DIRTY DESIRES: DADDIES TASTE BETTER

Lia's POV

The dream always started the same way.

A man came into my bedroom. The door opened slowly with a creak. I heard his footsteps on the wooden floor. Heavy steps that made the floor groan. I never saw his face—it was always hidden in shadow, like the darkness covered him on purpose. But I could tell he was tall and big. His shoulders were wide, filling the doorway. His body blocked the soft light from my window, the moonlight that usually made my room glow.

He walked toward my bed without saying anything. Not a sound except those heavy footsteps getting closer. My heart started racing, pounding so hard it hurt. I wanted to move, to say something, but I couldn't. My body wouldn't listen.

He got into my bed, and the mattress sank under his weight. The springs creaked. I could feel the heat from his body before he even touched me. He filled the whole space, all the air in the room.

His big hands reached for my thighs. They were rough and warm, so much bigger than mine. He pushed them open, slow but firm, spreading my legs. The touch made shivers run up my spine. My whole body tingled and came alive. My skin felt extra sensitive, like every nerve was awake and waiting. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears—thump-thump-thump.

My breathing got faster. My chest rose and fell quickly. I wanted to see his face, to know who he was, but the shadows hid him. All I could tell was his size, his shape, the feeling of his hands on my skin.

His other hand came up to my throat. I felt his palm first, warm and slightly rough against my neck. Then his fingers wrapped around it, holding me there. Not hard enough to hurt, not choking, but enough that I couldn't move. Couldn't turn my head. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe, just small quick gasps.

My skin felt hot where he touched me, burning almost. His hand on my throat made me feel completely trapped, completely his. My pulse beat against his palm. He had to feel it, had to know what he was doing to me.

I was scared and excited at the same time. My whole body was shaking with need. A heat was building between my legs, an ache that almost hurt.

Without waiting, without warning, he lined himself up. I felt the pressure first, him pushing against me. The heat of him. How big he was. My body tensed, but there was nowhere to go. His hand on my throat kept me pinned.

Then he pushed inside in one hard stroke, filling me completely. Stretching me. It was so intense, so overwhelming, it knocked the breath out of me. I felt every inch of him. Pain and pleasure mixed together until I couldn't tell them apart.

That was where the dream always ended. Every single time. Right at that perfect, terrible moment. It started the same and ended the same, right when I wanted more, needed more. Right when my body was screaming for release.

I woke up with a gasp, my eyes flying open in the dark. My bedroom looked normal—no man, no shadows, just my furniture lit by the streetlight outside. But my body didn't feel normal at all.

I was breathing hard, my chest heaving like I'd been running. My heart was still racing. My whole body felt hot and tingly, like my skin was too tight. There was sweat on my forehead, on my chest, between my breasts.

I reached down between my legs, and my hand came away wet. I checked my underwear and it was soaked, completely drenched. The fabric was clinging to me, wet and uncomfortable. The ache between my thighs was almost unbearable. I squeezed them together, trying to find relief, but it didn't help. It made it worse.

I turned my head to look at Rob, my boyfriend of a year. He was sound asleep next to me, his back turned toward me like always. His breathing was slow and steady, the kind that meant he was far away in his own dreams. Probably dreaming about work or video games or something boring. He looked so peaceful, his face relaxed, his body still. Like he didn't have a care in the world. Like he had no idea what I was feeling right beside him.

The space between us felt huge even though it was only a foot or two.

I was still so turned on from the dream. My whole body felt like it was on fire. I needed him. Needed to feel his hands on me, his body against mine. Needed him to want me the way the man in my dreams wanted me.

I reached out slowly and touched his shoulder. My fingers barely brushed his skin. His skin was warm and soft.

Then I leaned in and kissed his neck, pressing my lips below his ear. Soft little kisses, gentle and hopeful. I kissed him again and again, trailing down toward his shoulder. My hand moved to his chest, feeling him breathe.

Please wake up, I thought. Please want me. Please make this ache go away.

He stirred a little, his body shifting. He made a small sound. Then he opened his eyes, but just barely. They looked tired and annoyed, like I'd woken him from something important.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. I could hear the irritation.

"I want you," I whispered, my hand still on his shoulder. My voice came out smaller than I meant it to, almost begging.

He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that said I was bothering him. That I was being unreasonable.

"Go back to sleep," he said flatly. No warmth in his voice at all. No affection. Nothing.

But I didn't give up. I couldn't. The need was too strong, the ache too intense. Maybe if I touched him more, he would change his mind. Maybe he just needed to wake up more.

I ran my hand down his chest, my palm sliding over his skin, moving lower. Feeling the warmth of him, the softness of his stomach, heading toward his boxers.

But before I could get there, he grabbed my hand. His grip was tight, almost rough, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and stopping me.

"Stop acting like a little slut," he said, his voice cold and harsh.