Page 13 of Sweet Dreams

I come to a halt. The school park is to the left, or I can turn right and run home. I swear I hear a muffled laugh coming from behind his mask. Yeah, well, fuck this guy.

Before he can think, I take off down the block, cutting across Mr. Campbell’s backyard and then down the back alley until I can see the hole in my fence. Which I probably should get fixed, but that’s a problem for a different day. I stick close to the fence line and cut across the yard, climbing the stairs to the back deck. Digging into my bag, I find the keys, but my hands won’t stay steady enough to stick them in the lock.

“Jesus Christ, Teagan, calm the fuck down.” And I have officially lost it. I’m talking to myself. I slam the key in and unlock the door; I’ve never felt suchrelief before. I readjust the bag of food, open the door leading to the mudroom, and silence greets me. Like always. I kick off my shoes and walk past the bathroom and laundry room. I drop the bag of food on the island before heading to the front window. Pulling the curtain back enough to get a small glimpse of the street, I watch and wait for any sign of my new masked friend.

I drop onto the couch, sinking my head into my hands. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what just happened. If I had headed to the school, what would he have done? I’m gonna drive myself crazy thinking of what could’ve been now. There is no point wallowing in it. I had my chance, and I blew it.

I stare at where I left my food, still amazed that I ran all that way without dropping it. After staring at it, I move off the couch and head into the kitchen. I slide the bag closer and pull out the chow mein and wonton soup, and the smell suddenly sends a wave of nausea through my stomach. Maybe I’m not in the mood to eat, so I place the food in the fridge and check that all the doors are locked before heading into my bedroom.

I slip into my silk nightgown and reach for my Kindle from the nightstand. I might as well finish this book before considering bringing it into the shop. Something about step brothers and a stalker.

I bury myself deeper into my blanket when a breeze glides over my skin. A warm hand wraps around my breasts, and my back is met with a chest. I sink deeper into his warmth. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in someone else's arms. His other hand works up my thigh, causing my clit to throb with need. I must admit it’s been a while since I’ve had this type of dream.

Gripping my thigh, he moves it over his hip, moving his finger beneath my underwear. He traces my clit with such control it drives me insane; my hips move on their own, trying to get him to touch me more in the ways I want him to. He pinches my nipple, and my hand reaches behind me, grabbing onto the material of a shirt instead of his hair. When I try to turn around, he pinches my clit.

“Fuck,” I call out.

He grunts in return, driving his fingers deep inside, and I lose my breath as I cling to him. I grab the bedding with my other hand, willfully pushing my body into his. I want this to last forever. He moves his fingers so fast that my body loses all control. I press my heels into the bed and against his thigh as I squirm to get away from his assault, but then he casually moves his hand from my breast to my waist to keep me in place.

“Come,” he growls.

I bite my lip as the orgasm hits me like a freight train, leaving me boneless. I turn to look at my mysteryman, but he’s leaving the room when he looks back at me. It’s the stalker from earlier.

When I wake up, I’m covered in sweat. I can’t be serious; now I’m dreaming ofhim. Lord, help me. I lie awake thinking about that dream, the way his fingers glided along my skin, moving around my clit, driving deep inside of me. Fuck me, it was only a dream; it’s not like any of it was real.

I fling the blankets off and demand myself to get my shit together. But shit, dream me knows how to fucking come like there’s nothing. Why can’t that happen in real life? It's probably cause there isn’t anyone in my life to do said things—no offence to my vibrator.

I throw on another pair of leggings and the hoodie I wore yesterday. Like Dad always says, wear it again if it ain’t dirty. It’s not like I’ll be doing anything productive today, maybe visit Mom and Dad. I throw my hair into a messy bun and redo my wing eyeliner.

Now, I’m ready to take on the world, or at least Holden.

If only that thought had lasted; something felt off when I entered the kitchen. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but the feeling of someone being in my house creeps up my spine. I knew this would happen. My paranoia is creeping in all because of thisstalker. No one was in my home; I locked everything up.

And tell myself to stop thinking like this as I step outside.

It’s hard to concentrate. Even when Dad talks about his latest project around the house, my mind wanders back to my dream. It felt so real, I swear his fingers were inside my pussy. Is it wrong that I want that in real life? There’s still this weird feeling that someone was in my house. A vibe I can’t shake, like someone was in my kitchen, but I can’t pinpoint it. Something felt off, and it’s been bugging me all morning.

“Teagan, are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Dad snaps his fingers, grabbing my attention.

“Um, yeah. You want to build a new deck since this one is rotting.” I step on the rotting plank in question.

He raises a questionable eyebrow but continues with his story. And I go back to thinking about my masked man.

I shouldn’tbe.

I should be scared out of my mind like when he peeked in my window. But being followed by him, who knew that would be something I liked. I almost wished he had chased me. It’s official. I’m broken if I’m hoping for my stalker to be chasing me so I can get sexually aroused by him.

The mystery of who he is, is what fascinates me. He could be anyone; then again, maybe he isn’t a he. For all I know, they could be a woman. That’s all I need, is that rumour spreading around town. Elma will have a field day with that.

“I swear, Teagan, you aren’t listening. What’s on your mind?”

Something that I’ll never share with my dad in this lifetime. I’ll be taking it to my grave. I wave him off. “Don’t worry about me, Dad. When are you going to fix this deck?”

“With my luck, your mother will put me to work soon. Are you sure you have nothing for me to do around the shop? I don’t want to start a project in the Fall.”

“Sorry. I hired someone to help me around the shop. It’s been nice not to be running around like a chicken with my head cut off.”

He watches me, and I’m waiting for a lecture to come.