36. 🌶️🔥🌶️Beg Me to Come🌶️🔥🌶️

I wake up naked in bed.
My body does a soft purr as I gather my scattered limbs and pull myself up from the soft mattress and the lovely dream I was having in my sleep.
I dreamed of Dakota making love to me.
I don’t want to open my eyes and keep dreaming of being in warm arms while soft lips kissed me and called me all those sweet words that I could only imagine.
I was swimming in euphoria, something I have never experienced before. Every touch, every whispered word felt like it was real and all meant for me.
My head instinctively twists to the side as I feel his lips tracing my cheeks, neck, tickling down to my breast like he did in the dream. The heat of his body and the warmth of his breath on my skin sends shiver down my spine as if he really caressed me like a yearning lover.
I don’t know how drunk I was last night, because it all felt so genuine.
But I know it was a dream, because the way he was touching me softly, and passionately kissing me, could only be possible in a different dimension world where I didn’t send him to jail and he was deeply in love with me.
A dimension that is superficial and full of love, emotions, something he absolutely lacks.
He has no feelings. He is not kind. He would never make love to me.
With a heavy heart, I slowly open my eyes and face the reality, which is plain boring walls made up of his cruel emotions.
Last night he proved he has no heart. Only a functioning cardiac muscle encased in his ribcage, which is probably made up of bricks.
My heart clenches as the memory of what he did to me still lingers in my mind like a nightmare. He ruthlessly fucked me over and over again, making me feel his pent up rage that he had accumulated for years.
Now I get it why everyone was afraid of him.
They were aware of his savage nature, what a brutal animal he is, and I am suffering the consequences of underestimating him, thinking he won’t hit a girl.
And now he is hitting me every night with his angry thrusts. It would have been better if he had punched me instead, to take his revenge. But I know I don’t have the balls to even take a slap from him.
I would cry like a little bitch I am before he would even hit me. He scares me.
Dakota Black scares the fuck out of my soul. His endless darkness is so overwhelming that it could easily eclipse the sun and devour all its light.
He is that black.
My body emits a sore humming sensation as I stand up with my dizzy head. The wine is still swimming in my system and maybe I need another bottle of cats-too-lame-fam to function properly.
I step into the shower, letting the warm water fizzle down my sore bones and I let out a moan. “Fuck you, Dakota!”
As I wash my body, I glance down and notice something on my chest that wasn’t before.
I stare at the red marks around my chest and in the deep cleavage of my breast, almost like bruises. *Hickeys*.
He must have left marks when he was biting my skin- *Wait!*
Remnants of last night replays in my head in slow motion. My chest was pressed on to the glass while he took me from behind and bit into my shoulder aggressively.
But he never actually touched my breast.
I furrow my brow in confusion. Did I accidentally bumped my boob into something, like a man’s teeth?
Though in haze of passion, I clearly remember Dakota not touching my chest. In fact, my girls hardly get any attention from him.
Suddenly, my mind flashes me the dream I had last night with Dakota. The dream where he worshipped me like a devoted fan and passionately kissed me like a lost lover.
Could it be that the dream was just a dream but a fragment of the reality? Could it be?
My heart beat races and my nerves pulsate wildly as I add two plus two. I can feel my noodles firing on all cylinders as fresh rage pumps through my veins.
*Did that motherfuck sneak a grope while I was on snooze?*
I twist my body as I look for more evidence and find scratches of his nails on my hips, when he manhandled me and a faint love bite on my navel, where he never kissed me.
My throat dries up thinking of what he did to me while I was unconscious and no one was there to stop him. Not that I can stop him while I am conscious.
But how dare he touch me while I was sleeping! My blood pressure rises faster than the mercury in thermometer and I finish my shower quickly.
I grab towel to- Wait. There is no towel. Or a bathrobe. Or the sheets from yesterday.
*This motherfucking cunt!*
I push the shower glass and walk into the closet, finding it all empty like a barren wasteland devoid of hats and socks which were happily hanging on the shelf just yesterday.
Dakota *fucking* Black!
Water trickles down my hair as I stride to the bedroom, angrier than the Hulk on a bad day. But my rage reaches the heights when I notice the bed covered with no bedsheet or duvet.
That motherhooker even pull out the covers of the pillow, thinking I would make a dress out of them.
Errhhh! What am I supposed to wear now?
Dakota is not normal. He is like a psycho derailed train with a twisted mission to strip me of my clothes at any cost.
He is mental and hellbent on getting me butt naked.
I stand by my room’s door, feeling a mini lake forming around my feet. My heart paces hastily as I scan the area for any tall, emotionless jerk lurking outside, waiting to catch me in my naked glory.
The coast seems clear, so I take a deep breath and run down the stairs in my birthday suit. I tiptoe, leaving a trail of droplets around the house in search of anything to cover my private delicacies.
It’s like a game of Hide and Seek: Clothes Edition. But instead of seeking clothes, I am desperately looking for any scrap of fabric to preserve my modesty.
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I try to move as quickly as possible, but seems like that son of biscuit hid everything. Even the mats are gone.
I rush to the kitchen and yank the apron off the hook and strap it on my body like a reverse parachute. Though it is basically a nipple and flower coverage, at least it conceals my princess treasure.
But unfortunately, my naked ass is still on display like a Kardashian selfie. I grab a cleaning towel from the drawer and secure it to the apron to shield my jiggling ass from his penetrative gaze.
I look up at the camera and raise my middle finger proudly. Like Cardi said, ‘This punani is undefeated.’ He can’t beat me, or even my shadow.
If he is Black, then I am Stone.
If he is darkness, then I am a solid, unbreakable rock.
As I glance at my watch, I notice the labour hour of 8:00 AM. I know the breakfast bell for that jerk is about to ring.
I crack two eggs and beat them like they owe me money, mostly imagining that brute’s face. How dare he touch me without my permission!
Not that he asks for any permit, but audacity to touch me so tenderly, right after he banged me like a window in a hurricane. That too when I was sleeping.
I try to remember my dream to know what he exactly did to me, but all I can recall is his soft lips on my body with his gentle voice calling me a goddess.
*Or was it pockets?*
But then why would he call me a pocket? Or even a goddess. None of it makes sense!
Fuck! I am not built to handle so many complications at one time.
Suddenly I hear footsteps, getting louder with every stride. My heart accelerates and beats violently as the devil walks in to the kitchen.
Stark green eyes meet mine and they instantly glow like toxin. Perfect lips curve up in a smile and he wishes me in his deep husky voice,
“Good morning.”