Page 5

FIVE

Ashley

Talking to Andy always made me feel better; it helped put things in perspective when I stressed. I was lucky we were still such good friends and there was no ugly break-up. Wrapping my blankets around my semi-content self, I settled on my pillow, with my conscience mostly eased. Sleep came quickly.

When I woke up, everything was different. It took me a moment to realize what was wrong, but when I grabbed the comforter, it was the wrong color. It was obvious in the meager light streaming through the window. Mine was dark gray with little black flower buds printed on it but the one covering me was a reddish color. I blinked and then rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and when I glanced back down, the blanket was still foreign.

When I turned to switch on my nightstand light, I was stunned. My cheap Ikea lamp had been replaced by some overly fancy brass contraption with a bunch of arms scrolling upward into a fancy lampshade with little beads hanging off it. It was super nice, but not mine. Sitting up, I took in the entire space around me. How I’d come to be here, I had no idea.

My first thought was I’d been kidnapped and relocated. Who would want to kidnap me? Good luck getting past Andy.

My second thought was I’d sleepwalked in my semi-drunken state. However, I hadn’t really drank that much, maybe three drinks. Certainly not enough to go on off on an adventure.

The room was pretty close to how I’d design a room if I’d been in charge, so it looked like it could’ve been mine—in another life. The design was like I was in a castle, or French chateau, maybe. I wasn’t confident I could identify a palace in France but whatever this style was, I loved it.

The bed had four posters made of a dark, molded wood that spiraled nearly to the ceiling to hold up a canopy. Its curtains were tied back, and I was against stacks of plush pillows. All of the material matched the comforter, and the effect was lush and elegant.

Shoving the covers off, I slid to the side of the bed and noticed I wasn’t even wearing my own clothes. The black satin nightgown I had on was just about floor-length, held up by spaghetti straps and had delicate lace edging along the bodice.

The room’s walls were solid wood panels and bore brass wall sconces, gilded mirrors, and shelves with flowing floral arrangements. A standing wood-trimmed mirror sat in one corner, and the rest of the space was taken up by a gorgeous dresser with elaborate scrollwork, a few other small bureaus, and a velvet couch with mahogany trim.

The yellow light of the room was soothing, comforting, and soft heat came from a lit fireplace across from the end of the bed. My bare feet hit the floor and where I expected it to be cold, it somehow wasn’t.

I walked over to the window that had a deep sill and reached for the glass panel. Metal grating was laced across it, forming diamond-shapes. Wherever I was, this place was perfect. I couldn’t have come up with anything better if I’d had my own construction contractor. My little inner goth girl was thrilled.

It was when I looked up that I realized none of my surroundings were real. The moon hung abnormally low in the sky; I could distinctly see its pock marks and craters. The blue light it beamed down highlighting the forest was anything but natural.

In the distance, there seemed to be a second moon, but too many trees were blocking the view to be able to say for sure. The hyper-reality of the scene shot goosebumps across my skin, and I shivered.

Was I dreaming? I had to be. I hadn’t done any drugs or drank much at all for it to be anything else.

Turning around, I took in the whole room a second time, expecting something to change. If I was asleep, was I going to wake up? Any minute now, right?

I set myself on the edge of the bed and stomped my feet against the floor. Nothing. I didn’t jar myself awake. There’d been a couple times in the past where I’d found myself awake inside dreams but the moment I’d realized it; I’d wake up. But I didn’t really want to wake up right now since this place, this dream, was so beautiful.

I was headed for the couch when I saw a bottle of wine and two glasses on a sideboard. After I popped the container open, I poured some of the red liquid and settled on the sofa, facing the fire, with my legs tucked beneath me. Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back, allowing the warmth to wash over me and just enjoy the dream.

Suddenly, something brushed my neck, and I startled, nearly spilling my drink. It was whisked away from me before I dropped it and I held perfectly still, squeezing my eyes shut. The touch wrapped around me, cupping me, and I didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Ashley,” I heard a voice. “You’re here.”

I’d recognize that voice anywhere. It was bad enough being screwed with in real life, now I had to deal with the devil in my dreams. Was there no rest for the weary?

