Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

8. Maeve

Chapter 8

Maeve

The rain battering against the windows pulls me out of a deep sleep. Groggily, I turn to my side and crack an eyelid. My gaze lands on the corner of my room and I suck in a breath, terror climbing up my throat like a hand clawing out of a dirt grave.

He’s back.

The man from last night.

He’s back.

I scramble to sit up in bed, now fully awake and on high alert, my heart pounding in my chest. But it’s only when I truly focus my eyes that I realize it was simply a sick trick of my imagination. It’s just the coat rack with my black sweater hanging off one of the hooks.

I put my hand over my pounding heart as I try to catch my breath and calm myself down, suddenly feeling foolish that I even had that thought in the first place.

As my mind settles, the memories from last night begin to tumble back into my consciousness, and my stomach squeezes in dread. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around the bed sheet draped over my legs.

I’m alone in bed, Mr. Ambrose—or Hazel, as he told me to call him yesterday—seems to have left before I woke up. I shouldn’t feel such a sharp sting at his absence, but I do. Resting my cheek on my knee, I sigh deeply and swallow hard. I recall how it felt to be in his arms, and a pleasurable shiver skitters down my limbs at the thought of his hard body bracketing mine.

My gaze sweeps over the large mirror facing the bed and pauses on the closed balcony doors. He must have shut them to prevent the rain from entering the room before he left. Something about the small act touches me. I press my lips into a thin line and roll my eyes, appalled that such a mundane gesture could soften me toward a practical stranger.

I must be unwell to even entertain the thought of staying here after what happened to me last night—worse, it’s not the first time. But last night has left me a lot more disturbed.

The loss of control of my body while still being conscious …

I truly believed I was going to die.

Then the faceless man appeared.

Saved me from giving myself more than just a scratch with the sharp razor blade.

He was strange yet so alluring. Oddly, I recall a vague sense of familiarity when I peered at him, even though I couldn’t see his face through the black sheet. It’s as if I already knew him. And that as long as he was there, I’d be safe.

My fingers trail an idle path over my bottom lip, the ghost of his leather-gloved touch still lingering there. The memory, while reeking of fear, sparks small embers of heat low in my stomach. That paired with the memory of Hazel’s cock pressing into my entrance has my clit throbbing with achy need.

It’s shameful. And confusing.

I fall back into my pillows and cover my face with my hands, embarrassed by my complicated feelings toward it all.

This place is ominous. Terrifying.

But … Why does it feel like something is keeping me here?

Someone.

Maybe.

No. This feels much bigger than just a misplaced infatuation. Like I was inadvertently led here. Maybe coming across the hotel when I did wasn’t just the coincidental chaos of life, but a perfectly tuned path coaxing me this way and that until I finally stumbled my way to the front steps of the Ambrose Hotel.

I stare up at the ceiling. My mind races while my fingers draw a slow path across my stomach. A part of me wishes I would have never come to my senses last night. Who cares if we don’t know each other—that hasn’t stopped me before. But something about being with Hazel felt different. The timing felt wrong somehow.

My hand moves even lower down my stomach. I’m playing coy, even with myself as I pretend I am unaware of what I’m about to do.

Kicking the sheet off of me, my legs fall open, and I bring one knee up toward my side. I’m still naked from last night, and a heady thrill zips through me hoping Hazel stared at my naked body before he left this morning.

The first soft stroke over my pussy has me gasping and biting my lip, my arousal already drenching my slit as I slip a finger inside, the thought of Hazel watching me spurring me on.

But if I’m being honest …

He isn’t the only one I’m fantasizing about.

The other man is here too—watching me.

A small whimper tumbles out of my lips, and my head falls to the side, deeper into the pillow. I close my eyes as my fingers find my clit, swollen and begging to be touched.