Burn too real

“Bunny, I’m in here,” he called. His deep, husky voice echoed faintly from a distance, pulling me in like a magnet. I paced through the red, dimly lit hallway in a spinning motion, trying to find where the voice was coming from.

My heart pounded hard—scared yet curious, terrified yet drawn closer—until I reached an entrance. A bright light spilled through the cracks of a wooden door. His voice came again, clearer this time.

“Bunny, I’m right here. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I pushed the door open, and our eyes met. The light washed over him, highlighting every sharp line of his body. His sculpted abs flexed as he rose from his seat, and I shamelessly drooled over him from head to toe. Heat stirred inside me; I felt a twitch of longing I could not control.

He walked towards me in slow, commanding steps. In an instant, he pinned me against the wall, his strong hand holding me firmly in place.

“What took you so long? You know I hate waiting,” he murmured, tracing my jawline with his long fingers. His piercing gaze burned through the mask covering half his face. I wished desperately to see the rest of him.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered, my heart racing like a drum.

He leaned in, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss. His hands cupped my breasts, pinching my nipples until a cry slipped out of me.

“Ohh…yes,”

His tongue raided my mouth, hungry, demanding, and I melted into the pleasure he poured into me. My body trembled; my toes curled. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before.

“More… please,” I pleaded breathlessly, guiding his hand down to my already wet thighs. But he resisted, pinning my hand back to the wall as his lips devoured mine. His groans vibrated against me, teasing, tormenting, igniting. My orgasm built rapidly, and his fingers on my nipples drove me to the edge.

“You’ll only take what I give,”he groaned. “My little bunny, I like it when you’re at my mercy Fiona,” he murmured between my lips as his fingers find my entrance, pinching my clit so hard. I felt a surge of pleasure pulling my orgasm closer.

“Oh… ohhh, I’m gonna cum,” I moaned desperately.

Then—

Snap!

The sound jolted me back to reality. My chest heaved as my eyes flew open. My alarm clock buzzed on the bedside table.

Another dream.

My heart sank. For years, I’d been haunted by this recurring dream—always ending at the same point. Always leaving me aching. And worst of all, I never saw his face but his voice never left my head.

I pressed a pillow over my face, muffling the frustrated scream clawing at my throat. My messy room surrounded me—sketch pads and paintbrushes scattered from last night’s work. I dragged myself out of bed, groggy but hopeful.

Today was the day I had been waiting for—the day my admission letter from the University of Arts would arrive.

I rushed into the bathroom, then hurried out minutes later, slipping into a dress before racing downstairs.

“Don’t be stupid Fiona, stop running. You’ve been warned several times,” my mother snapped, her voice sharp.

“Yes, Mum,” I answered quickly, slowing my pace.

“And why are you just waking up at this hour?” my father’s deep voice followed, laced with disapproval.

“I slept late,” I mumbled.

“Again? I think it’s high time we take that device from you until you learn to sleep early,” he scolded, glaring at me over his breakfast plate.

“But Dad… I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Mr. and Mrs. Harry—my parents. Strict to the bone. I used to think being an only child would make them spoil me. Instead, my life was a prison of endless rules. No friends. No outings. No television for more than an hour every three days. Limited use of my phone. And countless household chores. My father showed mercy occasionally, but my mother? She never missed a chance to make my life harder.

Sometimes, I wondered if they were really my parents. But none of that mattered now. Once my admission came through, everything would change.

“And where are you going?” my father’s voice cut through my thoughts as I approached the door.

“My admission letter is supposed to arrive today, remember?” I replied, my lips curving into a cautious grin. I dared not smile too wide, or they would think I was being careless with my joy.

For a moment, silence engulfed the air before I finally got the chance to step outside.

The courier van had just driven away when I reached the mailbox. My heart leapt as I saw the envelope with my name on it. Excitement surged through me—I almost tore it open right there. But tradition forced me to turn back. My father had to be the one to open it.

I ran back inside and handed it to him. He didn’t delay, surprisingly. Tearing it open, he read silently while I tried to act calm, sitting at the table.

“Hmm… for once, I’m proud of you,” he said.

My chest filled with fire. I got in. My mind screamed it, though I kept my body composed.

“Thank you, Dad,” I replied softly.

“You did your best,” he added, “but we’ll see if you can keep up with the work and not be an embarrassment to us.” Mum concluded.

“I won’t, Mum,” I answered quickly when she scoffed, her words sharp enough to cut but I was used to it already.

The rest of the morning passed quietly. I cleaned the dishes, then slipped back to my room, closing the door behind me—I screamed silently, giggling and wiggling at the same time.

Excitement bubbled inside me. I picked up my phone to search for the university pictures, and my imagination soared. I sketched one of the buildings in my pad, dreaming of my first day, until the doorbell rang downstairs. I hurried downstairs. The moment I opened the door, a pleasant, familiar scent wrapped around me.

“Fiona, dear, how are you?” the woman asked warmly.

“Good morning, please come in,” I said politely. “I’ll get my parents.” I muttered.

But my eyes kept stealing glances at the two familiar strangers, especially the man, they seemed to be a couple.

Moments later, my parents joined them.

“Oh, Marian, Jalen—welcome! Please, make yourselves comfortable,” my father said, his smile wide, and unusual.

It startled me to see both of my parents beam so openly. The couple were family friends. The man—Jalen—was my father’s best friend.

My heart skipped as I looked at him. I remembered that charm, that presence. I had admired him since childhood, before he married Marian and stopped visiting. Yet, seeing him now, the pull toward him felt just as strong, maybe even stronger.

“Fiona has grown so big,” Jalen remarked with a smile.

And my heart froze.

“That voice…” I thought.