He shoved his hand between my legs roughly, and he didn’t ease into me as his fingers entered with force. His aggressive attack only made me quiver in excitement for more. This made me as twisted as he was. I knew that, but I didn’t care.
“Suck my dick . . . bitch,” he said, the last as if to test me. As if he knew I’d been called a bitch earlier today in my home and had not liked it at all. This was my dream, so I wanted that from him.
Being commanded like that did something for me that I’d never expected. Gannon, or the fantasy of Gannon, was showing me just what was in my psyche that I didn’t know was buried there.
He grabbed a handful of my hair, then pulled me off the sofa and onto my knees in front of his tall, massive, muscular frame. My eyes were open now, and the halo of light around him from the TV made him look like some ancient god here to own and then destroy me.
Even with that thought, I wanted to please him. I wanted him to handle me roughly. Taking him in my hands, I slowly slid my mouth over the thick head of his erection. I would never get it all into my mouth, but I’d gag myself trying.
On the first gag, he groaned and grabbed my head, pressing deeper until I couldn’t breathe and thought I might actually throw up. Then he released me, and I pulled back, gasping for air as my saliva ran between him and my mouth in strands. My eyes watered, and I looked up at him, wondering if this was what he wanted to see.
He cupped my face with his hand. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
Those words were enough. I began to suck him deeper, and he didn’t touch my head again except to run his fingers through my hair and praise me. I grew so determined and excited with each word from him that I didn’t even realize it when his cock began to grow and the vein on the underside began to pulse, warning me that he was about to come.
Suddenly, I was jerked back and tossed onto the sofa. “Get the panties off,” he ordered, and I shoved them down while he covered himself with a condom.
“Good girl. Now, get on your knees and turn around,” he said, moving toward me.
I turned around and leaned against the back of the sofa on my knees. I stuck my bottom up toward him, knowing that was what he wanted, and I expected the slap that came after it.
“Shake that ass at me again, and I’ll fuck it,” he growled. Then, in one thrust, he was buried deep inside me. His hot breath was on my neck. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ears. “Sweet ass likes to tease me,” he said, as he began fucking me.
He grabbed my shoulders and squeezed almost to the point of pain and moved into me again and again. Harder each time. I wanted to cry for him to stop, but instead, I began begging for more.
“If it hurts, cry for me.” His dark voice made the whole scene more erotic, and I cried out from the oncoming orgasm his force was producing.
“I’m going to come.” I panted, knowing the only tears he would see were ones that came from pure ecstasy.
“Then do it. Now!”
And I did.
My body shook, and his hands wrapped around my neck as he squeezed until my head was light and my pleasure had gone to new heights. I wasn’t sure I’d live through this. It was more than humans could bear. I was positive of it. The bad news was that this was a dream, and I’d wake up having not experienced it at all.
Tears came then, just before his body pulled me to him. He whispered words that were sweet, but I was too tired to understand them.
Vegas was always the same. Every time I came.
Yes, I was in Vegas. Don’t judge me.
I hadn’t told Rush the truth, either. When I left town, I always told him where I was going. This time, I didn’t want to explain that I was going to find a guy who was haunting my dreams and I’d left him in Vegas with his pregnant showgirl girlfriend but whatever. Yeah . . . I wasn’t telling Rush that.
I didn’t need to be told that this was a bad idea. I knew it was a bad idea, but I was looking for closure. This morning, I had woken up to a bruise on my left shoulder and a very tender vagina. That couldn’t happen from a dream, so I was losing my mind. That was the only other explanation. This man was making me lose it.
I had to find him. Get over him and move the hell on. End these insane dreams where I was apparently beating the shit out of myself while sleeping.
So my big brother thought I was headed to Barcelona with friends for a couple of weeks. That was believable. I loved Spain. He hadn’t even questioned it. Just told me to keep in touch so he’d know I was safe.
My goal was to find Gannon, get my closure, and get the hell out of Vegas. The longer I stayed here, the harder this would be. Everything reminded me of him. It wasn’t bad memories, either. They were good memories. Things I wanted more of.