She didn’t know what woke her.

Not a sound. Not a light. Just… heat. Like something had slithered beneath the sheets—thick and invisible and hungry.

The room was silent. Still. Her body, bathed in a soft moonlight glow, lay sprawled in nothing but thin cotton panties and the loose hem of a tank top she’d twisted in her sleep.

But something was watching.

No. Closer than watching.

Inside.

A pressure curled low in her belly—a slow coil of warmth that wasn’t hers. A pulse between her thighs that grew thicker with each breath. Her nipples, bare beneath the fabric, stiffened as a breeze she couldn't feel brushed over them like a teasing mouth.

And then she heard it.

Not with her ears.

With her bones.

A voice, deep and silken, sliding between her ribs like smoke and fingers and want.

“I’ve waited so long for you.”

Her body jerked. She sucked in a breath, hands clenching the sheets, heart racing—except there was no fear.

Only arousal.

It was already there. Soaked into her skin. Her panties clung to her slit, wet and warm and needy—like her body had been dreaming long before her mind caught up. She shifted her thighs together, gasping at the friction.

“Touch yourself,” the voice commanded. Not harsh. Not kind. Just final.

She resisted for maybe a heartbeat. Maybe two.

Then her hand slipped beneath the waistband of her panties.

Her fingers slid through her folds—slick, swollen, so sensitive she whimpered before she even found her clit. But he was there. Over her. Around her. Like fingers made of shadow and lust, pressing into her, curling inside her like a whispered moan.

He guided her hand—slow strokes, teasing, then deeper, firmer.

“You’re soaking,” he growled into her ear, though no one was there. “Dripping like you were waiting for me.”

She arched into her own touch, thighs falling open, breathing like a girl who’d been edged for hours. Her other hand slid up to her breast, fingers rolling over her nipple until it was so hard it hurt—until her body was a trembling, writhing playground for a man she couldn't see but felt everywhere.

“You like being used,” he murmured, breathless and rough now. “You like knowing I’m inside you, even when you’re alone.”

A sound escaped her lips—high, raw, broken.

“Yes…”

She didn’t even know she’d spoken. But the room pulsed with approval. The darkness got thicker. The air felt like a palm around her throat, not choking—just holding. Claiming.

“You won’t come until I let you,” he growled, voice thick with authority and heat. “You’re mine now. My hands. My mouth. My pretty, aching little pussy.”

Her orgasm was building. Too fast. Too much. Her fingers were soaked, her clit twitching beneath her touch, her body lifting off the bed, begging, gasping, needing. She moaned his name without knowing it.

And then he stopped her.

She felt it—like a vice clamping down on her nerves. Her whole body froze, stuck right at the edge. Shaking. Whimpering. Denied.

“Beg,” he whispered.

Her hips bucked. Her mouth opened. Her soul cried out.

“Please… please let me come. Please—please, it hurts.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he cooed. “Good things come to the possessed.”

And then it hit her.

Release crashed down like fire—her orgasm tearing through her in violent, rolling waves. She screamed. Her legs shook. Her toes curled. Her body convulsed. Her fingers didn’t stop. His fingers didn’t stop.

She came so hard she nearly blacked out.

And in the mirror across the room…

She saw him.

Black eyes. A mouth like sin. Shadow curled around his frame like smoke and silk. Watching. Grinning.

Still stroking himself with her hand.

Her breath came in broken sobs—ragged, desperate, beautiful. The aftershocks rolled through her, long and deep, like the echoes of thunder after a storm. Her body was splayed wide across the bed, trembling, soaked in sweat and slickness and something darker.

But he wasn’t done.

The figure in the mirror moved—though her body hadn’t. His hand released her own, sliding lower, commanding without a word. Her muscles obeyed like marionette strings pulled tight. Her thighs lifted. Her knees bent. And her hand moved again.

Slower now. Deeper.

“Good girl,” he purred from the reflection, voice so thick with praise it coated her like oil. “I can taste you through your fingers.”

She moaned—low, wrecked. Her fingers moved to gather more of the wetness between her folds, spreading it, slicking her inner thighs as if preparing her.

“Two now,” he ordered.

She obeyed, breath hitching as her fingers stretched her, slipped inside. Her cunt clenched around them, greedy, aching for more. Her back arched, hips lifting off the bed in need, need, need—

And then she felt him.

Not just his voice. Not just his presence.

Him.

Sliding over her skin like silk made of shadows and smoke, tasting every inch without a tongue, whispering along her collarbone, her ribs, the slope of her belly. His weight pressed into her thighs, spreading her wider. His breath—impossibly hot—bloomed over her cunt, curling like a tongue around her clit.

Her fingers paused.

“No,” he growled. “Don’t stop. Let me taste both of us.”

