Page 11 of Dormeo

ASH

I am only a man, and not even a good one at that.

Pacing back and forth across the dark stone floor of my living room, I frown, suspicious of this gift that’s been dropped into my lap.

Is this a trap?

It seems uncharacteristically generous of my father to leave such a valuable asset in my possession.

He must know the potential she possesses, and the power that pulses through her veins.

Or he would, if he’d met her, but her constant state of unconsciousness may have prevented him from realising how strong she is.

Even now, she’s already slipped into sleep. The potion that her father gave her leaves her unable to stay awake for more than brief periods of time.

A demon like me could spend all day playing with her mind, growing more and more powerful as dreams feed me. And I’d enjoy every minute of it, too. With her pale blonde hair and gentle curves, she’s exactly the kind of woman a demon could lose himself in.

And my father knows that.

The question is whether he's really just too busy to concern himself with keeping her alive, or is he up to something I won’t approve of and wants to keep me distracted.

Or more likely, maybe he’s hoping I’ll indulge myself, and then he can rub my failure in my face when we hand her back to her father as a vastly different woman than when she arrived.

Whatever he’s up to, it really is a genius plan.

Even now, the tiny shred of concern I had about using my powers to tamper with her dreams is fading. I am a demon. It's not in my nature to do the right thing when a golden opportunity such as this presents itself.

Especially when the subject of my dream-walking seems so eager for satisfaction anyway. She won’t be harmed, after all. I’d wager she’ll be more than open to my subliminal suggestions.

Drawing in another deep breath, I curse.

Her innocence perfumes the air, made all the more alluring by the near constant state of arousal she’s in.

Really, I'd be putting her out of her misery.

And when my imagination strays into conjuring up exactly what scene I might play out to give her the greatest release, and me, the largest boost of power, I know that I’m done for.

It’s a case of when and not if.

She need never know. I have the experience to create any visage I want when I infiltrate her dreams. The person who delivers her orgasms doesn't even have to be me. I could generate a tall, handsome prince, with charm and wealth, probably exactly who she thinks she wants.

And yet, I don't want to.

Twisted though it might be, I want her to be uncertain tomorrow. I want to see her when she knows that she came from my touch, on my hands, on my tongue, around my cock, even if it’s all just a dream.

I saw the way her hungry eyes roamed over my body. The idea of a noble woman like her finding a creature like me desirable is absurd. She should be repulsed, yet she touched me .

I saw her pupils dilate and heard her breathing pick up.

She liked it. She desires me. She may be innocent and destined for a life far from here, but I want to give her more, to let her play with her desires, to venture into the unknown, before reality sets back in and steals her back to her mundane existence.

I come to a halt facing her bedroom. There’s only one way to find out if she’s as powerful as I predict. I need to know what I’m dealing with, so I can figure out my father’s plans for her.

It’s research, that’s all. Research that we’ll both get something out of. I’m not hurting her.

Unease settles over me as I stride over to the heavy wooden door and push it open. Not because of the morals of what I’m about to do, but because I already know how much I’m going to enjoy it.

In the gloom, I see her blankets tossed aside as if she’s burning up. Her nightdress has risen up her thighs, exposing pale, toned legs. I grip the doorway as primal lust takes hold within me.

Just her dreams Ash, nothing more.

As I step inside, the scent of her arousal strengthens, and I close my eyes, knowing she’s growing wetter, even in sleep. Even without me meddling, she’s dreaming sexy dreams.

Her thighs press together, sliding back and forth, seeking friction where there is none.

They demand to be parted.

Nothing should hide her from me. Not when she's dripping her desire onto my bedsheets.

A dark compulsion to know what turns her on has me in its thrall. Will she be shy and submissive, or wild and free?

Without realising I've moved, I’m at her bedside, my fingers sliding through her tousled blonde strands as she lies there, unaware of my presence.

She whimpers, writhing under my gaze, and that breathy little moan, one that speaks of desire and frustration, is my undoing.

Leaning closer, I trail a dark finger along her collarbone, humming in satisfaction at the silky smoothness of her skin.

She's soft where I'm hard, pale and pure, where I'm dark and damaged.

I want to know what her innocence would taste like on my tongue, to be the one to ruin her for all others.

These possessive thoughts should concern me, and pull me back from the brink, but against all my common sense, Instead, I ignore them. I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my chest, and focus on easing myself into her thoughts without waking her.

While I’ve done this before, it was as a means to an end, a way of restoring my power, when all other avenues were exhausted.

I’ve never felt so personally invested in what I discovered when I entered someone’s mind. If she's dreaming of another man, a lover from the human realm, I can't promise I won't hunt him down and rip his limbs from his body, one by one.

