Page 43 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Made for me,” I gasp, clutching him. Of course he is. Every piece of him is designed to give me what I need. Four strong arms to hold me, two perfect cocks to please me.

I cry out, digging my nails into his shoulders as he fucks me slow and deep, pressing me into the table. I claw at his back, whimper his name. His hands are all over me, caressing and gripping me, all four sliding over my ass, my breasts, my hips. We are caught somewhere between a feral need and an aching tenderness. When tears gather in the corners of my eyes, he licks them away—then at the trickle of blood sliding down from my nose to my upper lip. He shudders at the taste of me.

As his pace increases, he lifts me off the table, holding me effortlessly in the air as he thrusts inside of me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror again, and I look—God. I look unhinged, possessed, otherworldly. Then Dorian turns me and pushes me against the mirror, fucking me against it so I look up and see him, and only him, his eyes dark and intense behind the white mask. His other cock slides against my clit as he thrusts, and my eyes roll back in pleasure. As my fingers dig into his muscular back, I know—Iknowwith absolute certainty—that he has held me just like this, fucked me just like this.

And I somehow forgot.

My heart aches as I hold him. Even as he ruts against me and gasps my name, even as my body pulses and trembles through another orgasm right along with him, I cannot ignore the sense that something important is missing. I miss him even when we’re skin to skin, even when he’s still deep inside me. Even as he pulls out only to thrust his second cock into me, filling me up again, I gasp and plead for more.

Tears slide down my cheeks as I press my face into his shoulder.

Dorian pulls out of me, leaving me aching and empty, and sets me down on the floor.

Two hands still hold me steady as the others grip my face and lift it toward his, gentle and questioning. I squeeze my thighs together as I feel him dripping out of me, desperate to hold on to any piece of him I can get.

“How could I forget you?” I ask, my voice trembling. “How could I ever forget?”

Even without seeing his face, I sense him shift. He pulls away from my touch, turns his masked face from me. When he releases me and steps back, I teeter on my feet, leaning against the window for support.

“You mustn’t remember,” he whispers through the radio, and presses a hand to his heart. “Trust me, Daisy. Andleave me.”

“No.” I wipe at my tears, furious at my weakness. “We can leave right now. Let’s find a way together.” I don’t have to remember everything to know that I want him walking out of here with me. “I don’t care what you’ve done—whatwe’vedone. We belong together.”

“You’re safer without me,” he says.

Before I can open my mouth to refute it, he disappears. And no matter how much I cry and shout for him, he doesn’t come back.

* * *

Ezra finds me slumped at the table in the observation room, head in my hands. I lift it to look at him as he walks in. I hid his keycard among his files on the table and spent a while cleaning up in the bathroom, fixing my rumpled clothes and wild hair, washing my face and between my thighs. Still, it feels like my guilt is written all over my skin, like every place Dorian’s hands and mouth touched me must glow like red brands of condemnation. I am humiliatingly aware of my bareness beneath my skirt, the throbbing soreness between my thighs.

But Ezra seems like he’s hardly able to look at me anyway. His head is low, his eyes on the floor.

I sit up. “What’s wrong? What did they say?”

He pushes his glasses up to massage the bridge of his nose. “They think I’ve been spending too much time working with Dorian. That I should place more focus on my other subjects.”

My heart sinks. “But Dorian needs you.”We need you.

Ezra shrugs. “They don’t see it that way. Dr. Wright is angry that I haven’t encouraged Dorian to pass on, and I couldn’t come up with a good excuse without revealing everything.” He looks at me. “She and Director Ramsey still believe he murdered your parents, so they’re not even considering rehabilitation. Therefore, he’s a lost cause.”

My lower lip trembles. “But that’s not true.”

“I don’t know that for sure. Neither do you. And he won’t cooperate.”

I open my mouth, shut it again. “We can’t give up now,” I say in a quiet voice. “Let’s…” I pause, swallow. Think of Dorian saying “you mustn’t remember.” Warning me ofdanger. “Let’s do one more memory retrieval. Let’s go back to that night.”

He blinks at me, surprised. His mouth works for a moment before he says, “I’m not sure if you’re ready for that.”

“I might never be ready,” I say. “But I need to know.”

Ezra searches my face, and I feel laid bare in front of him. “Did something happen?”

“I just…” Should I tell him the truth? But I’m not even sure what the truth is. I don’t know how to express the jumble of fears inside of me, the nightmares that have been keeping me up at night, the weird occurrences around me and my unpredictable powers. If I try, I’m scared I’ll just sound crazy.

I trust Ezra, but I know it would put him in a difficult position if I admit that my powers are getting out of control. If I told him I think I might be a danger to myself and others, would he continue to let me walk around town freely? Or would he lock me up in the MRF, just another one of his subjects?

Tears of frustration sting the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away, turning to gaze through Dorian’s viewing window instead of looking Ezra in the eyes. “It’s…so hard for me, being this close to Dorian but not being able to really be with him.”

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