“Get out of my dream,” I said.

I fully expected him to disappear. Everyone knew you could order the monsters in your nightmare to go away. We all learned that at a young age, taught by our parents. Considering the number of bad dreams I’d had as a kid; I knew the tactic my mother instilled in me was effective.

My eyes opened and he was still leaning over me. “No,” Micha said, blowing my childhood lesson to smithereens.

Right now, he didn’t look nearly as threatening as he did in the office. He was softer, somehow, less intense. It didn’t feel like his eyes would laser me into the floor.

His hand pulled away and he circled the couch, stopping directly in front of me.

Micha was dressed all in black, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and the top couple buttons of his shirt undone. His hair hung loosely around his head, except for where he’d tucked it behind one ear. I spotted a couple earrings—a diamond stud and a small gold loop. He had rings on some of his fingers, decked with dark-colored jewels. None of which I remembered seeing before.

“You’re wearing jewelry,” I said. “Too bad you didn’t in real life.” I’d only ever noticed the occasional watch that probably cost more than my whole life.

That included my organs, if I chose to sell them on the black market.

“You’d really eat my heart, wouldn’t you?” I asked, remembering what he’d said before. There was no harm taking out my frustration on him with antagonistic questions when he wasn’t real.

Micha frowned lightly and stepped forward, lowering himself to the cushion beside me. “I’d devour you, if I could,” he said.

“I’m too crunchy. Lots of bones. And I eat junk food; you’d be poisoned instantly. A lot different from that fancy, organic grass-fed shit you and Josiah and Della eat.”

The man was too close for my comfort. I could practically feel the hunger emanating from him. Desire vibrated all around, almost visible in the air as if it were a living, breathing entity. My leg started shaking, as my anxiety physically manifested. Everything felt charged with electricity. Micha placed his hand on my thigh, holding it in place, and then he started massaging the muscle.

Warmth coursed through me, under his touch, traveling through my veins and lulling me into deep relaxation. His efforts moved higher up my leg and the heat began centering between my legs making me more and more pliable. A heavy fullness gathered in my groin, dampening my underwear and I grabbed his hand, stilling it.

He was too close for comfort, and this was all much too weird. We hated each other—we didn’t turn each other on or have any physical contact, did we? I needed him to back off; I didn’t want to let him in.

He froze when my palm pushed at his chest, and I glanced up. He met my gaze, his own full of mercury and mist, swirling all the colors of an incoming thunderstorm. A warning was buried there, beneath the allure, evidenced by the narrowing of his eyes and the stiff set of his jaw. He didn’t want to stop having his way with me.

Micha slid his hand along the silk of my nightgown, fondling the soft fabric, before he squeezed my thigh. He switched his touch from one leg to the other, caressing and massaging. I felt like a work of art. Admired, revered, and marveled at. His focus was intense and the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world he wanted.

His lips parted on a sigh just before letting go and his grasp moved to my hips. My breath was trapped in my lungs and my heart hammered beneath my ribcage.

Before I knew what had happened, he had me flipped onto my back... and then he tore the front of my nightgown down. I was stunned. Was this what I wanted? It must’ve been. I wasn’t making any moves to stop him, entirely wrapped up in his touch.

Micha lowered his face and kissed my chest, sucking, licking, and nipping at my breasts. He shivered a moment while he lavished his attention on me and I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him against me.

I’d missed the moment where this became okay, where I wasn’t terrified of him, and wanted to be close to him. It’d all changed in an instant and I grappled for the familiar disgust and hatred, but it was frustratingly out of reach.

Would he worship my body like this in real life? Was this the true Micha or just what I wanted him to be right now? A pang of sorrow suddenly stung my heart, dismayed this was only a dream. To have a man this obsessed with me was merely a figment of my imagination.

The ministrations ceased and I caught my breath. He sucked in a deep inhalation when he pulled me even closer and next, I felt the deepest, sharpest agony I’d ever experienced as his teeth pierced my skin and sank into my chest. The pain was so intense my vision flashed white. I must've cried out, but I couldn’t hear anything, any noise being overruled by my agony.

