Chapter 6: even when asleep
The silence after the storm was a different creature. It wasn’t empty; it was saturated. The scent of sex and sweat hung in the still air of Jiahao’s room, a persistent ghost of the violence that had passed between them hours before. Caitlyn lay beside him, deep in an exhausted sleep, her body a landscape of small aches and profound satisfaction. The duvet was tangled around her hips, one arm flung above her head, the other resting on the slight, tender soreness of her lower belly.
Jiahao never slept deeply. It was a habit. He surfaced from a thin, dreamless layer of rest at 3:17 AM, eyes opening to the familiar shadows of his room. The desk lamp was off, the only light a pale streetlamp glow filtering through the blinds, painting bars across the floor.
The reason for his waking was a soft sound beside him.
He turned his head on the pillow.
Caitlyn was dreaming. Her brow was pinched, her full lips parted. A low, needy whimper escaped her. She shifted, turning onto her side facing him, the duvet falling to reveal the soft curve of a bare breast. Her thighs squeezed together under the sheet, a slow, restless motion. Her hand slid down her own body, fingers curling against her thigh, not touching, but wanting to.
“Mmm… Hao…” His name was a breathy sigh, tangled in sleep. “Please…”
He went perfectly still, watching. This was untouched territory. This was her subconscious, stripped of performance or defiance, speaking in the raw, unfiltered language of pure want. It was more intimate than any fuck. It was a confession he hadn’t demanded.
Another whimper, more desperate this time. Her hips gave a minute, helpless roll against the mattress, seeking friction that wasn’t there. “Daddy…”
it hit him with the force of a physical blow. A possessive heat, tender and brutal all at once, spread through his chest.
He moved without sound. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he loomed over her sleeping form. In the faint light, he studied her: the flutter of her eyelids, the dampness at her hairline, the tantalizing shadow between her clenched thighs. He was semi-hard from sleep and the sight of her, giving a pulse against his thigh. But this wasn’t about that. Not yet.
He bent his head and pressed his lips to the junction of her shoulder and neck. The kiss was feather-light. He traced a path down her arm with his mouth, feeling the fine hairs rise under his touch. He kissed the inside of her elbow, the delicate skin of her wrist.
His hand slid beneath the twisted sheet. He found the hot, firm muscle of her inner thigh. It was tense. He smoothed his palm over it, feeling her tremble. Her breathing hitched in her sleep, a soft, trusting sigh escaping her.
His fingers journeyed higher, through the damp curls. She was soaked. Slick heat greeted his touch, a testament to the dream she was trapped inside. He let out a slow, controlled breath, his own desire a live wire sparking in his gut.
With exquisite care, he parted her folds. He didn’t enter her. Instead, he circled her clit with the pad of his middle finger, a gentle, relentless pressure. It was the same rhythm he’d used days before, the one that had wound her tight before he’d denied her. In her dream, it must have felt like a continuation.
Her back arched off the mattress, a silent plea. A full, throaty moan vibrated in her chest. “Yes… there…”
He watched her face, captivated. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. She was entirely given over to the sensation he was providing, a puppet to his silent ministrations. He added a second finger, spreading her wetness, working her with a focused, patient rhythm that was all the more dominant for its quietude. Her hips began to move in tiny, helpless circles, meeting his hand.
“You’re gonna come for me in your sleep, aren’t you, baby?” he whispered, his voice a rough scrape in the dark. “Your dirty little dream, making you this wet for me.”
Her breathing became ragged pants. Her thighs tightened around his hand. He could feel the orgasm gathering in her, a storm building under closed skies. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mound, adding that deep, internal pressure he knew drove her wild, even as his fingers worked her clit.
She shattered.
A choked, guttural cry was torn from her throat as her body convulsed. Her internal muscles clenched rhythmically around nothing, spasming in the air. He kept his hand right there, working her through it, milking every last pulse from her until she fell back into the pillows, boneless, a sheen of sweat on her skin. A tear escaped from the corner of her closed eye and traced a path into her hair.
He withdrew his glistening fingers slowly. He brought them to his lips, tasting her sleep-sweetened climax, his eyes never leaving her face.
Then, he leaned down and kissed her awake.
It wasn’t gentle. It was deep, consuming, his tongue claiming her mouth as his fingers had just claimed her body. She woke with a jolt, a muffled sound of surprise against his lips. Her eyes flew open, disoriented, hazy with residual pleasure and shock.
“Wha…?” she gasped when he broke the kiss.
“You were dreaming,” he said, his face inches from hers. His voice was dark with a satisfied hunger. “You were moaning. Begging. So I finished it for you.”
The reality crashed into her.
The reality crashed into her. The slick heat between her thighs, the lingering tremors in her muscles, the taste of herself on his lips. Her dream hadn’t been a dream at all. It had been him. He’d watched. He’d touched. He’d taken. A fresh wave of vulnerability, deeper than any physical exposure, washed over her, making her throat tight.
He saw it flicker in her sleep-soft eyes. Instead of mocking it, he let his thumb trace her lower lip. “You asked for it in your sleep, baby. Who was I to say no?”
