Emperor of Rage: Chapter 11

I stir in my sleep, my mind foggy, drifting somewhere between dreamland and consciousness. Mal’s hands are on me—firm, rough, his fingers tracing over my body like it’s his to claim.

His hot skin presses against mine, his body heavy and chiseled and solid. It’s a sensation I’ve felt before, somewhere in the murky haze of my unconscious—a twisted blend of fear and desire, swirling together until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

I moan softly, my body instinctively arching into his touch.

I know this is a dream.

Yet again.

But even if the person my mind has chosen as the main character of this particular sex dream is a complete psychopath who may or may not have some of the most damning, dangerous leverage over me possible, that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it, right?

Right.

So I let myself sink into the black, swirling heat of his touch. I allow myself to let go, to moan and writhe as yet another of the dark, twisted dreams drags me under.

Maybe I’ll wake up confused and ashamed again.

…Maybe it’s worth it.

I whimper when his hands forcefully cup my breasts, his fingers pinching, twisting, and tugging on my aching nipples through my cotton t-shirt, brutalizing them and bringing a cry of pleasure to my choked throat.

One hand pushes lower, slowly, deliberately, sliding down over my stomach. He cups my pussy through my sleep shorts and panties, and when I feel a thick finger drag dangerously up my slit, I shamelessly lift my hips to press my sex harder against him.

“Such a greedy little whore,” he murmurs quietly.

“Fuck yes,” I murmur back, my eyes squeezed shut as he rubs my clit through my panties.

I pout when the hand pulls away from between my legs, sliding back up my body and pinching a nipple before wrapping around my throat.

“Choke me,” I gasp, shivering darkly as his thumb drags back and forth over my pulse point.

He laughs, his tone black and grating as he starts to squeeze.

He doesn’t give me everything I want. The hand loosens again, sliding up to cup my jaw. I feel his thumb drag across my lips, as if my brain is replaying the sinful exchange from the darkened office that first night our paths crossed.

Slowly, back and forth, his thumb smears across my lower lip, as if getting me ready. A second later, I feel his thumb slide away, only to be replaced by two thick fingers.

I whimper when his other hand grabs a fistful of my hair at the back of my head, twisting my head sideways as the two fingers push between my lips and into my mouth.

“Suck,” he commands. “Suck like a good whore. Show me how you’re going to suck my cock later.”

I moan eagerly around his intruding fingers, sucking them greedily like a porn star. My cheeks hollow, my lips sealed tight around them, and my tongue wantonly swirls around them as they thrust into my mouth.

“Such a good little cocksucker,” he growls darkly.

Fuck.

It should enrage me to be called that. But the filthy words mixed with the golden praise is like a drug to me. It eggs me on, making me moan louder as I greedily slurp on his fingers, the sound echoing in my ears.

Wait.

Something feels different this time.

The touch is too real, too solid. I can feel the weight of him sitting next to me, his breath hot on my neck.

Taste his fingers in my mouth.

Oh holy fuck…

My eyes snap open, shattering the fog of sleep in an instant.

I’m not dreaming.

A wave of terror crashes over me as reality explodes into the forefront of my brain. Mal is here—actually, literally, right fucking here—sitting on the edge of my bed, the fingers of one hand between my lips. His other hand is tangled in my hair, pinning me in place.

My wide, horrified eyes dart to the side, instantly locking with his icy, crystal blue ones.

Holy fucking shit.

My body jerks and spasms as I try to jump out of bed.

But I can’t.

Mal barely looks like he’s registered that I’m trying to get away from him. But his hand tightens painfully in my hair, sending lightning bolts exploding through my scalp as he keeps me pinned to the sheets. His fingers push deeper into my mouth in a lazy, deliberate motion, stroking in and out.

In and out.

It’s not just his hands pinning me to the bed. It’s those eerie blue eyes and the wild fierceness behind them, turning me to stone. My eyes lock with his, my pulse roaring in my ears as his fingers keep sensually fucking my mouth.