Micha wouldn’t move no matter how hard I pushed; he’d latched on with a leaden grip. His tongue flicked my nipple before I heard the distinct sound of swallowing and then the hurt transformed into something else.

It was as if I were floating, endorphins and dopamine flooded my system, elevating me. The pain had completely melted away, overtaken by a novel sense of bliss. It was as if his mouth had a direct line to every pleasure center on my body.

Any screams I may have bellowed quickly changed to moans while I convulsed beneath him. He grabbed my ass, tugging me flush while I held on for dear life. After a moment, he withdrew and a sharp sting had me letting go of his head and slapping him, my nails getting caught in his hair.

He looked up at me, irises glowing like the moon, and I saw his teeth. Two razor sharp, long and thin tools dripping with blood. My blood .

His mouth was stained red and his canines retracted while I watched the transformation. They changed to just a slightly pointier than normal set of teeth while he eyed me carefully, not reacting as I would’ve expected. There was no way he wouldn’t have killed me or hurt me in some way for hitting him if any of this was real. Instead, he just sort of watched and I had no idea what he was thinking.

I didn’t move, didn’t say a thing.

“You’re such a waste, angel,” Micha said, his voice hoarse. “Such a damned waste.”

Stunned at the insult, I didn’t answer. What he said hurt, but I didn’t understand exactly why it’d affect me that way. This was a dream; I shouldn’t have cared so much.

“But I’m hungry for more; I’ll never get enough,” he said. He snared the back of my neck and tugged me up before pressing his face into mine, kissing me like the universe was ending. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t soft, he ravaged my lips until they were swollen and bruised. He thrust his tongue into my mouth as he walked me backward until I was against the wall.

I pulled on his hair, trying to get him to slow down but all he did was answer with a rumble before grabbing me by the front of my throat.

He took what he wanted unapologetically, and it turned me on more than I cared to admit. The power and authority that oozed from his pores was seductive and alluring and it made me feel prized. He did whatever the hell he wanted, exactly like I wished I could do.

In less than two minutes, I was eagerly responding to his passion with everything I had in me. I fumbled with his buttons, trying to get the fabric out of my way. He didn’t help, but neither did he make any move to discourage my exploration.

I was grinding against his thigh and ripping at his shirt, enjoying the feel of his body under my hands when he stopped. He held me in place, his eyes squeezed shut while he took several rapid breaths that mingled with mine.

My head was spinning, dizzy with lust and utter disbelief over my response to the man who’d decided to make my life a living hell. I was soaked; his leg was wet. The spot on his pants sat there as evidence of just how much I wanted him.

Carefully, I grabbed his hand. He let me, and then weaved his fingers through mine, palm to palm. Clasping him, I pulled them down between my legs, brushing them against my pussy. He hissed and then drew in a shuddering breath.

“No,” he snarled. He untangled our fingers and picked me up, setting me on the couch.

Humiliated, my eyes smarted and filled with tears. What was wrong with me? Of course he didn’t want me. He hated me and someone had caught me in an area I was supposed to be in at work. They’d let him know as soon as possible, I was sure.

Ipomoea didn’t take chances; they were very thorough and if you were found to not report a discrepancy it was your ass on the line. It didn’t matter it was my own stuff I’d left in there.

The only reason I’d snuck down was to escape the verbal berating I’d receive if anyone found out I’d been irresponsible and left my notes. And my lip balm, too. My mints. I knew exactly where I’d left them when I’d been allowed in to take photos for the “inner workings” post I was creating for social media. My article was going to engage the public and give them a sneak peek inside where the so-called magic happened.

Ultimately, the idea was to make Ipomoea more human and less intimidating. The little tube of wax and the mints were props for the desks. Humans worked there, not robots.

Rumor had spread about how cutthroat the corporation was, steam rolling over pharmaceutical companies and destroying the competition. Not that there were many at the same level, but Josiah and Micha’s company was a force to be reckoned with.

There was no escaping myself and what I’d done, what I’d risked. This was the consequence. I was just going to have to deal with it.

Happy endings didn’t come for girls like me with wonky pasts and who continued to make dumb decisions when they knew better.

Wake up, Ashley .