Page 15 of Deceitful Promises

She lets out a moan that has precome leaking from my dick. I want to take her so badly, tear off her clothes, lay her down, fill her with my cock, pound her until she’s begging for more and more.

She leans up further, toward my lips, laughing in that distant way, in that?—

Oh, hell. I take a step back.

She’s sleepwalking!

Disappointment stabs me like a bayonet. I step back, fighting my desire, when she laughs and closes the distance again. Now that I’ve realized she’s asleep, it seems so obvious. I’ve been around sleepwalking people before. One of my buddies used to get up, play cards, then go back to bed, all with no memory of it.

I don’t say anything. I keep backing up, walking around a circle in the living room. Slowly, I lead her back to her bedroom. At least she ate. I won’t be able to act on the fierceness pulsing in me. I won’t be able to do all the dirty things flashing through my mind.

Backing up into her bedroom, I stand at the edge of the bed. She laughs and walks over to me. “Oh, so confident,” she murmurs. “Just like that?”

She lies on the bed, looking up at me, biting her lip. My dick damn near explodes when she looks at me like that. Even though I know she won’t remember this, the savage temptation remains.

“I have a fetish,” I tell her. It’s a lie. I haven’t been with enough women to develop shit like that.

“Oh, really?” More laughter.

“Hmm. I like to watch women sleep. Pretend to be asleep for me, Ania.”

“That makes you crazy, does it?”

“Yes. It does. Can you do that for me? Can you pretend to sleep?”

Biting her lip again—this is taking everything I have—she lies back and closes her eyes, putting a dramatic hand over her face. “I amsosleepy. I hope nobody disturbs me.”

“I like it to be realistic,” I grunt, my dick aching, a wild voice inside telling me to take her, take her hard. “Don’t do any of that theatrical crap. Pretend you’re really sleeping.”

“Oh, okay.”

I sit in the corner, waiting as she climbs under the covers, rolls onto her side, and starts to snore. The whole time, mymind is ticking overtime. Is this what she’s always like when she sleepwalks? Any bastard could take advantage of her. Any bastard could hurt her. When she’s like this, literally anybody could do anything to her. It fills me with so many murderous thoughts.

Soon, her snoring goes from a performance to actual, sleepy breathing. I stand quietly and leave her there, returning to the living room, fighting the instinct to climb into bed next to her. As I continue cleaning my rifle, I think about an impossible scenario.

I come home from a long day, my body sore, and check in on my kid. Maybe little Henry has put babies in my head. Then, I climb into bed next to my woman—my wife.

Mysister.

“Quiet,” I whisper to myself, shaking my head.

CHAPTER 8

ANIA

When I wake, I can feel the food in my belly. It’s like this thick glob sticking to the lining of my stomach. I can taste the stickiness on my tongue and feel it in my throat. I make anewnoise without even meaning to, then stand up and head for the door, meaning to hit the bathroom.

But my kidnapper is already waiting for me.

“Did you force-feed me during the night?” I snap.

His sad look makes me wish I could snatch the question back. There’s judgment there, but not the bad kind. It’s a soft sort of judgment, an almost loving kind. Oh, hell. What am I thinking?

“No,” he replies.

“Oh,” I mutter when it hits me. “Did I do anything else when I was sleepwalking?”

“Hmm,” he replies.

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