Page 5 of He Sees You When You're Sleeping

But I don’t think this is a dream.

And I think Santa took me.

As my grogginess begins to fade, so does my horniness. Reality settles in around me, and I wish like hell that I could go back to that drugged state of mind where nothing was real.

I roll my wrist in its binding—it’s stiff, like leather, and the edges dig into my flesh. Pain radiates from my shoulders, and I shift, feeling something hard dig into my back. I try to pay attention to everything, to my body, and realize I’m not lying down; I’m sitting down at a weird reclined angle.

“Is anyone there?” I raise my voice, letting it carry, hoping someone will hear me. That they’ll answer me.

What if they’ve tied me up and left me alone?

No, not they. He.

Santa.

I wish I knew his real fucking name. Calling him Santa is ridiculous.

I groan and drop my head back. It bumps into something solid behind me, and my brows crash together. I’m in a chair of some kind—it’s hard and unyielding, but weirdly comfortable.

“You’re awake.”

His voice is deep and rumbling, and it shouldn’t send electricity shooting through my body, but it does. I lift my head as if I can look at him, but all I see is darkness.

“I’d like to be let go,” I say in my best I’m better than you voice. But it comes out shaky and insecure, and the chuckle he lets out under his breath is enough to send a raging mixture of anger and arousal through me.

It’s humiliating, knowing I’m naked. I can’t cover myself, and I can’t turn the lights off or strategically place a piece of clothing over my midsection so he can’t see everything.

And I know he’s seeing everything.

Every inch of my body is on display for him, exposed and vulnerable. Can he see how wet I am? How hard my nipples are? What does he think of the softness of my belly, or the fullness of my thighs? The slight droop of my heavy breasts, or the softness of my hips?

What is he thinking?

Rough, calloused fingers glide along my calf, up to my thigh, pulling me from my thoughts. I take a shuddering breath, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you go, little elf,” he says softly. He moves closer, something crunching lightly under his feet. “But not until I’m done with you.”

My breath catches, and I blindly turn his direction. Goosebumps ripple over my arms at the nearness to him, and I nearly combust. Tingles erupt between my legs, and my lower belly tightens almost painfully. Every nerve ending is on fire, and I feel like I’m seconds away from throwing caution completely out and begging him to fuck me.

“What are you going to do to me?” My question comes out breathless, but not scared. I hear his lips pull away from his teeth, and I can clearly see his smile in my mind.

“I’m going to make your every wish come true,” he whispers. My throat goes dry at his words, at the promise in his voice. His hand drags higher up my leg, wrapping around the bend of my knee, gently massaging.

I can barely breathe. I can barely think past the warm feel of his rough palm on my smooth skin.

God, I’m so fucking glad I shaved this morning.

His scent surrounds me, overwhelms me. It’s hard to focus on anything other than him. He’s all encompassing, demanding my full attention—and I want to give it to him.

“My every wish?” I repeat before tracing my lips with my tongue, wetting them. “Like what?”

His hand leaves my knee, and a needy, pathetic whimper escapes me. The loss of his warmth is immediately missed—I want to reach for him, beg him to put his hands back on me. Make me warm—make me feel good.

“Santa?”

“I’m here, baby girl.” His voice is a low comfort vibrating against my skin, resonating down to my bones. He drags his finger down my cheek, and another whine pushes from my lips. “Your skin is so soft. You’re so…” He trails off, but I cling to his unsaid words.

I’m so…what?

---