1

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.

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