A Wicked Dream

Clara

Ten words pounded through my drunken skull like a heavy drumbeat.

*I am going to suck a dick in my dream.*

I knelt on the plush mattress, the world spinning in slow circles around me. My face hovered inches from the stranger's hips, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his bare skin. The only thing guarding his privacy was a thin white bath towel, tied loose and hanging low on his waist.

If this were reality, I would never do this. No matter how shattered I felt after Dominic threw our life away. No matter how much cheap whiskey burned in my veins. My pride ran deep. When Dominic stopped touching me, I never begged. I never chased. I certainly would never grovel at the feet of a random stranger, regardless of how breathtaking he looked.

In a dream, normal rules did not apply.

My starved body was not crying for another drink. It was crying for touch, for friction, for the release I had been denied for years. This fantasy gave me what real life refused to deliver. I was staring at a man carved from dark ink and muscle. Dominic was a scrawny boy playing dress-up compared to him. This stranger was mature, wide across the shoulders, and wrapped in raw authority. His heavy stare made my core clench tight, sending an electric throb straight between my legs.

He looked like a predator assessing a meal. If this was what an older man offered, I never wanted to wake up.

Something hard nudged against the side of my face.

I froze. A sudden jolt shot straight down my spine. The contact was solid, hot, and heavy.

I leaned back slightly, trying to steady my vision, and let my gaze drop down his torso. My jaw went slack. My eyes went wide at the sight.

Under the thin cotton towel, a massive outline strained against the fabric. The shape of his cock was unmistakable, ridged and thick, resting heavy against his thigh.

No human being was built like that. My only frame of reference was Dominic. Dominic was brief, small, and disappointing. Sex with Dominic meant two minutes of friction in the dark followed by an apology or an excuse. That explained why I never reached an orgasm. That explained why sex always felt like an empty chore.

This stranger belonged to a different species. He looked like something from an illicit novel, built to break a woman open and leave her ruined.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it. I reached out and dragged my fingers along the hot, heavy length under the towel.

"So big..." I muttered under my breath.

The second my skin met the fabric, his entire body went rigid.

In a heartbeat, he moved. His large hand closed around both of my wrists, jerking them upward. He slammed them against the mattress above my head with an iron grip that knocked the air straight out of my lungs. My back hit the sheets, and his solid weight followed instantly, pinning me down. The thick ridge of his cock pressed hard against my bare inner thigh, scorching me through the thin fabric.

I gasped, my breath hitching in my throat. His other hand slid up from my ribcage and clamped around my neck. He did not squeeze the life out of me. He simply took hold, his long fingers firm against my skin, forcing my chin back until my gaze locked with his hazel eyes.

A normal woman would panic. My heart hammered, but not from fear. A rush of slick heat flooded my lower belly, pooling between my legs. I swallowed hard, staring into his pupils. The hunger in his expression made my skin prickle with goosebumps.

"How old?" His voice was low, rough as gravel.

I blinked up at him, my senses swimming in a warm, hazy fog. "What do you mean?"

His fingers pressed a fraction deeper into my throat, his thumb resting over my pulse. His jaw hardened, his gaze turning sharp and unforgiving.

"How old are you?" he demanded.

The command tore through my drunken stupor, but instead of backing down, a reckless pulse pushed me over the edge. I was asleep. This was my head, my playground, my hallucination. I let a slow, wicked smile spread across my mouth, tilting my head against his palm.

"Old enough to be your daughter. Why does that matter to you?"

I shifted my hips, deliberately dragging the bare skin of my upper thigh along the huge bulge tenting his towel. The contact was blistering.

"Does that turn you on?"

His eyebrow twitched, a faint shadow of dark amusement crossing his features. That tiny reaction fueled my boldness. I parted my lips and ran my tongue over my upper teeth, watching his gaze track the movement.

"Do you get off on control? Do you like the daddy vibes? Do you want me to call you Daddy?"

The word tore right through his restraint. Beneath the terrycloth, his heavy cock gave a hard, visible jerk. It twitched against my skin, swelling even thicker, straining the fabric to its limit.

The sight made my mouth water. The ache between my thighs flared into a demanding pulse. I parted my lips to throw another taunt at him, to see just how far I could push the man towering over me.

Before another syllable escaped, he shifted his weight. His thumb left my throat and pressed hard against my lips, sealing my mouth shut. The scent of soap and cedar filled my nostrils.

"I will not repeat myself. Answer the question."

His voice stayed flat, devoid of any shouting, yet the cold edge in his tone made my stomach drop in pure submission. The vibration of his command rattled down my spine. The playful rebellion drained out of me, replaced by an overwhelming urge to obey him.

"Twenty-three," I whispered against the pad of his thumb.

The admission hung in the cool air of the suite. He held my gaze for three long seconds, searching my eyes to confirm I told the truth.

He released my face. His grip left my wrists, and he pushed himself upright, sitting back on his haunches before rising to his feet beside the mattress. The bed shifted as his weight left it, leaving me cold and exposed on the sheets.

He lifted a hand and dragged his fingers back through his damp, dark hair. He looked down at me sprawled beneath him, his expression turning cold, detached, and utterly dangerous. His cock remained tented beneath the towel, hard as stone and begging for friction.

"Twenty-three," he muttered, shaking his head. "I guess I'll go raw this time around, since there are no condoms in the room."