Sheltered(10)

Even though Van wouldn’t be gray and black. And he didn’t have a body like those models—she knew he didn’t. He looked big beneath his layered jerseys and t-shirts. Solid and unmovable. He had shoulders twice the size of any of those men, and the moment the subconscious thought occurred her dream turned into something different.

The charcoal lines became clearer, more distinct. Then after a moment she could make out the backs of his real hands—honey-colored and rough-knuckled—as they traced a line down over something soft on her.

My thigh, she thought, just as he turned those sandpaper knuckles over and gave her the smoothness of his palms.

And oh God, it felt good. Better than she would have imagined, in all of her halfhearted thoughts about this sort of thing. Sometimes in her dreams the billboard guy took her out on an imaginary picnic and gave her some imaginary pecks on the cheek, but he almost never put his hands above the knee.

The dream-Van put his hands above her knees. He did more than that, in fact. He kissed her there, just at the beginnings of her thigh, and when she tried to get away he gripped her harder. Kissed in a filthier, open-mouthed sort of fashion.

It felt like heaven. It felt like hell. She wanted to tell him to stop, but her conscious self had pressed a hand to her mouth ages ago and all she could manage was a startled whimper.

He was kissing her inner thighs. She’d never even thought about kissing his lips, and yet here he was with his mouth as close to the slippery seam of her sex as she could imagine it being. And worse than that, the dream wanted him to carry on. The dream said, He could, you know. He could kiss you there in the same way people kiss with their lips, and no one would have to know but you and me.

While back in reality her own hand found that sweet ache between her legs. Of course she didn’t go under her clothes. And though she could feel something pretty spectacular when she rubbed over that little plump shape between her legs, she didn’t press inward. Doing so was bad, it was wrong, it would send her straight to hell.

Even if Van didn’t seem to think so. He just ran a finger all the way through her soaking slit, spreading it open as he went. Exposing things she’d only ever thought of in the abstract, or while half-asleep like this. Rubbing things she never rubbed, unless she absolutely had to.

Though she knew its name. My clit, she thought, in Melissa Markerson’s voice. Melissa Markerson, who’d told her in the tone of someone with a terrible secret that between girl’s legs was a little bud, and if you rubbed it, amazing things would happen.

And by amazing things she had of course meant have an orgasm. Like the feeling that rose in her now, unstoppable and unchecked. It began in the place her hand was pressing, in the place Van was kissing in a dream with no real form and absolutely no morals, and spread outward, warm and thick.

Then cycled back, to grab ahold of her harder. Be dirtier, be naughtier the dream said, and though her conscious-self couldn’t quite manage it, her sleeping-self could. Her sleeping-self produced images of Van pushing himself between her legs, all big and solid and too much.

And just as she started to panic, it murmured a series of utterly soothing things in her ear. You’re lovely, Evie, it said, in Van’s molten-metal voice. You’re so lovely, and I just want to slide my cock inside you until you beg me for more.

God yeah, that did the trick. Just the word cock felt like enough on its own, but then the dream-Van said beg and more and suddenly she found herself rutting against the mattress. Hand pressing too hard over her now swollen sex, body thrumming with that pleasure she hardly knew.

But definitely wanted to know better. This wasn’t like before, with a bar of soap lingering just a little too long between her legs, or a faint feeling of having humped the mattress in her sleep. This was real and wet and visceral, and it wasn’t just about him.

There were other things in there too. A need. A driving need she hadn’t really considered before. It took on shape and form, walked the halls of her thoughts, slathering and hungry.

And when she wanted to turn back, not face this pleasure, it got hold of her and made her take it. It grabbed her by the hair, pulled her back into the steady and pounding thrusts of the person now behind her.

Though it wasn’t just a person. It was him, gasping in her ear and moaning how good she felt, everything still so vague somehow and yet so clear at the same time. This was what sex would feel like. She knew it. Could almost tighten her aching pussy around it, as his hands came up to fondle her breasts and his cock fucked into her harder.

Don’t stop, she wanted to tell him, but back in reality her hand pressed more firmly over her mouth. The tension between what she should be doing and what she wanted to do warred, briefly, and then quite suddenly everything broke.