They were both so tired. The exhaustion was a weight in their bones, a thick haze in the room. His sleepy, raspy voice was instantly a turn-on for Caitlyn, a gritty, unfiltered sound that went straight to her already-aching core. He knew that. He made sure to whisper the words, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke.
“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured, the praise like rough velvet. “Coming in your sleep like a perfect little slut. All mine.”
He lazily sat up against the headboard, the muscles of his abdomen shifting in the dim light. With hands that were both gentle and inarguable, he guided her to straddle his lap. He was still being dominant even when sleepy, his grip firm on her hips as he settled her over him. She could feel him, hard and ready against her damp skin.
“C’mere,” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep and need. “I need you. Need to feel that greedy cunt.”
Caitlyn, heart pounding, slowly but desperately sank down onto him. The stretch was a familiar, breathtaking shock, a delicious reminder of the bruising depth from hours before. A broken sigh left her lips as he filled her completely, his sleepy groan vibrating through her chest.
He didn’t thrust. He let her set the pace, his head falling back against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded but watching her every move. His mouth found her shoulder, his teeth grazing, then sucking a dark mark into her skin. His hands roamed her back, her hips, her ass, gripping and squeezing with a possessiveness that would leave fingerprints.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her collarbone, his tongue following the ache of a new bruise. “Fuck yourself on me baby. show me what a slut you can be for me”
She moved, a slow, rolling bounce that was pure sensation. The angle was different, allowing him to nestle even deeper inside her swollen, sensitive flesh. Every rise and fall was a perfect, torturous friction. His hands slid down to grip the backs of her thighs, his fingers pressing in, surely leaving more bruises as he urged her to move faster.
Her head fell back, a moan escaping her as the pleasure built, a steady, coiling pressure. His mouth was everywhere—her throat, her breasts, sucking her nipples until they were sharp, pebbled points.
“Look at Daddy when you cum.” The command was a sleepy snarl, but its force was undiminished. One hand left her thigh to fist in her hair, pulling her head forward so her gaze met his. His eyes were dark pools of intent. “Eyes on me. I want to see it. I want to see you break.”
She whimpered, her rhythm faltering as she fought to keep her eyes locked on his. The intensity of his stare was as overwhelming as the feel of him inside her. He ground up into her, hitting that deep, tender spot, and her vision swam.
“I said look at me,” he demanded, his voice gaining strength, his hips snapping up to meet her desperate bounces. “You come when I tell you. You come looking at me. Show me who you belong to.”
Each slow, purposeful drive brushed that devastating, deep spot he’d bruised earlier, the sensation a blurred line between pleasure and pain. “Daddy… oh god, Daddy…” The title was a sob, a prayer, a surrender she chanted into the hollow of his throat.He knew she was so close to another peak, this one born from exhaustion and overwhelming sensation. He felt her internal muscles beginning to clench again, a weak, tired echo of their earlier vice-like grip. He smirked against her damp hair, his breath hot on her ear“ur gonna cum aren’t you baby? go on make a mess on me.” His voice was a dark, teasing promise. He slid a hand between their bodies, his thumb finding her swollen clit. The touch was electric, brutal in its precision. “Soak me. Let me feel it.
The combination was catastrophic. His lazy, deep fills, the rough circle of his thumb, the filthy permission in his words—it shattered the last of her defenses. With a broken cry, she fell apart again, a wet, hot rush of her release flooding between them, coating his skin and hers. Her body went limp, held up only by his arms around her and the persistent, slow penetration of his hips.
He fucked her through that one, too, until her whimpers were mere puffs of air against his neck. Only then did his own rhythm fracture. His lazy thrusts grew urgent, his breathing jagged in her ear. His grip on her turned punishing.
“Take it,” he snarled, his control evaporating. He slammed up into her, once, twice, three final, brutal times, burying himself to the hilt as he came. A guttural roar was torn from his chest, muffled against her skin. She felt the hot, pulsing flood deep inside her, a claim that mirrored the one he’d made hours before, layering a new brand over the old.
He wasn’t done yet.
With a grunt of effort that spoke of sheer will overriding physical depletion, he moved. His hands, still powerful even now, gripped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. The duvet was a twisted knot at their feet. He came down over her, his larger frame caging her completely, his weight a heated blanket of solid muscle.
He hovered there, propped on his elbows, with what strength he had left, admiring how small she was compared to him. Her back was a delicate arch, her ass pressed against his stomach. He knew the sheer scale of him, this overwhelming physical difference, was a dark current that electrified her. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice wrecked and thick. “My little thing. I could break you in half.”
She shivered beneath him, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with cold. A weak, wanting sound escaped her throat. His hand snaked out, fumbling in the dark for the bedside drawer. The click of it opening was obscenely loud.
Caitlyn heard a familiar, rising buzz.
It was her vibrator. The sleek purple one she’d bought in a secret, shame-faced online order weeks ago. The one he’d found, and confiscated, with a look of such dark promise she’d felt her knees go weak.