Both in her dreams and reality.

I know this is going to end badly, but I couldn’t stop now, even if I wanted to.

I tell myself that I’m helping her, giving her an outlet for the desire growing inside her each day she remains here. This should take the edge off for both of us, because the alternative is me giving in to my very real desire for her and taking her during her waking hours.

This will ease my curiosity and sate her hunger, for a while, at least.

My little Rose needs to be taken care of. And while I can’t take her flower while she’s under my watch, I can perhaps strip her of a petal or two.

I relax and slip into her dreams quietly without disturbing her. Instantly, I’m struck by the force of her need. It’s raw, all-consuming, but more powerful than that, and I feel her impatience at the climax that remains disappointingly out of reach.

“Shh, Rose. Show me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

With a wicked smile, I delve deeper into her mind, trying to see what her subconscious has conjured up for her to enjoy.

She’s here, in my quarters, but not in my bed.

I struggle to follow her chain of thought, the images fracturing and rejoining before I can get a grip on what she’s seeing. And feeling.

No wonder she can’t come. There’s no consistency, no rhythm.

My sofa. Rose naked. Her hand between her thighs. She’s turned on, eager and wanting more. The picture of her on my actual sofa is hard to shake.

But then the image fractures, and suddenly, I'm watching her from above, her lips parted, her eyes wide open as she gasps for breath, fingers clawing at the black leather of the cushions beneath her.

“Yes, yes,” she chants , and I growl, enjoying how eagerly she rocks her hips forward against her hand, wanting more and more.

I wait with bated breath for her to fall apart before my eyes.

But instead, her release slips from her grasp again, and she cries out in anger, unable to maintain the fantasy in her head.

“Ash.” She moans in frustration, digging her hands into her hair and tugging hard, her back arching up off the couch, and her knees drawing up.

My chest swells, and something dangerous unfurls inside me as she calls my name. My little Rose is already using me to fuel her dreams before I've even had the chance to interfere.

I knew she liked what she saw.

A new feeling, far more unsettling than pride, blossoms inside me, and instead of being concerned, I let it consume me, welcoming it. My tail curls up, wrapping itself around her thigh, parting her legs on the bed, so her small hand can find her clit and stroke it in real life.

In her dreams, I settle myself over her on the couch and run my thumb over her bottom lip.

“I’m here,” I whisper, and she stills, sighing contentedly, all her agitated movement calmed by that tiny touch.

She waits to see what I'll do next, intoxicatingly compliant and submissive after just one featherlight caress.

When I press our lips together, tasting her, letting our breaths mingle so I can breathe in her very essence, she sighs, and her entire body relaxes.

Rose lazily stretches her arms up over her head and spreads her body out for me, completely at my mercy, presenting herself and allowing me to do whatever I want.

In reality, her hand reaches out, and her fingers stroke my thigh, dangerously close to my rock-hard erection.

My tail slips between her damp thighs as I grip the edge of the bed, restraining the urges that burn within me.

I could plunge its tip deep within her, but I'll have to settle for penetrating her mind.

In her dreams, Rose reaches for me, pleading with me to give her what she needs.

Then it hits me. She doesn’t know how to dream about her orgasm, because she’s never had one, or not with a man, anyway.

My little Rose is begging me to play with her, to show her how.

I may not be a gentleman, but I can do one thing for her. I can show her how she deserves to be taken and just how good it can be, so she’ll expect more than human men will typically cough up for their partners.

With a wicked smile, I focus all of my attention on seizing complete control of her dream, making sure that she can see it’s now me, a demon, settled between her thighs, ready to make all of her deepest, darkest desires become a reality, in her mind, at least.

This is no longer a fantasy she’s using to fuel her arousal, but the real thing.

“What do you want, Rose?” I ask, letting my hand run up her thigh before gently pushing her legs apart, revealing her perfect pussy and glistening bud to me in the glowing light of her imaginary fire.

“I... I don't know.”

With a victorious smile, I use my thumbs to open her up to me, lazily dragging a fingertip through her swollen entrance and relishing how she wriggles beneath me. As I lean closer and lick her clit, my little Rose gasps, and I know for certain this is a pleasure she has never known before.

"What are you doing?" she gasps, trying to scramble away from me, but my fingers clamp down around her ankle and hold her in place while I devour her, my tongue stroking her sensitive clit as I swirl a finger around the entrance to her tight channel. "That's... that's... oh my god."

My dark chuckle vibrates through her, and she cries out at the overwhelming sensations bombarding her. Using my tail to wrap around her waist and keep her from moving, I double my efforts, determined to have every nerve in her body singing before I let pleasure overtake her.

"God? I’m definitely not that, my little Rose. But I can still take you to heaven."