BLEEDING HEART | ONC 2024

011 - HER

My consciousness gently returns, lulling me out of slumber.

Something magical happened last night; something I'm not going to forget for a long, long time.

I indulged. A giggle rumbles in my throat at the notion, a naughty giddiness I haven't experienced in a while. Angels aren't forbidden from sexual pleasure, but we try not to take it.

Well, last night, I took it. And goddess...I feel so assuaged, so pleased. So tranquil.

I stretch my arm out, eager to sense his skin. To be reminded of his chiseled chest and those delicious muscles I got to squeeze and lick and nibble at all night.

I spent the entire evening under him, over him, beside him, but I can't get enough of touching him.

The way he tasted—his mouth, his cock, the sweet sweat dripping from his brows—lingers on my tongue. I'm eager for another round. Two, three, four. I'm eager for a wake-up session as the sun basks us in warmth and light. Eager to—

My hand touches the mattress. Nothing but the mattress; no lump of a body, no heat of a presence.

I feel around for him; maybe he wandered closer to the edge of the bed. Maybe he's sitting up.

But it's like emptiness suddenly surrounds me, enveloping me in its cold embrace. Reality is settling in.

It's like I'm...alone. No sound of breaths, no rustle of sheets, no energy of a bulky being lying beside me, keeping me warm.

I'm cold.

I open my eyes and squint as I tilt my head to the side and see...nothing. No one.

He's gone.

I lift up, wincing at my sore limbs, my achy arms. Perhaps he wandered downstairs for a drink? I'm not sure what time Henderson opens—I'm usually gone by morning—but I don't doubt Az will hunt down a beverage if he needs one. He's a big man, surely with a large thirst.

But something tells me he's not downstairs. He's not hiding anywhere in this room.

He's left the building, again.

My skin is sticky, prickling with uncomfortable goosebumps as the covers lower and expose my nakedness. The atmosphere is thick with questions, and yet I worry I won't get answers.

Is it possible I dreamed it all? That this demonic but gorgeous man spent all night making me scream, but only in my head?

Had I imagined his handsomeness, his firmness? Had I made up a story about him sweeping me off my feet, rocking my world, literally?

It must have been an illusion. It's too good to be true; someone as exquisite as him, re-entering my life as if I'd wished him to. And I think I did wish him there. For a split second, as I approached that delectable lady last night, I prayed for him to appear.

And he did.

The hottest dream I've ever had.

But as I look down at my arm, I see scratches. Clear traces of someone marking my skin, dragging their nails down.

And as I fidget with the blanket, my inner thighs hurt. My lower lips feel sore, stretched out. And his scent is all over the pillow beside me; musky and sharp, cedar and spices. I can't make that up. I can't make any of that up.

The remnants of last night are all too real and impossible to ignore.

I wouldn't scratch myself in the height of pleasure, ever. Nor do I have the ability to make my center painful like this, swollen from so much friction. I've had some powerful masturbation sessions, for sure, but nothing that's made me feel like this afterwards.