Page 16

Sixteen

I woke up slowly, my body caught in that liminal space between dreaming and reality. My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish, my breath slow and steady—too steady, as if I hadn’t fully returned to myself yet.

A phantom warmth lingered across my back, vanishing the second I shifted. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real.

And yet, my skin tingled where it had been.

I sat up abruptly, my pulse thudding dully against my ribs. The room was still. Silent. Nothing out of place, but that sense of wrongness from the night before clung to me like a second skin.

I inhaled deeply and pushed back the blankets, rubbing at my arms as I moved toward the bathroom. A hot shower. That would clear my head.

Steam filled the small space as I let the water run over me, my muscles loosening beneath the steady stream. My hands moved on autopilot, reaching for my shampoo, my body wash, moving through the motions of routine.

Lather.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Too easy. Too automatic.

I blinked hard, trying to shake the heavy fog in my head. My fingers clenched the loofah, but something nagged at me, something beneath the surface of my thoughts. I had felt like this before—this distant, disconnected feeling.

My pulse skipped.

I let the loofah drop to the shower floor, backing against the wall. My breathing came a little faster, my chest rising and falling too quickly as I stared at my own hands.

I hadn’t thought about what I was doing again.

I had just… done it.

The same way I had reached for the cup the night before. The same way my body had gone through the motions of my nightly routine, without conscious effort, without hesitation.

Like something inside me was moving first, and I was just catching up.

No. Stop it. You’re overthinking.

I shut off the water with a sharp twist of the knob and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel as I avoided my own gaze in the mirror. The glass was fogged over, my reflection obscured, but I still felt it watching me.

It was ridiculous.

And yet, my fingers hesitated before swiping across the glass.

The condensation smeared, revealing my face, pale and damp, eyes wide and unfocused. Normal. Just me. But then?—

A flicker.

A delay.

For a split second, my reflection didn’t move when I did.

A choked sound left my throat as I stumbled back, knocking over the toothbrush holder. It clattered into the sink, rolling noisily against the porcelain. My chest heaved, every muscle locked as I forced myself to look again.

My reflection was fine. Normal. No lag. No delay.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that it had noticed me.

I pressed a hand to my forehead, my skin clammy beneath my fingers.

You’re sleep-deprived. You’re stressed. That’s all this is.

I exhaled slowly, dragging my hands down my face before turning away. I needed to eat something. Something grounding. A distraction.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top before padding into the kitchen. The silence in the apartment felt heavier than it should have, like something unseen was holding its breath. I ignored it.

The fridge hummed as I yanked it open, scanning its contents with little interest. Eggs. Toast. That would do.

I reached for the carton without thinking, and suddenly, I felt breath on the back of my neck. Just for a second, a split, second, but it was enough for me to jolt back to the present.

The eggs slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a wet, splattering crack. My breath left me in a rush as I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The room was empty.

I was alone.

But I felt seen.

My hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists to stop the trembling, swallowing hard as I forced myself to take slow, even breaths. My pulse roared in my ears, my skin too hot, too tight.

I bent down to clean up the mess, my fingers gripping the broken eggshells too hard, crushing them between my fingertips. The yolk smeared across the tile, thick and viscous, and for a moment, my thoughts spiraled?—

It felt slippery—like… blood.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing the thought away. I was spiraling. I couldn’t let myself spiral.

I tossed the ruined eggshells in the trash and grabbed a paper towel, wiping up the mess with slow, deliberate movements. My breathing steadied, my muscles unclenching.

This was fine.

I was fine.

I straightened, turning toward the sink to wash my hands, and stopped cold.

The microwave door was ajar.

I hadn’t opened it.

A new wave of nausea curled in my stomach as I stared at the gap, my mind scrambling for an explanation. Had I bumped it? Left it open last night?

No.

I would have noticed.

This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t stress.

Something was happening to me.

And I had no idea how to stop it.

Warmth started to creep up my fingertips, up my wrists, to settle curled around my forearms. Before I could fully panic at the inability to move my arms from their now outstretched positions, what felt like a kiss on the middle of my forehead made all worry leave my mind. Every muscle relaxed, even my forehead and jaw.

Good girl. Let me.

My fingers twitched, but they were no longer mine to control.

My hands moved with purpose, reaching for the pan, for the butter, for the bread. The motions were smooth, effortless. Thoughtless. I was watching myself cook breakfast, my body carrying out the routine as if I had done it a thousand times before.

Toast sizzled. Eggs cracked. A plate was set before me, golden and perfect.

