Page 73 of Locke

I kept breathing as tears pricked my eyes.

I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t. I went through the motions, drawing in a breath, exhaling it as my stiff body continued to lay helplessly before this being who was suddenly more monster than man.

It wasn’t real.

And I knew that.

But it felt real, like it always did.

Except this time, I wasn’t just frightened, I was needy too, and I could close my eyes, pretend it was a dream, and this would be forgotten come morning.

Because he wasn’t here. Not really. I was imagining his gaze piercing me, but goddamn, it was like he really was here. And it was a troubling thought. It made my pulse thump louder in my ears—

But it made me ache just the same.

Because thinking that he could be looking at me—a man as dangerous as him, as mysterious and unpredictable and fucking all consuming—sent pulses of life through me. The muscles in my body loosened, and the air came easier this time as I embraced the heat on my skin, as I ran my tongue once more along my lips to taste him.

“Are you here?” I whispered, voice creaky.

No response.

I looked into the blackness, breath hitched to ask, “Have you been touching me?”

Just the thought made me gush even more. I was so wet and needy, I wanted to cry.

Then I felt it, the touch as light as a feather, crawling slowly up my leg. My breaths quickened this time, but it wasn’t fear—it was sharp anticipation. My core squeezed as the touch continued between my inner thighs. I quaked, grinding my teeth as I held in a whimper.

Fear.

Arousal.

A dizzying concoction.

Was this real?

Was I dreaming?

Did it matter?

My body came alive, and oh, how I’d begun to forget what that was like.

I felt the touch between my legs, and I let my back arch as pleasure zipped through me. Round and round that wet touch went, circling along my clit as I stared into the darkness, stared into its eyes, feeling like I was in the club again, drawn to that forbidden corner and the chaos that existed within it.

Because he was chaos, and my life was disrupted by his meddling touch. This big, brooding man. His bulging arm tore through my mind. His jeans brushing along my leg. The simplest little touches, and I was about to come.

But I wouldn’t come thinking about that.

I was going to come thinking about those dark eyes peering down at me, the way his body pressed against me, the strange, surprised look in his expression when he heard my moan, when he felt me growing excited. I felt shame back then, but it was raw hunger now.

I could still feel how hard he was, the outline of his cock squeezed tightly in my hand. He was so big, I remembered how unbearably full I felt with him thrusting into me. How painful it was when he stretched the walls, taking me even as I’d fought. I grew wetter just thinking about how delicious it would be to have him fuck me right now as he gripped my throat and bit at my shoulder, mercilessly marking me for his own enjoyment.

Because he was that kind of lover.

He fucking took.

“Locke,” I whispered, my eyes rolling to the back of my head as bursts of pleasure tore through me, and I quickened my movements. Because it was me, after all, touching myself, rubbing circles along my core, pretending it was him doing it for me.

But I could pretend.

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