She woke with a start, sheets tangled around her damp skin, breath sharp in the silence. The dream still clung to her, every image burning across her body as though it had been real. All night he had haunted her—his hands pinning her, the blade glinting as it traced fire across her flesh, his cock filling her until she screamed in her sleep.

Even awake, she couldn’t escape him. The phantom weight of his hand curled around her throat, the cold kiss of steel against her thigh, the rough pull of his grip in her hair—each memory made her body throb harder. She was soaked, aching, trembling with need.

Her hand drifted down, desperate to ease the ache he had left behind, but even that felt empty. Nothing compared to him—his control, the dark edge of his desire, the way he broke her down until she was nothing but breathless pleas and unrestrained surrender.

She closed her eyes, shuddering, whispering his name into the darkness. He wasn’t there, yet he owned her still. And as her body quivered on the edge, she knew this hunger would not fade. It would consume her until he came again until he made the dream flesh.

Because beneath the sharpness of the blade and the weight of his grip, there was something deeper that tethered her. The ache wasn’t just for his touch, but for the way he made her feel—wanted, claimed, seen in a way no one else had dared. Vulnerability had always terrified her, but with him, it slipped out unbidden, tangled in every moan and every trembling surrender.

He haunted her not only in her dreams but in the hidden places of her heart she never let anyone near. That was the obsession the way she craved him not just in her body but in her bones, in the quietest corners of her soul. And no matter how far he drifted, no matter how long she ached, she knew she would always come back to this—his shadow, his hold, his name on her lips in the dark.

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