“Good morning, Freya,” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous, and perfectly calm as he leans over me.

There’s a twisted amusement in his tone, like he’s enjoying every second of my confusion, relishing every ounce of power he has over me.

I tremble beneath him, my breath shaky and uneven around his fingers. I try again to pull away, but it’s useless. He tightens his grip on my hair, leaning over me, leaving no room for escape.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Mal growls, his voice a dark rasp, thick with anger. “I don’t like being ignored.”

My pulse races, my mind scrambling to make sense of what’s happening. But there’s no room for rational thought. I’m trapped by an actual fucking psychopath.

And he’s enjoying it.

“Trying to tell yourself that you hate this?” Mal’s voice is thick with mockery, his lips brushing against my ear. “That you want to push me away and say no to this?”

I can’t form words. My throat has closed up. Every instinct is screaming at me to fight, to flee, but I’m paralyzed. And my body—God, my body—is betraying me. I can feel the pull, the twisted craving for his touch.

Mal’s fingers slowly slide out of my mouth, leaving a trail of warmth along my cheek. His eyes are locked on mine, a terrifying, dark hunger in them that makes my stomach twist.

“That’s just the world’s expectations talking,” he murmurs, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper. “The lies you tell yourself because you so desperately want to be normal.”

His hand shifts, cupping my chin, forcing my gaze to stay riveted to his. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes me want to disappear, to collapse under the weight of his attention as he strokes his thumb across my swollen bottom lip.

“But you and I both know the truth, don’t we, Freya?” His voice drops to a soft growl, so low it sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re not normal. And neither. Am. I.”

The words hit like a blow, sharp and unforgiving. Deep down, I know he’s right. He sees something in me, something I’ve been hiding for so long I barely remember it’s there. Something dark. Something twisted.

“Don’t put on that mask for me,” he continues, his voice firm, commanding. “That fake good-girl bullshit. I see right fucking through it. I see you.”

His fingers find my lips again, slipping between them, reminding me that he’s in control and there’s no escape. My body tenses up, every muscle tight, and before I can stop myself, I bite down.

Hard.

I taste the metallic tang of copper, and feel his skin break beneath my teeth.

Mal doesn’t flinch.

At. All.

His lips just curl into a dark, twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “If you think that’s going to do anything but turn me on even more, you’re mistaken.”

A wave of fear crashes over me, stronger this time. He likes this. My fear, my futile resistance, my powerlessness. No matter what I do, or how hard I fight back, he’s still in control.

“But,” he adds, his voice dropping lower, softer, “I’m not in the mood for blood today.”

I tremble under his gaze, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“You see, I know what you want, Freya,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down my body, teasing, testing. “I know what you crave. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out his words. Then I feel his fingers drag down the soft slope of my breast through my t-shirt. I bite down hard on my lip to stop the whimper when he pinches my throbbing, aching nipple, giving it a cruel twist that sends electricity throbbing through my core before he lets his hand wander lower.

My body trembles, my mind spinning in a vortex of shame and desire.

“You want control,” Mal whispers, his hand sliding even lower, pushing me closer to the edge. “But you also want to lose it. Completely. With me. So be a good girl…”

His hand suddenly moves away from where it’s been lingering by my stomach and slides across the sheets to my hand. His fingers tangle with mine, gripping them firmly and bringing them back to rest against my stomach again, still laced with his.

Confusion furrows my brow, stilling my racing pulse for a moment.

…Until he starts to push my hand—our hands—lower.

I tremble and shake as he guides my fingers over my ribs, my stomach. He uses his thumb to lift the waist of my shorts and the lace of my thong before he pulls my hand with his underneath them both.

Something explosive pulses inside of me, so intense I feel like I might pass out. My fingers and his glide over my skin, over the soft mound of my sex, until suddenly, with a stifled gasp, I feel both our fingers pushing wetly down through the soft, silky lips of my pussy.

