this pursuit. It was animalistic and demeaning. But here she was. Waiting for a stranger to come and violate her on the unlikely theory that doing so would release her from a recurring dream.
God, this is so ridiculous, she thought to herself as she padded into the bedroom on bare feet. Why can't I just get over this? But she'd tried everything her therapist had recommended, and yet she was still suffering. She really didn't know what she would do if this experiment didn't work. She strongly suspected that she was wasting her time, not to mention ten thousand dollars on an idea she'd concocted while high on caffeine and sleep- deprivation. But she would go through with it, if only to see if a professional was capable of coaxing some response from her dormant libido.
Sliding between the crisp white sheets, she breathed deeply and waited for panic to claim her. She felt vulnerable and nervous in her own bed for several long minutes, but finally her eyes drooped shut and she fell into a light, dreamless sleep.
She woke suddenly, less than a half hour later, to the familiar feeling that someone was there, in her apartment with her. She had awoken so many times to this exact scene, this feeling of terror, that it was impossible to tell if she was dreaming or not. Panic set in as she waited for the fear to really take hold of her. Then she heard something completely out of place which convinced her that she was safe in her apartment, waiting for her fantasy to unfold instead of her nightmare.
Someone was cursing, loudly and creatively. Evidently her less than stealthy Scene Facilitator had tripped over the coffee table in her family room.
Holly stifled a giggle as he gave the offending coffee table a good kick in retaliation and then swore at the offending piece of furniture again as he re-injured his toe.
Whatever trepidation she had been feeling diminished into low-grade excitement. She'd been imagining her dream man as some kind of deadly serious, erotic phantom who would come to her in the dark, attempt to pleasure her, and then disappear. A guy who tripped over things and swore at inanimate objects didn't fit her fantasy at all. She should have been disappointed, but she wasn't. His clumsy entrance made him seem significantly less threatening and mysterious. More human. She liked that. A lot.
As her bedroom door creaked open, instead of feeling fear wash over her, she felt a small tingle of anticipation. She also had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. Nervous laughter, but still, she felt mirth bubbling up within her chest. It was a good feeling, but it certainly wouldn't contribute to setting the mood, so she buried her face in her pillow to stifle any amused sounds that might escape her.
Still feigning sleep and hoping that the grin on her face wasn't visible in the dim light from the patio door, she turned onto her back and raised her hands above her head to make them easier to shackle to the wrought-iron headboard. She waited for him to pounce, but he didn't make a move toward her. He was standing over the bed. She could feel his presence there, hear his quiet breathing. She really wanted to crack an eye open and get some impression of his face and body, but she needed to maintain the integrity of the dream. And that meant he must stay completely anonymous except for the sound of his voice and the feel of his skin.
When she felt like she couldn't stand the anticipation a moment longer the bed finally dipped as he settled on the edge next to her hip. From the way her firm mattress shifted her body towards him it was obvious that he was big, really big. She could feel the firm heat of his long muscular thigh all along her side. It was incredibly odd, yet exciting to be willingly in such close proximity to a stranger. She carefully avoided sitting next to anyone on the Skytrain and yet here she was, waiting impatiently for this unknown man's touch.
She really hadn't counted on enjoying this so much. In fact, she'd been hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible. Now she wasn't quite so sure she wanted to rush this experience. Having her dream man here, in the flesh, was much more entertaining than she'd anticipated.
She waited for some of her residual fear to surface and sabotage her pleasure, but it remained dormant. She was surprisingly relaxed and calm. She'd expected to be feeling some anxiety over his every move, but instead she felt an unfamiliar yet delicious tension gathering between her legs.
She knew what arousal was, had even experienced it during heated make-out sessions with her high school boyfriend and more recently, while reading some really torrid historical romance novels, but for the most part, this was very new for her. She was surprised and delighted to find that she was drawn to her mysterious visitor and desperately wanted him to touch her.
'What have we here? Sleeping Beauty?' he said softly, finally reaching out with one large hand, he brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. His voice was low and deep. It wasn't raspy exactly, but there was a roughness to it that made it sound like he'd just woken up or had spent the previous night shouting to be heard over a concert or professional sporting match of some sort. In short, it was exactly the sort of voice Holly remembered from her dreams. Miss Bright had promised that her Scene Facilitator would have the voice of a butch angel, but he sounded more like a very sexy demon.
His touch was unexpectedly tender as he traced a knuckle over her forehead. In the dream he was never this gentle, but she still felt herself responding to it. He was spreading her hair out around her pillow now. Raking his fingers through the long tresses, and arranging them in a chestnut halo all around her head. Still trying to appear to be asleep, Holly felt like purring as his hands worked through every single strand of her hair, pulling and tugging gently at her scalp, sending little impulses of pleasure through her without touching her skin at all.
'Hmmm… Look at you. Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? I don't even know where to start.' He murmured as he began tugging the white sheet down her body, slowly exposing her silk-clad chest, her rib cage, her tiny waist and then her gently flaring hips. The slide of the cotton sheets against Holly's mostly naked skin caused goose-flesh to rise and her nipples to harden. She had to fight the impulse to cover her chest with her hands. She knew he could probably discern very little about her body in the dark room, but she still felt embarrassed by her body's reaction to his voice, and the sensual friction of the sheet against her flesh.
When the sheet was finally pushed to the foot of the bed, she fully expected him to begin caressing her much more forcefully, but instead he was completely still for several long moments. Unable to resist, she cracked one eye open to see what he was doing.
She couldn't really see much. It was too dark to discern any real details. Her sneak peek had provided an impression of broad shoulders in a white T-shirt, and a strong profile topped by wavy dark hair, but his face was completely in shadows. All she could really tell was that he was looking down at her body, studying it intently. She found this both embarrassing and flattering. What could possibly be that interesting about her shape?
He leaned forward and she felt his warm, minty breath against her face. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her. It should have seemed much too soon for such intimate contact, and yet she found that she wanted to feel his lips on her very badly. She lifted her chin slightly to give him better access to her mouth, but he just turned his head and began rustling around for something he'd placed on the floor.
Had he brought a bag with him? Like the one the intruder had brought with him? That thought should have sent her into a blind panic. After all, that horrible man had brought instruments of torture into her home and had intended to used them on her. Instead she found herself wondering what kind of instruments of pleasure were now sitting on her innocent bedroom floor. Handcuffs. Certainly. A blindfold. Most likely. But what else? How kinky was this going to get? She wasn't well-versed in this arena at all but her curiosity was definitely piqued for the first time in her life.
What if her friends could see her now? Emily and Josie would be totally shocked to see her participating in a sexy, role-playing scenario. With a complete stranger. She almost wished she had the nerve to tell them about it, but suspected they wouldn't believe her. This was so out of character for her.
She had a small group of female friends who got together regularly over martinis at an intimate club just down the street from her apartment. Occasionally these gatherings lead to discussions of her friend's wilder sexual exploits. Understandably, she usually tried to steer clear of this subject. Partly because such frank talk embarrassed her, but mostly because she knew eventually the focus of such conversations would eventually turn to her and her lack of enthusiasm for sex would be discussed at length. Again. Eventually these debates over the genesis of her dysfunction would lead to well-meaning but pointless advice. As much as she loved her friends for wanting to help, she just couldn 't abide being the object of their pity.
Judging by all the erotic possibilities that bag represented it seemed she was going to get an erotic education to put her friend’s tame exploits to shame.
When his attention returned to her, she took another peek and there was something hanging from his hand. He was leaning over her again, so she expected to feel the cool bite of metal against her wrists as he snapped on a
