Page 35 of Corrupt Shadows
Her shadows purr with approval as I walk back into the room and to the bottom of her bed before leaning on it. I cross my ankles in front of me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before sending my consciousness into hers. Evie’s mind is a curious place, and yet it strangely feels… like how I imagine home would feel. Not that I would know anything about that.
Fuck, focus.
When I travel into another’s mind regularly enough, it becomes as easy as breathing to blend my mind with theirs, and my little witch is no different. Yet, she is. I allow myself to explore exactly what I’m feeling in the connection between us.
I watch Evie’s dream as she runs through the woods. Every few steps, her head whips back, and she glances over her shoulder for her attacker. The last time she goes to look, her bare foot catches on a stray tree root. She falls face first on the forest floor. The breath whooshes from her lungs, and the masked figure chasing her covers her body with his, pinning her to the packed dirt.
The man fists her hair and yanks her head off the ground. My witch is emitting a tantalizing cocktail of fear and lust, turned on by being caught and manhandled.
I can work with this.
I manipulate her dream seamlessly, taking the core components of the nightmare and blending it with desire. My double flips Evie onto her stomach. She scrambles backward on her hands and feet as he closes the distance and grabs her by the throat. She releases a strangled moan as he tightens his hold. “Filthy fucking slut. Do you often spread your legs for strange men in the woods?”
Her pupils dilate, and she arches her back when he leans down and trails his lips along her shoulders. He pulls off his pants. “Take this dick like a good little witch.”
Now I’ve set the scene enough that it will continue uninterrupted for quite some time. I weave the necessary threads of her brain waves, tightening some and loosening others. She’ll sleep deeper than she has in her entire life.
I retreat from her mind and climb onto the bed before crawling up her body. She doesn’t stir, except for an occasional twitch. I brace myself above her and lean down, mirroring the actions of the masked man in her dream. I kiss and nip her skin in torturously slow movements. Her body is mine to explore. I crawl back down her body, the bulge in my jeans rubbing against her as I do. I gently push her legs to her chest, then grab her ankles and spread her open.
With her thighs spread like this, the curves of her ass cheeks peek out under her panties. Her hips rise off the mattress, but her eyes stay closed.
I grip her panties at the crotch on both sides and yank. A loud rip sounds through the bedroom, but the noise doesn’t wake her. I leave whatever scraps are left of her underwear trapped beneath her.
Her cunt is soaked. What a naughty whore you are!
The cool air kisses her exposed clit, and she moans, reaching a hand toward her pussy to soothe the ache, but she never reaches her destination. I wrap a shadow around her wrist and pin it to the mattress. I ghost my lips against her tight bud, lightly flicking it with my tongue. Desire races through my body when I taste her for the first time. She is Ambrosia, nectar of the gods; there is no other way to describe it. The flavor of her arousal coats my tongue, and I moan against her skin, unable to stop myself from enjoying this moment.
She startles awake with a gasp, her skin tightening beneath my palms on her thighs.
“Wh-what’s happening?” She stutters, the tendrils of sleep still holding her in their sway.
I allow her to lift her head just enough to look down at me between her thighs. “Your cunt smells delicious, little witch.”
Her eyes widen, and her hands tremble even as her arousal deepens.
“You are so fucking delectable. Your body knows who it belongs to, little killer, and soon your mind will too.”
Her voice reaches me through the sheets. “I can’t move. Why can’t I move?” she asks desperately.
I continue, ignoring her protests, and press my face further into her. I suck on her lips, puffy and swollen from her unchecked arousal, and slowly draw her folds between my teeth.
It was too easy messing with the ribbons of her mind, threading the strands together and changing the patterns so she’s susceptible to my compulsion.
Sleep paralysis is a real condition, and recreating the effects is simple enough. I loosen the invisible chains enough on her psyche so I can feel her writhe.
“You bastard!” Her voice cracks in the middle. “Let me go.”
“You don’t want me to do that.”
A whimper escapes her mouth, and her voice raises an octave. “Get off me!”
I ignore her, my fingers sinking deeper against her skin. She instinctively pushes up against me, forcing my tongue deeper. I curl it back to collect her honey before drinking it down.
“Please, stop,” she begs.
“Be careful what you beg for, little witch.”