A knock at the door. Muting the television she ambled down the hallway and peered through her peephole.
She jumped back.
The shock sent her head reeling and her stomach into that flippity flip thing it used to do whenever he would—what? Touch her? Kiss her? Hold her? Blindfold her? All of those things, and so many more.
But it couldn’t be him! Telling herself it had to be someone who just looked like him, she took a deep breath and peeked again.
Hating that she was wearing no makeup, hating that she needed a haircut, hating that her nails were bare, heart thumping, she opened the door.
Wordlessly he stepped forward, slipped his fingers through her hair, fisted it purposefully, yanked back her head, and stared at her.
She wasn’t breathing. How could she breath? She couldn’t even think. His lips fell on to hers, crushing her mouth, demanding she respond. Her arms came up, circled his neck, and as the heat baked her throat, she felt her legs give way.
Effortlessly he lifted her, strode down the hallway and into her bedroom, tumbling them on to her bed. Words…no words…tears spilled from her eyes, but no words. He spanked her, he ripped off her clothes, then spanked her some more, and pinning her wrists, his cock drove her into oblivion.
She was spinning with the power of the shuddering orgasm, and opening her eyes…
She’d had a dream.
Her hand wiped itself across her face, wet from fresh, sad tears.
Would he ever stop haunting her?