She whimpered and obeyed, plunging her fingers deeper as the sensation of his mouth joined hers—wet heat and flickering fire, lapping, teasing, devouring. His tongue wasn’t just a tongue. It was everywhere. Inside her. Around her. In her blood.

“You’re mine,” he said again. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes, fingers trembling inside her as he sucked at her clit, harder, faster, dragging her toward another orgasm that felt twice as sharp and three times as deep.

She cried out, body contorting, walls fluttering around her own fingers as the pleasure built to a scream. Her thighs clamped around his head—except there was no head. Just pressure. Heat. Need.

“Say it again,” he growled, voice vibrating in her chest like thunder.

“I’m yours!” she cried, sobbing now, mind unraveling, body undone. “Please, please, I’m yours!”

He roared into her—no sound, but a wave of force that drove her over the edge again. Her orgasm slammed through her with violent finality, muscles locking, release gushing around her fingers. She felt him drink it in. Drink her in.

In the mirror, he knelt between her legs now—still a shadow, still impossibly beautiful. His cock—huge, dark, leaking—stood proudly in his hand as he stroked it, slow and possessive, watching her fall apart.

“Now,” he said. “You’ll watch me fuck what’s mine.”

And the bed dipped. The shadows solidified. His hands—finally, finally real—grabbed her thighs and dragged her down to the edge of the mattress. Her fingers slipped from her soaked cunt just in time to feel the hot press of his tip at her entrance.

“Beg me,” he whispered, low and cruel and loving.

She looked up at him, tears on her cheeks, lips parted.

“Please…” she whispered. “Please fuck me.”

And then he thrust.

His cock pushed against her slit—thick, hot, pulsing with want. Not monstrous, not impossible. Just perfectly overwhelming. Real. Heavy. A stretch she could already feel before he even entered her.

Nine inches of veined, flushed heat, dark at the tip where he leaked precum like honey. The kind of cock made to ruin a girl slowly. To push past every inch of resistance, to leave her wrecked and whimpering and owned.

The head teased her entrance, smearing her wetness up and down her folds. Her thighs trembled. Her breath caught. Her cunt throbbed—so ready it hurt.

He stared down at her with those shadow-laced, black eyes, his voice all smoke and possession.

“Feel how your pussy opens for me,” he growled, dragging the tip through her slickness again. “She knows who she belongs to.”

He nudged inside—barely an inch—and she gasped like she’d been struck by lightning.

Her walls clung to him, greedy, like her body was already desperate to suck him deeper. He groaned, low and primal, hips flexing forward just a little more.

Another inch.

Another.

The stretch made her head roll back, mouth open in a wordless moan. Her walls fluttered, trying to accommodate him, her legs trembling around his hips.

“So fucking tight,” he hissed, voice a thread of raw control. “Like you’ve been waiting for this cock your whole life.”

She clawed at the sheets, her back arching, thighs spreading wider in offering.

“I have,” she sobbed. “I have—please…”

He snapped his hips forward.

Buried to the base.

She screamed.

Not in pain—God, no. In shock. In pleasure so sharp it blurred her vision. Her pussy clenched around him, pulsing, adjusting, squeezing that thick shaft like it was made for her. And it was. Every inch of him—perfectly shaped to find every spot inside her that made her squirm and cry and beg.

He filled her. Stretched her. Claimed her.

Her cunt wrapped around him like a velvet vice, already dripping down his length, every pulse of her walls soaking him more.

He didn’t move.

Not yet.

Just leaned over her, lips brushing her ear, voice nothing but heat and sin.

“I’m going to fuck you slow,” he whispered. “Make you feel every inch. Make you forget every man who came before me. And when you come around my cock—screaming, shaking—I’m going to fill you up until you know you’re mine.”

Then he pulled back.

Slow. Deliberate.

She felt every ridge of him drag against her walls, the withdrawal a tease worse than denial. Her body tried to follow, tried to suck him back in.

And then—

He slammed forward again.

She cried out, stars bursting behind her eyes, fingers flying to grip his back as he set a rhythm. Slow. Deep. Devastating.

Her cunt took him, again and again, each thrust slicker, wetter, louder.

Her moans filled the room, broken and desperate.

His name—the one she didn’t even know—was on her tongue, falling from her lips like a prayer.

And all the while…

The mirror watched. Reflecting not just his body, but the power in it. The shadows that licked over her skin with every thrust. The way her body bowed for him—worshipped him.

He growled above her, cock pounding into her now, deep enough to make her toes curl.

“Say it again,” he snarled, fucking her harder now, his balls slapping against her ass, her wetness coating both of them.

“Yours!” she screamed. “I’m yours—I’m yours!”

“Forever,” he breathed, and kissed her throat like a brand.

And she came again.

Harder. Faster. Like her soul ripped through her skin and exploded.

And he never stopped.