Page 13 of Lustling

The grip on my arm is firm enough to bruise. I gasp, twisting instinctively, ready to lash out—until the face in front of me comes into focus.

Shawn.

The boy who left me empty, who only ever gave me crumbs. And now, suddenly, he wants me again.

“Shawn?” My eyes dart around the cramped space. Shelves line the walls, stacked with supplies—mops, paper towels, boxesof bleach. The air is heavy and stale, clinging to my lungs. “Where are we?”

“A closet,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing, like dragging me in here is perfectly normal.

His voice is smooth, but something about it is off.

Before I can ask, his mouth crashes onto mine. It’s too fast, too sudden, too much. His hands slide down my sides, groping my waist, dragging me back against the shelves until I feel the bite of wood through my dress.

The last time we were alone, he pulled away. Now he devours me.

A moan slips from my throat despite myself. Heat flares low in my belly. Then I hear the sound of his zipper. His hands slide up my shoulders, pressing gently but insistently, guiding me down.

Kneeling again.

Like in the dream. Like before the priest. Like penance. Like punishment.

But this isn’t holy.

“I need you,” he groans above me.

I should stop him. I should slap him. I should leave. But my body aches, hollow and raw. My skin hums like it’s tuned to someone else’s hands. I crave anything that might fill the void gnawing inside me.

So I give in.

Like I always do.

My lips part and wrap around his cock, my movements automatic, muscle memory of practiced sin. His fingers tighten in my hair, angling my head just the way he likes it.

He uses me.

And maybe I’m using him too, because nothing has sated me since the dream. Since that voice. Since that touch that scorchedmy soul. Even now—on my knees, his cock in my mouth—I’m waiting for something else.

Something darker.

He thrusts harder, rougher. His rhythm unravels, losing control. My throat stretches painfully, but I take it. Because I want to feel something. Anything.

Shadows shift. Something moves.

Behind him. Around me.

I feel it—a pressure behind my eyes, a presence that doesn’t blink. Watching. Feeding.

Shawn shudders, gasping as he releases into my mouth. The taste is bitter. Disappointing. I swallow mechanically.

He leans against the shelves, panting, while I stay on my knees. Still waiting. Still empty. Still hungry.

Shame flickers inside me. Used. And somehow—still wanting.

What is wrong with me?

Finally, Shawn slides down beside me, fastening his jeans. He touches my cheek with a gentleness I don’t trust.

“You okay?”