Page 131 of When the Woods Go Silent

Who holds the power, here? Is it my dream Torrence, as he pushes me closer and closer to the dive off the edge and the freefall, pleasure screaming across my body? Or is it me, commanding this fantasy man to do everything I like best?

I revel in the push and pull of power, as my dominance wars with his.

I’m no longer a hawk, but a Goddess, legs spread wide as I stand above him. In my dream, he’s on his knees in the leaves, gazing up at me with those flashing gold eyes. His face falls forward to the meeting of my thighs, and I am worshiped.

He isn’t my slave. He’s too strong for that, and my mind rejects it, dreaming or not.

But perhaps he could be my willing servant, grateful to be noticed, and obedient to everything I ask of him. The power ofexperiencing the dynamic in the dream world helps to awaken something sinuous and dark that has been coiled in the pit of my stomach, waiting for me to notice it. I think now that it’s always been with me, waiting for the right time. The right partner to learn with, to learn from.

What must it feel like, to hold such power over someone? To rule by desire?

The small and dark coiled thing spreads itself, stretching its sinews and unhinging its jaw, and I forget for a moment that I’m not pressing Torrence’s face to the apex of my thighs. My body writhes and my fingers curl as I imagine them sinking deep into his hair, holding him exactly where I want as he forges his need into the making of my pleasure.

It feels so real that I never want to wake up.

Something snags my attention, though, like an insistent child tugging my shirt hem. Something isn’t quite right, and my mind begins to search for the hidden clue. The trees and forest are hazy enough, susceptible to my whims. But Torrence... He’s different, somehow. He resists when I try to push him away.

Little by little, I surface from the dream, waking up slowly as a shriek rises to my lips.

Torrence ishere, in my room. In my bed, mouth between my thighs. I’m no longer dreaming, and he’s here as though I conjured him.

He surges up from our dark heat beneath the sheets, his palm wrapping over my mouth, trapping the scream as I blink wide-eyed up at him in the darkness. My heart pounds, adrenaline racing through my blood.

How is he here, in my bed? How was he there, in my dream?

How did I not wake up before this?

But even as my mind rebels, my body lets him back in. He’s here, and I’m no longer resisting his strong fingers stroking my clit under the sheet, pushing in and out of me in a rhythmthat matches the lost dream. Reality blurs around the edges as pleasure loosens my inhibitions.

His hand slides from my mouth, settling in a loose curve around the base of my neck.

“Where did you come from?” I murmur, trying to orient myself as he works my body closer to orgasm. “Thought you left.”

“Turns out I have a few things to take care of here first. And you were dreaming of me,” Torrence whispers into the night, slowly pushing my t-shirt above my breasts and dragging his eyes over my bare skin.

“You were... here? In my room?” I manage, torn between how much I’m enjoying this wake up surprise, and how much he’s crossed a boundary.

He came in uninvited. He watched me sleep. He touched me - climbed into my bed and touched me without fucking asking.

The betrayal that every woman knows is possible bubbles up in my chest. It doesn’t matter that I’m enjoying every second of his touch now - he should have fuckingasked.

“Stop.” I bite the word out, and he raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“But you’re enjoying it.”

“That’s not the point.” I grit my teeth and wriggle a few inches away from him. My body protests, wanting his fingers right back where they were, but this is a boundary.

He crossed it, and that can’t go unnoticed.

Unpunished, actually.

The word slips into my mind like the crack of a whip, and my eyes narrow as a lethal grin curls my lips.

“You shouldn’t have done that without consent,” I hiss, already imagining ways to punish him. He needs to understand that I never gave consent for this. Dreaming about something doesn’t mean I want it.

Except I really, really want it. Maybe there’s a way to get a bit of both.

My movements growing rough, I shove him off of me, fingers lingering on his bare chest. I’m too small to move him, but he lets me, surprise keeping him compliant.

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