Chapter Five: I Am Going to Suck a Dick

Sophia Bennett

The words echoed in my head like a filthy refrain I couldn’t silence: I am going to suck a dick.

I was kneeling on the bed in nothing but the thin tank top that had ridden up my hips, my hands wrapped around a stranger’s waist. My cheek hovered so close to the sharp cut of muscle disappearing beneath the dangerous white towel that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. In any other circumstance, I would never have done this. No amount of alcohol, no depth of desperation, could have pushed me to my knees like this in real life. Even with Ethan—when he refused to touch me, when he finished in under two minutes and left me aching and unsatisfied—I had never begged. I had simply turned away, swallowed my frustration, and pretended it didn’t matter. I had my pride. I had boundaries.

But this wasn’t real life. This was a dream, and my body was screaming for it.

My skin felt too tight, my pulse throbbed between my legs, and every breath dragged like fire through my lungs. I wasn’t craving a drink tonight. I was craving release. I needed to be touched, ruined, devoured—anything to forget the mess my waking life had become. Something was very wrong with me for wanting this so badly, or maybe, for the first time in months, something was finally right.

He was older than me. I registered that even through the haze of the dream. Tall, broad-shouldered, carved from every dark fantasy I had never dared admit I possessed. His presence filled the room, heavy and commanding. The way he looked down at me made something deep in my belly clench hard—predator and prey, and I was willingly walking into his jaws. I had only ever seen one man naked in real life: Ethan. Pale, average, quick to soften. This stranger was something else entirely. The thick outline beneath the towel left no room for doubt. My mouth went dry.

“So big…” The words slipped out before I could stop them, barely more than a whisper.

Please don’t let me wake up yet.

I needed this. I needed to feel wanted. Needed to be fucked so thoroughly that the ache inside me finally quieted. My fingers trembled as I reached for the edge of the towel. The moment my mouth brushed against the warm, taut skin just above his hip, he shifted. The movement was subtle, controlled, but it sent a jolt through me. Then, without warning, he stepped back. My balance faltered. We tumbled together onto the mattress, his weight pressing me down for one dizzying second before he braced himself above me.

I stared up at him, heart hammering against my ribs. He studied my face with an intensity that made my thighs press together instinctively. His voice, low and rough, cut through the charged silence.

“How old are you?”

The question jarred me. I tried to twist away from it, from the sudden clarity in his eyes, but his hand caught my chin, gentle yet unyielding.

“I won’t repeat myself,” he said. “Answer the question.”

Something inside me responded instantly to that tone—calm, authoritative, impossible to ignore. My skin tingled. My voice came out small, almost breathless.

“Twenty-three.”

He leaned back slightly, releasing my chin. His fingers raked through his dark hair as he exhaled. “Twenty-three,” he muttered to himself, the words carrying a note of dark amusement, almost indifference, as if the number both surprised and intrigued him.

For a moment, the dream felt dangerously close to shattering. I could sense the weight of reality hovering just outside the edges, waiting to pull me back. But I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. My body was alive in a way it hadn’t been in years—every nerve singing, every inch of me aware of him. The hard planes of his chest, the corded muscle in his arms, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal still straining against the towel that had somehow stayed in place during our fall.

I reached for him again, bolder now, my palm sliding over the warm skin of his abdomen. He didn’t stop me. Instead, his gaze darkened, dropping to my lips, then lower. The air between us thickened, heavy with unspoken promise. I could feel the tension coiling in him, matching the desperate need twisting inside me.

Memories of Ethan flickered unwanted through my mind—his hesitant touches, his quick release, the way I had always faked satisfaction just to spare his ego. This man was nothing like that. Even in a dream, I could tell he would take his time. He would ruin me in the best possible way, and I wanted every second of it.

My fingers tugged at the towel. It slipped lower, revealing more of him—thick, heavy, intimidating. My breath caught. Heat flooded my cheeks and pooled lower, slick and insistent. I had never wanted to taste someone so badly. Never imagined I could feel this shameless, this hungry.

He watched me, eyes half-lidded, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You sure you can handle this, little girl?”

The challenge in his voice sent another shiver racing down my spine. I didn’t answer with words. Instead, I leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below his navel, tasting salt and skin and raw masculine heat. His muscles tensed beneath my lips. A low sound rumbled in his chest—approval, warning, hunger.

I wanted to lose myself here. In this dream. In him. To forget the empty apartment waiting for me, the failed relationship, the long nights spent wondering what was wrong with me. Here, I wasn’t the careful, composed Sophia Bennett who always did the right thing. I was something wilder. Something that craved the filth and the pleasure and the surrender.

His hand slid into my hair, not guiding, not yet—just resting there, a heavy promise. My heart stuttered with anticipation. Every second stretched, delicious and torturous. I could feel him throbbing close to my cheek, so close I could almost taste him.

I looked up one last time, meeting those intense eyes that seemed to see straight through me. At that moment, all hesitation burned away.

I guess I would go raw this time around since there are no condoms.