Trapped, pinned, locked up, metaphorically chained. He had my back pinned against my locked door, his lips trailing up and down my neck in slow, torturous kisses. It was sudden and demanding… And I really, really liked it. Somewhere in between nips on my skin, he had removed both our shirts, revealing the crescent-moon-shaped scar across my stomach. He pulled away when he saw it, kneeling down and grinning, his long tongue rolling out of his mouth to drag across the puckered skin. With a shudder, I began to melt…
And then I woke up, sitting bolt upright on my bed and gasping for breath. My heart was racing, palms sweaty against the bedsheets. At least I was in my own dorm room.
I looked around, blinking when I noticed a dark shape in my desk chair, idly going through one of my sketchbooks. After a few blinks to clear my blurry vision, I was jolted with recognition and immediately scooted as far away on the bed as I could, my shoulder knocking into the wall. Mystery Stalker looked up, smiling coyly at me and setting the book aside as he stood up.
“I’m glad to see you are awake, my love. You slept quite deeply for someone in the thrall of an erotic dream.”
My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, pulling the sheets up to my chest like a startled cartoon character. My reaction amused him, his chuckle soft, almost endearing. Mystery Stalker moved closer until he sat on the opposite edge of my bed, reaching out and brushing the backs of his fingers against my cheek.
“Such beauty, highlighted by such lovely color.” His hand moved to cup my other cheek, forcing me to move closer again, then he leaned in. My attention was fully on his approaching mouth, the heat on my face burning hotter, but he stopped himself just before our lips met. I should have been happy that he hadn’t forced me into a kiss, but a soft little whimper broke free from my throat. My brain was convinced he was still bad news, but my body had had enough of his teasing, wanting more.
He was smiling again, those damned full lips curled somewhere between mocking and adoring. I hated him for that. “Why do you keep tormenting me like this?”
The question seemed to surprise him, his smirk faltering a bit. “Torment? Do you consider this torment?”
His own question made my heart stop for a beat. The tone of his voice was not remorseful, it was curious and a bit playful. He thought I liked being his prey as much as he loved playing the hunter. I blamed Stockholm syndrome for this, but yes… I maybe kind of sorta might like it…
Soft lips brushed against my forehead while I was trying to come up with a retort, then he pressed a kiss against my temple. His mouth then slid down to my ear, whispering, “Do well on your midterms, and I will reward you, my dear. I promise.”
Before I had time to nod, he stood and opened my door—guess it hadn’t been locked after all. “I’ll be back with some soup for you. Stay put.” Then he was gone, the door closed behind him. I lacked the desire to get up and lock it.
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