Payton’s whimpers vibrate against my ear.
Her soft body is writhing under mine.
I can feel her pleasure pooling between us.
She’s perfection. The light in my dark room.
I run my fingers through her sweet pussy and trail them up over her belly.
But then her breaths stop. And her chest stills.
“Payton.” My voice is so garbled, I can hardly understand myself.
She doesn’t reply.
“Payton!”
Slowly, so slowly, my eyes move up her naked form.
Her pretty pink pussy.
The red splash of her virginity.
Beads of sweat.
The flow of blood over her breasts.
Deep slash across her throat.
I lurch toward her, hands outstretched to stop the bleeding,
I gasp awake, into the present.
It’s been so long since I’ve dreamed, I’m not used to the jarring feeling of being stuck between realities. When the dream is so fresh it feels like a memory. Feels so damn real. Hell, it looked so damn real.
Breathing through my nose, I drag myself back to the crappy apartment on Fifth Street and the living woman pressed against my side.
Another lungful––roses, clean laundry and sex.
Payton.
I rub my thumb against her bare shoulder.
A fucking virgin.
I was not expecting that. Never even crossed my mind as a possibility. Payton’s young, probably too young for me, but she’s plenty old to have popped her cherry. Old enough to have slept with multiple men.
My inner beast growls at the idea.
It’s a good fucking thing she was a virgin. Just thinking of some dude walking around that’s had his cock anywhere near Payton’s pussy fills me with a boiling, murderous rage.
And if anyone else ever touches her…
If anyone else ever hurts her…
A crushing sensation presses into my chest.
Somebody did hurt her.
My fingers slowly fold into a fist.
Somebody hurt her a lot.
And it’s time someone hurt him back.