“The only time you get to use this,” he said, the words a low, possessive growl against her spine as he positioned the humming silicone against her swollen clit, “is when I’m watching. When I use it on you, baby.”
He pressed it into her, and her cry was swallowed by the pillow. The sensation was immediate and vicious, a sharp, focused riot that bypassed her tired nerves and went straight to the core of her. It felt different. Infinitely better than when she’d used it on herself in guilty, frantic solitude.
“Oh, God… Daddy,” she moaned, the title a ragged plea forced out of her by the relentless vibration.
He worked it over her with a precise, cruel knowledge, circling the tender bud, then holding it pressed hard right at the apex. He knew the exact frequency, the exact angle, the exact pressure that made her toes curl and her vision whiten. It was as if he had a map of her nerve endings she’d never seen.
“daddy knows your cunt better than you do, doesn’t he?” he breathed, watching her body bow and strain beneath him. “You didn’t even know it could feel like this.”
She couldn’t answer. Her world had narrowed to the buzz and his heat covering her. She was babbling into the sheets, a stream of “please” and “Daddy” and “oh fuck” that he drank in. Her legs began to shake, a violent, uncontrollable tremor that started in her thighs and radiated outwards.
“That’s it,” he coaxed, his free hand smoothing over the tremoring muscle of her ass. “Let it happen. Shake apart for me. I want to feel you come all over this toy I control.”
He shifted the angle, sliding the vibrator down to tease at her slippery entrance, already stretched and full of him, before bringing it back up. The contrast was maddening. Her hips jerked, seeking more, seeking anything. The orgasm built not as a wave but as a sudden, destabilizing quake.
“Now,” he commanded.
It ripped through her with a silent, breath-stealing violence. Her legs shook so badly the mattress seemed to tremble. A thin, desperate scream was trapped in her throat, her fingers clawing at the sheets. He held the vibrator right there, milking the convulsions until they softened into weak aftershocks, until her trembling subsided into limp exhaustion.
A sound emerged from the pillow. It wasn’t a sob. It was a low, grating keen of pure frustration.Her fingers, which had been slack, curled into the sheet again. She dragged in a ragged, shaking breath and pushed her hips back, a minute, deliberate press against his still-hard length. The movement was feeble, but its intent was a screaming declaration
“Please.” The word was muffled, strained, but unmistakable. She said it again, turning her head to the side, her cheek against the damp cotton. Her eyes were closed, but her face was a mask of desperate want. “Daddy. Please.”
She pressed back again, more insistently this time, her body contradicting every claim of fatigue. The ache was a hollow, hungry thing inside her, deeper than muscle, beyond reason. The climaxes had only scrubbed her raw, leaving every nerve exposed and screaming for a different, final completion. The feeling of him, simply holding her down, was a hint that tormented her. “I need you. Not a toy. You. I need… I need to feel…”
“You need to feel me fuck you senseless.” he finished for her, his voice dropping to a graveled whisper. “You need me to ruin you properly. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The admission was a broken thing. “God, yes.”
He hesitated, not from doubt, but to watch the agony of her anticipation. He saw the truth of it in the tension of her shoulders, in the way her breath hitched. She was an open wound, and only one thing could seal it.
“Then ask for it right,” he commanded, his hand smoothing up the curve of her spine to fist gently in her hair. “Use your words.”
Caitlyn swallowed. She forced her eyes open, looking at the wall, at the painted bars of light. “Fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me. Hard. However you want. Just… fill me up. I’m empty.” The last sentence was a whisper of pure anguish.
That was all he needed.
He didn’t reposition her. He kept her pinned on her stomach, one hand fisted in her hair, anchoring her. With the other, he guided himself to her soaked, swollen entrance. He pushed in without ceremony, a single, deep, reclaiming stroke that punched the air from her lungs in a sharp cry.
He was impossibly deep at this angle, each ridge and vein of him a brand against over-sensitized flesh. He set a brutal, immediate pace, no warm-up, no mercy. The bed slammed against the wall with a rhythmic, protesting thud.
“This what you needed, you greedy whore?” he grunted, each drive a punctuation. “Me, not some plastic toy? You need to be split open on the real thing?”
“Yes! Fuck daddy, yes!” she screamed into the mattress, her voice breaking. The pain was bright and sharp, a necessary counterpoint to the debilitating pleasure, grounding her in the reality of his possession. This was the culmination. This was the “more.” It hurt so beautifully she wanted to weep.
He leaned over, covering her, his chest to her sweat-slicked back. His mouth found the side of her throat, not kissing, but speaking directly into her skin, his words vibrating into her bloodstream. “You take it so good. Even now. Your perfect, ruined little cunt is still sucking me in. .”
His hand left her hair and slid beneath her, his fingers finding her clit again, already overspent and throbbing. He touched her there anyway, a rough, circular torture that made her whole body seize.
The sensation cascaded, a firestorm she couldn’t contain. Another orgasm tore through her, a raw, clenching spasm that had no ecstasy, only a violent, compulsory release. She sobbed through it, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the sheets.