Page 33 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Jack’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. Just like I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

“Careful,” I warn, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. “You might not like what you find out.”

“Try me,” he challenges, his voice low.

We stand there, the tension between us suffocating. I’m acutely aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to close the distance between us. Part of me wants to run, to retreat back into my safe, cynical world. But another part, a part that’s growing stronger by the second, wants to take the risk.

Kiss me, Jack.

Come on . . . do it.

Kiss me.

Nothing . . . damn it.

“Maybe...” I start, then pause, gathering my courage. “Maybe we could start with that date. Chinese food, true crime, and all the dark commentary you can handle.”

Jack’s face breaks into a genuine smile. “I’d like that. A lot.”

He leans in, and for a moment I think he’s going to finally kiss me. Instead, he brushes a snowflake from my cheek, his touch sending a jolt of heat straight to my pussy.

“Goodnight, Ms. Scrooge,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams of sugarplums and serial killers.”

I laugh softly, trying to ignore the disappointment at the lack of a kiss. “Goodnight, Fireman Jack. Try not to save too many kittens before our date.”

As I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders dusted with snow, I try to suppress the little schoolgirl inside of me that wants to squeal. Jack is charming, handsome, and surprisingly intriguing. But I have dated enough vanilla men to know how this ends. And Jack may be sexy as fuck, but no way is he the type of man that would pull my hair, choke me out, and fuck me as I plead for mercy.

I unlock my front door, still feeling the ghost of Jack’s touch on my cheek. As I step inside, I’m hit with the silence of my empty house. The contrast between the magical night outside and the stark reality of my solitary life is jarring.

Shrugging off my coat, I head straight for the kitchen and pour myself a generous glass of wine. I need to clear my head, to shake off this ridiculous Hallmark movie feeling that’s threatening to overtake me.

I settle onto my couch, laptop open, ready to dive back into editing my latest video. But my mind keeps wandering back to Jack. His smile, his laugh, the way his hand felt in mine...

“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, taking a long sip of wine. “He’s just a guy. A hot, charming guy who probably has no idea what he’s getting himself in to.”

I try to focus on my work, but the words on the screen blur together. Instead, I find myself imagining what our date might be like. Would Jack be shocked by my dark humor? Would he be disgusted if he knew the things I think about, the things I crave?

My hand unconsciously drifts to my neck, fantasizing about the feeling of being choked, controlled. God, I crave that in someone... someone like Jack. The thrill, the danger, the exquisite balance of pain and pleasure.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. There’s no way Jack, with his boy-next-door charm and heroic job, would be into anything like that. He’d probably run screaming if he knew the truth about me. But then I remember the intensity in his eyes when he said he wasn’t afraid of the dark. The way his voice dropped when he hinted at his own secrets.

I close my laptop, giving up on getting any work done tonight. My mind is too full of Jack and possibilities. I lean back on the couch, letting my imagination run wild.

I picture his strong firefighter’s hands gripping my throat, his eyes dark with desire. In my mind, he pins me against the wall, his body hard against mine. “Is this what you want?” fantasy Jack growls in my ear. “Is this dark enough for you?”

My breath quickens as the fantasy takes hold. I slip a hand beneath my waistband, finding myself already wet. As I touch myself, I imagine it’s Jack’s fingers, rough and demanding. In my mind, he takes control, pushing me to my knees, fisting his hand in my hair.

“Oh, God,” I moan softly, my fingers working faster. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel Jack’s presence, smell his scent—a mix of smoke and pine and pure masculinity.

I circle my clit with my fingers, imagining it his thumb. I pulse harder, the sensation intensifying, my body responding to the fantasy with a growing urgency.

In my mind, he speaks again, his voice low and demanding. “Do you want it rough, or sweet? Do you want to submit or take control?”

And I choose both. I imagine him tying me up, restraining me, forcing me to be vulnerable and powerless. In the same breath, I also envision his tender touch, his lips tracing delicate patterns on my skin, whispering promises of pleasure and pain intertwined.

My hips buck involuntarily as the fantasy intensifies. I’m so close now, teetering on the edge of release. In my mind, Jack’s hands roam my body, alternating between gentle caresses and forceful grips. His mouth claims mine in a searing kiss, then travels down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Please,” I whimper, both to the Jack in my mind and to the empty room around me.

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