Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

9. Hazel

Chapter 9

Hazel

My face hovers so close to the two-way mirror that my breath fogs the glass, my heavy exhales spelling out Maeve’s name with the condensation.

I watch while she slides a delicate finger into her glistening cunt, and my forehead falls against the glass, wishing I could hear the moan I’m convinced she just let out. All I hear is the rain and the greedy strokes of skin on skin while I fuck my cock into my tight fist.

I might have left her room early this morning, a ridiculous and vain attempt to avoid temptation, but I’ve been watching her sleep from mine ever since.

I wish I could say I hadn’t been aroused before she began to touch herself just a few moments ago. But that would be a lie. In reality, I’ve been grinding my teeth, trying not to pull my cock out and fuck myself senseless since I sat down on the edge of the bed two hours ago.

There are still so many questions attached to Maeve, and I believe most will remain unanswered. I’ve long ago given up on understanding the logic behind what happens here at the Ambrose Hotel.

But certainly, whatever happened to her yesterday can be explained. I simply know it. I just need her to trust me—and she will. Soon enough. Who else will she trust here but me? I can protect her.

Can’t I?

I bite down on a long groan, my focus zeroing back on Maeve as her legs fall open even wider, her pretty little cunt on full display from my vantage point. While one of her hands circles her clit in tight circles, her other hand squeezes her full breast, her thumb and finger plucking at her hard nipple.

My skin buzzes with the taunting knowledge of how perfect she felt under me, her soft plump curves, the silk of her hair. It took a heroic effort to pull out of her instead of thrusting even deeper and fucking her ruthlessly into the bed until I had pumped her full of my seed.

I’m crazed.

I’ve barely known the girl for a week—a week in an ocean of thousands—but no other woman has made me feel this alive. The fabric of existence pulses around me, reminding me of my place in the insignificance of this god-awful universe.

My arm strains with the rough strokes of my hand as I watch in awe as Maeve’s back arches from the bed, her heels now digging into the mattress, three fingers pushed into her weeping pussy, eyes still shut tight.

I wonder what she’s imagining behind those pretty lashes—I wonder if it’s me. I wonder if my fingers could stretch her even wider than hers are right now. I need to know, desperate for her to think about me as much as I’ve been dreaming about her.

I fight the urge to slam my hand against the glass, not wanting to alert her to my presence. Still, I place my burning palm against the cold surface as I hunch over, feeling myself barrel closer and closer to release. My balls tighten with the orgasmic pleasure of watching her, pumping my dick in time to her beautiful ministrations.

My body stills, muscles seizing as I come against the two-way mirror, ropes of hot cum spurting onto the glass. I groan through my blinding climax as I pretend that the moan that I hear is Maeve’s and not mine. My eyes are still glued to her naked body as she continues to fuck her hand, the other now gripping the sheet under her.

To watch her meet her very own climax is perverse, and I love every second of it.

A full-body euphoria I won’t easily forget.

As I catch my breath, my eyes drop down to my release slowly sliding down the glass. Dragging my finger through it, I slowly trace a heart with my cum and idly daydream of the day it will trickle out of Maeve instead.

Soon. Very soon.

As long as the hotel allows it.

She is mine to keep.