Page 13 of Playing with Fyre

Not my brutal captor, Peter Monroe…but someone else. Someone I actually like. Someone I wouldn’t fight if they had me pushed up against a wall.

Someone like Professor Fyre.

My legs aren’t trying to slam closed anymore. Instead of clamping my jaw shut, I open my lips and let Fyre in. He growls deep in the back of his throat and grabs my breasts, squeezing me through my pajamas. I whimper against his mouth, and he draws back.

He exhales a warm breath over my face, and my eyes flutter open. The way the light falls in the room, his face is in shadow, but I’d know his silhouette anywhere.

Apparently I have a superpower. I can turn nightmares into wet dreams.

Fyre shoves the first two fingers of his hand into his mouth and sucks on them. Cleaning the blood from them, I realize when he reaches down and strokes my pussy with those damp fingers.

My hand travels down his hard stomach, then I tug at the button on his jeans. I can already feel the swell of his hard cock as I try to twist open the button, and as if to tease me with it, he steps closer and crushes his erection against my stomach.

He starts finger fucking me. Filling me deeply, Fyre grinds the base of his palm against my clit. I gasp as my pussy clenches, sending tight waves of aching bliss through my core.

I lean into his thrusts, my hips rocking backward and forward. He keeps his lips on mine, fierce and demanding, as his fingers thrust harder and harder into me.

I climax before I’ve even had a chance to open his jeans. He pulls away from me, and I can feel his eyes on me as I come undone under his touch. His dark shadow watches as he draws out my orgasm with a skilled thumb on my clit, and watches me melt away to nothing.

Then he drags his fingers out of me and lifts a hand to his face. I can hear him sucking on his fingers again.

Before I can gather myself, before I can make sense of anything, he grabs both my thighs and wrenches them open even further. Then he ducks down and sucks my clit between his lips, biting down so hard I let out a strangled scream.

My hands are in his hair, trying to yank him away, but he simply releases that tiny nub of tender flesh and instead licks the length of my slit with a warm, hard tongue before standing.

His hand is around my throat. He pushes me back into the wall and stands there for a moment as if he’s going to say something.

But he doesn’t.

He squeezes my throat once, hard, and then releases me. I collapse to the floor, shaking, a confused sob dragging its way up my throat as he walks out of my apartment.

I should have woken up by now. Which means I’m not dreaming. Fyre was here. He broke into my home and—

I cut off the thought and instead lie in a puddle of piss and let myself drift away.

Chapter Eight

Charlotte

Istare down into my cup of coffee with disgust. It’s not the coffee’s fault—it’s the best cup I can produce in my apartment. It’smeI’m disgusted with. It’s been a week since Fyre visited me with blood on his hands. A week that I’ve spent alternating between hating him and hating myself. What I haven’t done is go to the police.

Because for some fucked up reason, even when I think I hate him…I love him.

I thought I was getting better. I thought I was improving.

I wasn’t.

I’m just as fucked up as the day I flagged down that couple’s car in the woods.

Maybe even more.

At least, before, I could convince myself that my strange urges, my almost obsessive interest in sex and fucking was just a phase I was going through. I only mentioned it once in passing to my therapist, and then pretended she’d misheard me when her eyes widened. As it was, they had me under psychiatric evaluation at the hospital when I tried to slit my wrists with a scalpel I dug out of a hazardous waste bin in the ER. I wasn’t going to give them any reason to keep me there indefinitely.

I’m not a psycho.

I’mdamaged.

There’s a difference.

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