“Feel what a fucking mess you’ve made,” he growls, his fingers curling mine against my pussy and bringing a sharp gasping cry to my lips. “Soaking your panties like a dirty little whore. Now, let’s see just how fucking greedy this little cunt is…”

There’s no preamble. No easing into things. In one motion, he pushes my index finger and his to my opening and rams them deep inside.

The thing is, he doesn’t need to ease into things. I’m so fucking soaked that both of our fingers sink easily, if snugly, inside.

Fucking deep inside.

I cry out, choking back a moan as my thighs instinctively clamp shut. But I instantly jolt, biting down sharply on my lip as Mal slaps my legs apart again. His hand curls both of our fingers with a stroking, coaxing motion, rubbing against my g-spot, making my eyes roll back in my head. He pulls my finger out, rubbing it over my clit alongside his before he rams them both back inside.

“You’ve got such a fucking tight little pussy, Freya,” he murmurs darkly. “I can just imagine the way it would squeeze the life out of my cock—if I could even fit it all inside you.”

I moan, shaking as he starts to finger me faster, and harder, sending me reeling as the room spins around me.

“I’ll make it fit, though, Freya,” he growls. “Even if I have to bury it down your throat first and get it nice and wet before I push it into this fucking tight little cunt.”

Tears burn in my eyes, my throat tight with shame and something dark that I don’t want to admit as he starts to pump our fingers in and out of my aching, needy pussy. He wipes the tears away with his thumb, his touch almost tender, as if he knows exactly how far to push and when to stop.

“I’ll show you how,” he breathes darkly. “I’ll teach you.”

His hands move with precision, guiding me. My body follows his lead without question, without hesitation. I’m helpless under his touch, unable to deny the pull of him, his dark, twisted magnetism that’s slowly breaking me down.

“Are you having trouble?” Mal’s voice is almost mocking, but there’s a sharp edge to it. “Let me help.”

His fingers move with brutal efficiency, pushing me closer, each touch sending waves of heat and shame crashing over me. I gasp, my body betraying me again, responding to him in ways I can’t stop.

I don’t want to stop them. Not anymore.

“That’s it,” he growls softly. “Let go. You’re mine, Freya. Every fucking part of you, including this messy little pussy. It isn’t even your pussy anymore,” he snarls darkly. “It’s my fucking pussy. And when I want it to come, it will fucking come, is that clear?”

All I can do is blubber and whimper something possibly resembling an answer in the affirmative as I nod my head. I can feel my mouth going slack, my back arching and writhing as my entire core, my entire being, crumbles under his touch and his words.

“So be a good little whore,” he snarls right into my ear as our fingers curl deep inside of me. “And fucking come for me, right the fuck now.”

My vision blurs as the pressure builds inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until I can’t hold on anymore. And then, with one final, commanding touch, he pulls the trigger, shattering me completely.

Suddenly, I’m falling, tumbling into the abyss, my body exploding with sensation, my mind going blank as everything else fades away.

No fear. No shame. Just the raw, overwhelming release of everything he’s built up inside me.

Then it’s over.

I collapse back onto the bed, my body spent. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my chest as I try to piece myself back together. I’m not sure how long I lie like that, my entire body tingling and quivering, my eyes squeezed shut as I try and comprehend what just happened.

Slowly I blink, my vision clearing as I open my eyes.

I stiffen.

Mal is gone.

And no, it wasn’t another excruciatingly vivid dream. The sheets are still warm from where he was sitting on the edge of my bed. My body can still feel where I’m stretched from our fingers inside me, and mine are still sticky and wet.

But he’s disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the weight of what just happened.

I pull the covers over my body, my hands trembling as I curl into a ball, my mind reeling. Shame floods over, acrid and bitter.

I let him take control. I wanted him to. Now I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop him from doing so again.

And the most fucked up part?

I’m not sure I want to.