“Mmm…” I moan.

“There.” Dark sadism coats his words. “Your true colors are showing. You like being taken and owned. You like being fucked like it’s your first and last. That’s what you strive to feel on the stage, too, isn’t it?” He leans down and traps the lobe of my ear between his teeth and whispers hot words, “To completely let go.”

My back arches off the bed in preparation for the orgasm.

The detonating pleasure is within my grasp. Just a little more and I’m about to reach it.

I startle awake.

For a second, I don’t know what just happened. Adrian isn’t on top of me and my fingers are rubbing against my aching pussy.

Holy shit.

Was that…a dream?

My hair sticks to my temples with sweat, and my heart beats so erratically, I’m surprised it doesn’t leap out of my chest.

It’s not news that my dreams are visceral. I used to hallucinate about them, too. That’s why I had to come up with a coping mechanism and test my pain threshold to know if they were real or not.

My cheeks heat at the fact that I was touching myself to that dream.

I remove my hand from my most intimate part with a jerk, the act shaming me to my bones.

“It must be uncomfortable to stop right before an orgasm.”

I freeze, my eyes widening as I slowly turn my head to the side. There’s no way in hell what I heard is correct. It must be some play of my imagination. Maybe I’m associating this with my dream.

Maybe I’m trapped in that dream again.

Because nothing could explain the scene in front of me.

Adrian sits on the chair at my vanity, beside the bed, his legs crossed at the ankles. His coat is lying on the armrest and both of his shirtsleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing taut forearms fully covered with black ink.

Soft morning light comes from the balcony, but it doesn’t make his features less harsh or consuming. It takes nothing away from the face I was just dreaming about.

He taps his index finger on his thigh at a moderate pace. The look in his eyes is dark, focused, and says a thousand words without him having to utter a sound.

But no, this isn’t real.

I reach a hand down and pinch my thigh. Pain explodes on my skin and I wince.

Adrian doesn’t disappear.

Oh, God. Why is he not disappearing?

His gaze zeroes in on my hand that’s still on my thigh and something passes in it before he slides it back to my face.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is barely a whisper while I struggle to process the scene.

“I drove you home after you got drunk last night.”

I sit up and groan when a headache nearly splits my temples open. Memories of last night slowly filter back in, like I’m watching myself through a snow globe.

My eyes widen.

I kissed him.

Well, he kissed me, but I kissed him back. Then we got into his car, and then…black.

I stare at myself under the duvet, and I’m mortified to find that I’m in only my leotard and its snaps are open, revealing my aching pussy. My clothes are scattered by the side of the bed.

Pulling the cover to my chin, I fight the heat in my cheeks as my gaze flits back to him.

Adrian. The devil who found his way into my apartment.

He remains calm—nonchalant, even—as if he didn’t just witness me in that state or watch me orgasm.

I pause, my heart thundering.

Wait.

He watched me orgasm? That was also a dream—it must’ve been. There’s no way in hell I orgasmed in front of him.

Right?

“You were here all along?” I ask cautiously, almost fearfully.

“Correct.”

“How did you get in?”

“You told me the code.”

Why can’t I remember that? And why the hell did I get drunk in the first place? I already know why—to loosen up, but was it worth this price?

“Did something else happen?”

He raises a brow. “Such as?”

“Like… Like…”

“Asking me to fuck you and touching yourself to orgasm when I didn’t?”

I can feel the color drain from my face, and I wish I could become one with the floor.

Adrian rises to his feet and my head snaps up when he stands beside me. “Now that you’re not drunk, I can oblige.”

“I didn’t mean it,” I blurt.

“Didn’t mean it?”

“Yes, those words were meaningless.”

“Do you often touch yourself and orgasm to meaningless words, Lia?” He takes my hand in his, the same one that was between my legs, and lifts it to his face.

Shame heats my cheeks when he inhales my scent deeply into his lungs. “Isn’t that the ultimate contradiction?”

I pull my hand from his, fast and rushed, as if I’m saving it from catching fire.

His arm falls to his side with infinite carelessness, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t leave. He remains there, watching, looming.

My feelings disperse all over the place; my heart is still buzzing, thundering, with nothing to anchor it in its ribcage.

“I don’t want this,” I mutter.

“Seems that the drunk you is more honest than the sober you.”

“Are you going to make me participate in sexual activities with you?”

“Make you?” he repeats, slight amusement shining in his eyes. “Do you remember what I said last night?”

I rack my brain over what he might have mentioned, and my cheeks burn further with every recollection of my lustful acts. I can’t believe I asked him if he’d fuck me.

God, I nearly begged him for it.

Where was my survival perimeter? If he’d complied, would I have let him screw me?

I shoo the answer to that question away. I really don’t want to know what I would’ve done in that situation.

“Do you remember?” he insists with that calm that I don’t believe for a second. This man is able to wreck lives without blinking an eye.

I nod.

“Use your words, Lia.”

“I remember,” I murmur.

“What did I say?”

“You’re not a rapist.”

“Correct. What else did I say?”

I stare at him, confused.

“After that, what did I say? I know you remember.”

“That you’d deal with me in the morning.” The words leave my mouth in a whisper.