I sat down, the warmth still pressing at the edges of my thoughts, lulling, guiding. The food was warm, each bite melting over my tongue in a way that felt richer, more indulgent than it should have. Every chew, every swallow, felt like an act of surrender.

A rhythm set in. Eat. Breathe. Relax. The tension in my shoulders unraveled, my mind slipping further, thoughts scattering like autumn leaves in the wind. My body knew what to do before I did—lifting another forkful, chewing slowly, savoring.

My limbs grew heavier, the warmth spreading deeper, winding through my ribs, settling in my stomach. My eyelids drooped slightly. The edges of the room blurred. Safe. Warm. Held.

A hand—real or imagined—brushed down my back. My body shivered, but I didn’t stop eating. My hand lifted, a bite of food passing my lips, chewing, swallowing.

Comfort.

A hand—real or imagined—brushed down my back.

What a good girl. Thank you for letting me help you.

I barely noticed when I was led to the couch, the softest patch of sunlight pooling across the cushions. I melted into it, my body stretching out, weightless, pliant.

A pulse of warmth, deeper this time. Between my legs.

A sigh left me. Soft. Content.

And the last thing I heard before sleep swallowed me whole?—

Now let me take care of you.

The light from the window feels different today, warmer, like a gentle embrace. I couldn’t help but lean into it, my body craving the contact, my mind too drowsy to question why.

Look at you, My Sunlight. So beautiful, basking in my glow.

My hands lifted, fingers tracing the hem of my shirt. I pulled it up and over my head, the fabric whispering against my skin. The cool air of the room pebbled my exposed skin, my nipples tightening beneath my bra.

Yes, just like that. Let me see you.

I reached behind myself, unclasping my bra with practiced ease. It fell away, my breasts spilling free, and I couldn't help but feel a flush of heat as I imagined someone—no, something—watching, admiring.

Perfect. Every inch of you was perfect.

My fingers danced across my collarbones, down the center of my chest, teasing. I could almost hear the words, could almost feel the gaze like a physical touch, reverent and hungry.

Touch yourself. Show me how you please yourself.

My hands glide lower, over the soft skin of my stomach, to the waistband of my shorts. A tug, a shimmy, and they're sliding down my thighs, falling to the floor in a heap. I kicked out of them, sitting there in nothing but my panties.

Open your legs for me, Sunflower. Let me in.

I obeyed, the motion spreading me open, vulnerable. My underwear was damp, the fabric clinging to my skin, and I could feel the heat building inside me.

Good girl. Now, with your fingertips, touch yourself. Everywhere but where you want it most.

My fingers trailed over my hips, my inner thighs, ghosting over my panties. I teased myself, drawing out the anticipation, every nerve firing in response to the lightest of touches.

You're doing so well. You deserve to feel good. Let me make you feel good.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband, pulling my panties down, baring myself completely. I'm exposed, on display, but instead of shame, I felt only a desperate kind of need, a longing to be seen, to be worshipped.

Part your lips, Sunflower. Let me see how wet you are for me.

My legs spread wider, my fingers finding their way to my core, sliding through my slick folds. A moan escaped me, the sound wanton and needy.

Play with your clit. Make those pretty little circles I know you love.

I do as commanded, my fingertips circling the sensitive bundle of nerves. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming, like sunlight concentrated into a single, blazing point.

Harder... Don't be shy... Take what you need.

My touch grew firmer, the rhythm quickening. The sensation was intoxicating, each stroke sending waves of pleasure radiating through my body. My breath came in sharp gasps, my heart pounded in my chest.

Come for me, My Sunlight. Let me see you shatter.

My body obeyed without hesitation, my orgasm crashing over me with the force of a supernova. Bright lights danced behind my eyelids as I cried out, my muscles clenching, my hips bucking. It's more intense than anything I'd ever felt before, a pleasure so complete, so consuming, that for a moment, I'm convinced I'd be lost in it forever.

And then, slowly, I was coming back to myself, my breathing evening out, my heart rate slowing. I was lying on the couch, a throw blanket draped over me, my clothes neatly folded beside me. A movie played on the TV, the sound low and soothing.

I touched my forehead, my skin still flushed, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure. My mind is fuzzy, the details of what just happened slipping through my fingers like sand.

But the warmth—that delicious, all-encompassing warmth—lingered, wrapping around me like a lover's embrace.

I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation, my body loose and sated.

Rest now, my beautiful Dawn. You're safe with me.

The words echoed in my mind, soft and comforting. I let out a contented sigh, allowing the voice to lull me into the depths of sleep.