I clench my thighs tight to help with the nerves, and it’s there. The need is right there. It’s never been more there than it is right now.
I thought my nightmares were as real as waking life, but I was wrong.
This is waking life. Waking life feels hyper real. Waking life is petrifying.
My terror is in my throat, even though I haven’t even left yet. My palms are clammy and my eyes look wild in the mirror as they stare back at me.
But I want it.
Even though I feel like a crazy person, I still want it. Him.
I try to calm myself in a cubicle, but it’s pointless. I’ve reached critical mass, fight or flight, so when I move again I do so with purpose – straight through the throng of dancing bodies and out the other side. I grab my jacket from the cloakroom attendant and smile politely at the security staff on the door.
I resist the urge to confess my stupidity and beg them to call me a cab, but it’s close. I daren’t even look back at them as I leave the lights of the club behind me.
So I walk.
Quickly.
Toward the darkness with my heart in my throat and my life in the hands of a stranger, until there are no lights left at all.PhoenixShe’s terrified.
So terrified that I doubted she’d ever leave that club on foot, but she did.
She’s been looking for me for hours. I enjoyed every frantic turn of her head. Every little jolt her body made when someone came too close.
Luckily, I know the shadows well enough that she’ll never see me, not before I want her to.
She didn’t see me in the truck in the car park. Didn’t see me hanging back far enough to remain out of eyeline as I followed her across the industrial estate.
She walked right past me on her way to the bathroom, brushed my arm on her route-march out of there.
As I follow at a distance, I wonder if she’ll fight. If she’ll spit and curse and scream. If she’ll claw at my face like Mariana did.
But she’s nothing like Mariana.
Abigail wears her vulnerability so perfectly. So easily.
Her steps are quick and frantic. I can feel her fear right through me.
The security of the club is long behind her when her pace begins to slow. The lighting around here is sparse at best, and her heels are perilous. She knows it.
I hang back, enjoying the view as she spins a 360 under a street lamp.
My cock is throbbing. The barbells grind against denim with every step I take. The beast is behind my eyes, straining to run wild. It takes every scrap of self-restraint to let her go just a little bit further.
And then I quicken.
I let her hear my footsteps on the tarmac in the shadows behind her, and then I stop.
She freezes. Listens. Pauses on the edge of flight.
Her terror captivates me.
My black swan is beautifully petrified.
There’s still a part of me that wants to watch her safely back to her car and leave her be, but I’m in too deep.
I need this just as much as she does. Maybe even more.
Fuck, how I fucking need this.
I savour that final perfect moment of stillness as I pull a coin from my inside pocket. My eyes are right on her as I flick it in her direction.
I wait for the ping as it lands.
She jumps. Starts. Freezes for one frantic heartbeat.
And then she runs.
Fuck, she fucking runs.
And so do I.
I know where she’s headed, even though she doesn’t. The adrenaline of the chase turns me into the monster she craves, and I know she hears me. I know she feels me.
I head to her left and she runs to the right. Runs further into the darkness.
The bait is snared.
Mine.
She’s herded like a lone little lamb and she has no fucking idea.
The ground turns rough under her heels. I watch her stumble and catch herself. There is elegance in her misstep.
She corrects herself quickly to keep on running, but she’s too late.
Much too late.
I go in for the kill.
The force of me knocks the breath from her as I slam into her back.
My hand clamps over her mouth and steals her scream.
I’m rough as I grip her tight to my chest. My arm is crushing as it snakes around her waist. I’m brutal as I lift her feet from the ground.
She sucks in air through her nose as she struggles for breath.
And I’m waiting. Ready for the fight. Waiting for the nails on my scalp and the assault as she flails.
But it doesn’t come.ElevenI would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.
Jack LondonAbigailIn my fantasies the monster always catches me from behind. He’s strong. Strong enough to pick me up as my legs flail.