Vivid Dreams
Isabella’s POV
The silence stretched as he ran a hand down my arm—slow, possessive, familiar.
“You’ll learn to stop fighting,” he said softly, almost like a promise. “It’ll be easier for both of us that way.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared into the shadows dancing along the walls, feeling them crawl like ghosts over my skin.
His breathing deepened, steady and unbothered, like this was just another night to him. But for me, it was the beginning of a war I didn’t choose.
I lay still beside him, the storm raging outside mirroring the one brewing inside my chest.
I will play the role.
Smile when needed.
Touch when required.
Obey—for now.
But inside?
I will be sharpening my knives.
Because six months was a long time.
Long enough to learn every crack in his armor.
Long enough to plan my escape.
And maybe… if I was clever enough… long enough to destroy him from the inside out.
I closed my eyes, letting my body melt into his warmth, even as my soul recoiled.
Let him think I belong to him.
For now.
Because one day, when he least expected it—
I will remind him what it felt like to lose your freedom. To be separated from your family.
Just like he’d done to me.
And when that day came?
I won’t need to scream my real name.
He’ll already know exactly who I am.
I listened to his heartbeat, to the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. For someone who claimed to be so dangerous, so cruel, Damien Voss slept like a man untouched by guilt. Like someone who had the world exactly where he wanted it—and wasn’t afraid of losing a damn thing.
But I was still here. Still breathing. Still burning.
As soon as I felt his arm grow heavy with sleep, I waited.
One beat.
Two.
Three.
Then I slipped from beneath him.
Careful not to make a sound, I slid off the bed, grabbing the silk robe from the edge of the chaise. My feet touched the cold floor, and a sharp chill danced up my spine. The rest of the house was still. Not a creak. Not a whisper.
Maybe… just maybe, I could get out.
I took one cautious step toward the door.
Then another.
A third.
And that’s when I felt it.
An arm, fast as a whip, snaked around my waist and yanked me backward so violently I crashed onto the bed, the breath knocked out of me.
Damien was wide awake now.
Eyes sharp.
Teeth bared.
“I fucking warned you to stay calm,” he growled, his weight pinning me, his hand already gripping my throat—tighter than before. “But you just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Let me go!” I screamed.
His face was thunderclouds and fury. My fingers clawed at his forearm, nails digging into flesh, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Maybe,” he hissed, his voice like gravel, “if I teach you a real lesson, you’ll finally understand what it means to stay put.”
Before I could scream, cry, beg—anything—he bound my wrists to the bedpost with the robe’s belt, securing the knot with brutal efficiency.
I thrashed, but the restraints held. He smiled.
“Go ahead. Scream,” he said, mouth inches from mine. “This room is soundproof, remember?”
And then he dropped between my legs.
His tongue found my clit without warning—wet, hot, relentless.
I gasped, my body jolting against the ropes. My toes curled, a shiver shooting up my spine as I tried—tried—to suppress the moan clawing up my throat.
“You’re going to beg me to fuck you, princess,” Damien murmured, his voice laced with dark pleasure as his tongue circled and teased, probing deeper, sucking harder.
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Don’t give in.
Don’t give him the satisfaction.
But my body betrayed me. My hips lifted of their own accord. My thighs trembled as I felt my climax building.
Just then— he stopped.
“Please…” I whispered, hating the word even as it escaped.
Damien’s head lifted slowly. His smirk was pure sin. “What was that?”
His cock hovered inches from where I needed him most, the tip brushing against my entrance.
I arched, trying to close the space between us.
He pulled back.
“Nuh-uh. I said you will beg me.”
“Please,” I said again, the shame settling like ash in my throat.
“Please what?”
“Please…” I swallowed. “Fuck me.”
He leaned closer, cupping my jaw. “Didn’t hear that, princess.”
“Just fuck me—please,” I choked out.
His groan was pure satisfaction as he guided himself against me, the head of his cock rubbing maddening circles at my clit. I writhed, desperate, on fire. Then—
I raised my head and bit his hand out of the way.
And he sank into me.
A gasp escaped my lips—sharp, broken, real. My back arched as he filled me, inch by inch, stretching me open.
He looked up, eyes gleaming, a twisted kind of pride on his face as he gripped my throat again and began to thrust—slow at first, then harder, deeper.
One hand wrapped tight around my neck. The other teased my clit with a merciless rhythm.
“Fuck—” I cried as the pleasure overtook me. “Oh god—”
He dipped his head, lips wrapping around my breast, sucking as his pace grew brutal, unforgiving.
I shattered.
It was too much.
His name. My shame. The pleasure. The hate.
It collided all at once—and just as the orgasm ripped through me, I saw it:
Light.
Bright and white like a star exploding.
Is this what real pleasure felt like?
But then the light narrowed.
And I blinked.
The warmth disappeared.
So did the grip around my throat and the dick buried inside me.
I bolted upright.
Sweat clung to my skin. My pulse galloped. I was still naked. Still in his bed.
It had been a dream. A sick, vivid dream.
And then I heard him.
“A steamy one?” Damien’s voice was amused. Calm. Already dressed for the day, a tie loose around his throat.
“Excuse me?” I asked, breathless.
He nodded toward the bed, the sheets bunched beneath me.
“You just came,” he said, quieter this time—like he already knew what that meant.
My stomach dropped.
I wanted the ground to open and swallow me whole.
I clutched the sheets to my chest, trying to slow my breathing, to erase the heat still clinging to my skin, to hide my shame.
“Dreams tell you things,” Damien continued, stepping closer. “Things you won’t admit while you’re awake.”
I said nothing.
He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Your body knows who you belong to.”
My jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes darkened. “Are you sure?”
He turned away before I could answer, heading toward the door with a casualness that made my stomach turn. “Breakfast is in thirty. Wear one of my shirts.”
And then—just before he stepped out—he paused.
“Oh,” he added, glancing back at me with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Try to run again… and next time, I won’t wake you before I touch you.”
The door clicked shut leaving me confused.
Was it a dream or not?