THE HUNGER IN THE DARK

Tyra’s POV

“You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you,” a deep, husky male voice whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. 

I pressed myself closer to his chest, which was flushed against my back, arching as he laid his large, warm hand flat on my stomach. 

“Just look how you fit perfectly between us,” another voice rasped in front of me. “So perfect for us.”

I moaned when he placed his mouth on my throat and slowly dragged his tongue downwards.

“Good girl,” he whispered against my skin when I tipped my head back to give him more room without hesitation. 

My hands found his shoulders and gripped them hard as he suddenly suckled one of my nipples into his mouth, rolling it between his tongue before giving it a soft nip as if he knew how I loved my pleasure with a bit of pain. 

He made a low sound against my skin that went straight down my spine and pooled between my thighs, making my already sopping wet pussy get wetter. Every sensation was heightened in the darkness behind the blindfold over my eyes. 

The one behind me shifted his hips, and I gasped as his hard cock slid against my skin.  

His hand on my stomach began to slide down, slow and deliberate, and my thighs parted on instinct, my whole body leaning back into him, chasing the contact, chasing him.  

“Please,” I breathed as his fingers stroked my slit.  “Let me see your faces.”

“Easy, baby,” a voice one murmured into my hair; his rough voice did something to my stomach that I had no business letting it do. “We will let you see once you're ready.”

The warmth of their hands, their fingers pressing in, their breath on my skin... The familiarity I felt with them was gut-wrenching. 

It was a recognition that lived in my marrow, like a pull so violent it felt like it was trying to rip the soul right out of my chest.  

"Please," I moaned, the sound desperate and broken.  

“I need to be inside you so bad…” he said, ignoring my plea, and then gently bent me over. 

 The one in front of me guided my mouth downwards, then rubbed his cock on my lips as if seeking entrance. 

Just as I took him in, the other man pushed his length into me.

I let out a strangled moan as his thick cock sank deeper into me, feeling like it was about to split me open in the most delicious way possible. The sensation was so intense I thought my heart might stop.

“That’s it,” voice two moaned, thrusting his cock into my mouth. “You take us so well.”  

The feeling of being consumed, sandwiched between their bodies as they claimed every inch of my body as theirs, was exquisite torture. One I never wanted to end.

With them, it was never just sex. It was a homecoming. A completion. 

I arched my back, my fingers clawing at the sheets, as my pleasure climbed higher and higher. The pleasure was a dark tide, drowning all the brain cells in my scientific mind until there was nothing left but the raw, screaming need for them to never stop.  

Then, just as the sharp edges of my orgasm started clawing at my senses, bright silver light flared, as always.

“No, no, no,” I whimpered, reaching out to hold them, but I met only empty air. “Come back. No, come back!” 

I jolted awake, my desperate scream trapped in my parched throat. 

I sat up so fast the room spun. My heart was slamming against my ribs. My skin was damp. The sheets were twisted around my legs, and my breath was coming in short, choppy pulls that took a long moment to even out. I pressed my hand flat against my chest and waited for the phantom sensation of those hands on my body to fade.  

"Not again," I whispered, my voice a bitter rasp in the silence of my bedroom.  

For months, this dream had been haunting me, growing more vivid and more explicit with every passing night. Always ending right when I'm about to cum. 

It always left me with this gut-wrenching emptiness, a hollow ache in my chest that felt like a mourning for something I’d never actually possessed. It was a deep and terrifying longing for a completion I couldn't place my finger on.  

Even the sounds of their voices were already gone from my memory. No matter how hard I tried to remember, it never worked. 

It has been months of this. The same dream cycling back every few weeks, always the same two men, always the same blindfold or blurred faces, always the same waking up feeling like I had lost something I could not even remember having.  

My pussy pulsed between my legs, demanding attention. 

My hand drifted down, my fingers ghosting over my slick slit, but I stopped myself before I could touch the slick heat. 

Why bother when I knew it wouldn’t help? 

I already knew how this ended. I had tried it enough times in the early months to know that the release was never the problem. 

Yeah, I would orgasm, alright. My body would go through the mechanical motions of release, but when the feeling faded, the hollowness in my chest would get bigger and colder than it had been before I started. 

It was like scratching a mosquito bite until it bled. Technically satisfying for three seconds but catastrophic immediately after.  

I had tried with men too. Twice. Both times with someone objectively attractive, both times telling myself this would fix it, this would scratch whatever this was. Both times, I had stared at the ceiling afterward while they slept beside me and felt so empty I wanted to scream. Not because they did anything wrong, but because my body kept reaching for something it was not getting. 

So I had no choice but to ignore the sharp, insistent, and deeply inconvenient ache between my thighs.

"I need water," I muttered, shoving my tangled hair out of my face as I stumbled out of bed toward the kitchen. 

My hands trembled as I opened the fridge. I looked at the cold bottled water lining the shelf for a long moment, then my eyes slid past them to the half-drunk bottle of vodka.

I shrugged and grabbed it, gulping it down straight from the bottle, then lowered the bottle and leaned against the open-concept kitchen, enjoying the way the vodka burned down my throat and settled in my chest.

I looked around the spotless perfection of my Beijing penthouse apartment.

The floor-to-ceiling glass walls, designer furniture, and the rows and rows of awards lined up like soldiers on a shelf. The grant approval letter from my latest research project blinked on my laptop.

Anyone who saw me thought the same thing; I had everything. 

The name, the money, the success, and the recognition. 

But none of them knew that mattered when deep down, where it mattered the most in my world, I was nothing. I was still just that broken girl searching for a home that didn't exist.

I lifted the bottle and took another gulp, just as my phone started vibrating. 

The sudden sound made me flinch so hard I nearly dropped the bottle.  

“Damn,” I hissed, snatching the phone off the counter before the sound could bounce off the walls. “It’s 5 am. Who the fuck is calling me at this time of the—”

My words faded, my stomach immediately knotting up into a tight, painful ball when I saw the caller ID on the screen. 

Mom.   

I closed my eyes and pressed the cold bottle to my forehead. I so didn’t need her to add to what I was already going through. 

I let out a sigh of relief when the phone finally stopped ringing, dropping it. Only to jump again when it started up again.  

“It’s too fucking early for this,” I muttered in annoyance, staring at the phone. “When are you so persistent today?”  

I stared at the screen as it lit up in the dark, the vibration rattling against the marble counter like a warning. 

A brief, frantic thought flickered through my mind. Was something wrong? Was there an emergency at the pack? 

I tightened my grip on the vodka bottle, my heart rate spiked with irrational worry, but I forced it back down, drowning it in another bitter swallow.  

I knew better. My mother had made her choice ten years ago when she traded her defective daughter for the shiny new life of being a Luna to one of the most powerful packs on the continent. 

She had picked her side, focusing on her new family and those golden twin heirs, while I became the wolfless ghost haunting her perfect new legacy. 

I had left that part of my life for a reason. I didn't want to think about that house, those woods, or the way the air tasted like magic and rejection.  

The phone buzzed again, relentless and demanding, causing anger to flare in my chest again. There was nothing she would need me for. She should wait for her monthly scheduled calls. 

I was waiting for an important email from work, but I powered the phone down and watched the screen go black until the only thing reflected at me was my own pale and hollow face. Haunted by hands that didn't exist and a life I thought I had buried.

I took one more swallow of vodka, but it didn't help.

It never did.