aching muscles gave it away, because I’d been struggling with everything I had, my throat raw as if I’d been screaming. There were never any injuries, though, Cillian made sure of that, like he had been for months without me knowing, holding me down until the attack passed, like he said he would. He’d never once mentioned it in the morning.

I didn’t know what it said about me, that knowing he took care of me while I was so vulnerable actually made me feel safe, or that I’d started anticipating the sound of his footfalls on the stairs, the dip of the bed when he got in beside me, his strong hands wrapping around my waist and tugging me across to him so I was plastered against his body.

My feelings for him hadn’t changed. I despised him, yet I let him do those things to me.

Every morning, I told myself that I’d pull away next time, that I’d tell him no, but then in the darkness, his room became a safe haven where no one knew my shame or the dirty things I let him do to me—or how much I wanted him to do them.

I rubbed at the goose bumps that had broken out across my arms and tried to shove him from my mind. God, I felt restless. I’d already cleaned the kitchen, living room, and bedroom, even though Cillian had a regular cleaner and it was already spotless, then I’d texted with Fi for a while, and she filled me in on everything that was going on, and that she hadn’t seen or heard from “Steve,” which was a massive relief.

I paced the room some more. What I really wanted was my computer, my tablet, my things, the rest of my clothes. The jewelry my mom gave me before she died. I wanted to work. I’d emailed my clients and told them there’d be a delay, but I couldn’t expect them to wait much longer.

Three nights ago, before I’d fallen asleep, I’d asked Cillian if I could go to my apartment and get my things. He’d said no. That’s it, nothing else. I glanced at my phone on the coffee table. He’d said if I needed anything, to call or text him. Until now, I hadn’t even contemplated it. Straightening my spine, I strode over and scooped it up.

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