Mania (Fever Dreams Collection #1)

10. Maeve

Chapter 10

Maeve

I take a deep breath in, but all I taste is water. It spills, and spills, and spills into my lungs. I choke, but all it does is waste more oxygen.

Air.

Breathe.

My body thrashes, my movements slowed by the body of water I’ve somehow found myself in. I take another lungful, and it burns like I’ve just gulped down a live, burning flame. My eyes sting as they try to see through the chlorinated water. I only see darkness and a faint glow of lights as my head peers upwards trying to find a way out from this living hell.

I scream.

The sound is dull and it only manages to hurt my ears with distorted terror. I’m wasting precious oxygen screaming, precious bubbles of air reminding me I’m still alive.

I’m drowning.

I’m drowning.

I’m drowning.

Another lungful of water and my vision blackens. I’m lightheaded as I try my hardest to swim up to the surface but instead, I’m pulled down by the weight of my clothes, invisible hands dragging me further into the depths. Into the darkness. I fight against the loss of consciousness. I swallow more water.

My limbs grow tired.

I stop resisting …

Air.

Lungfuls of it.

I breathe in so deep that it burns, similar to the water I know was drowning me only a few seconds ago. But considering I’m no longer immersed in water, my mind pitches over the edge of reason once again.

I spring to my feet and swivel around panicking.

Where the hell am I?

Another sunken hole trapping me inside.

Broken blue tiles. A weathered diving board.

The rain batters down on me as I gaze upward to the starless night sky, then back down around me.

I’m standing in an empty pool.

Outside.

In the rain.

I say the words slowly in my head as if repeating them to myself will help contain the crazed feeling clawing against my chest. As if it will help it make sense.

The pool appears to be abandoned. Cracked blue paint reveals cement underneath. And a large puddle of rainwater full of dead leaves sits in the deep end.

Then it clicks.

Hazel’s warning echoes in my ears.

“No one is allowed up there anymore.”

I burst into tears, my body shaking, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the cold rain or the shock of almost drowning. Maybe both.

How could I have almost drowned in an abandoned pool?

My clothes are soaked through and after a few minutes of uncontrollable sobbing, I try to find a way out. I see a door, it’s a few feet away from the pool behind the diving board. Scrambling to the shallow end, I climb out.

My heart plummets out of my chest when I pull on the metal door, and it doesn’t budge. My whine sounds like an injured animal, hysteria digging its claws into me like a lover’s scratch marks. I slam my body into it with all my strength, banging my fists in a rising panic. I try to pull on the door again but my grip slips with the continuous downpour. My sob is a defeated shriek, but I try again, unwilling to stay trapped on this rooftop a second longer. This time, I pull even harder, using my full weight, screaming my hysteria to the sky and the door thankfully creaks open while the sill drags heavily against the cement ground.

The staircase is pitch black, and I only take a few seconds to look for a light I don’t find, before running down the steps, my hands guiding me through the dark until I hit a flat platform. I grope the wall until I find another door, one I pray leads to the upper level of the hotel.

This time the door opens effortlessly, and I let out a sob of relief knowing that I’m at least inside the building, the corridor lights spilling out to greet me.

There’s not an ounce of me that believes I’m safe even now that I’m inside the Ambrose Hotel, but at least I’m distancing myself from another gut-wrenching reenactment of death.

Or is it a near-death experience? Lucid dream?

It doesn’t matter now. Not when my teeth are chattering, my body shivering. I wrap my arms around my chest and hope I’ll warm up as I try to find another set of stairs leading down to the fifth floor.

“Excuse me.”

I yelp, spinning around to find a familiar face standing demurely behind me. She’s wearing the same white nightgown as when I saw her last, long hair cascading over her shoulders. But where there was warmness in her gaze when I spoke to her in the lobby, fear and confusion have now replaced it.

“I can’t seem to find my room,” she says all in one breath.

Unease prickles at the base of my nape. It’s the same thing she told me last time.

Is she sleepwalking ?

“Sorry miss, I’m not on the clock. You should ask the night receptionist on duty.”

A twinge of guilt plucks at my conscience having dismissed her so abruptly, but I ignore it and turn my back to her, starting down the corridor again.

“Please!” I hear her say. It’s desperate, similar to how I feel, but I ignore her. “You must help me!”

A bell rings.

It’s faint, distant, but I hear it nonetheless.

I freeze.

Then she screams.

It’s so loud, it feels like she’s screaming right beside my ear. It’s bone-chilling and it only grows louder, the lights flickering on and off as my jaw tightens with the screeching sound.

I turn around to face her with a tight heaving chest, terrified of what I might encounter when I do set my gaze upon her again.

The screaming suddenly stops.

And she’s replaced by a looming figure standing so close that I have to tilt my head up to match his gaze.

If he had one.

Instead, the same black sheet hugs the hard curves of his face and jaw. Same white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up his toned biceps, and jutting veins snaking down his arms only to disappear under his leather gloves.

I suck in a breath, my heart skipping a beat. I can’t control the blood-curdling scream that leaves me, the air snatched out of my lungs like a petty thief in the night.

My mind empties of any rational thought, and I immediately bolt down the corridor, running away from him as fast as possible. I consider banging on a few doors for help but decide to head for the staircase exit instead, my body pleading for me to leave this hellscape as fast as I can.

When I reach the exit, I slam into the door only risking a look behind me when the staircase finally appears. Terror spikes when I see him stalk toward me, his long strides much too deliberate compared to my frantic run. Fear laces my harsh puffs of breath while I scramble down the stairs, but there’s a thread of hope when I realize where I should run to.

Making my way down one flight of stairs, I spot the door leading to the fifth floor, and I desperately try to focus on my current goal instead of the approaching footfalls echoing behind me. I tumble into the corridor and take a quick pause, my breaths ragged and harsh as I swivel my head right and left trying to situate myself. The footsteps approach, and I begin to run again, counting down the door numbers until I spot my own room.

I turn my head to look back while I run and sob in fear, spotting the man close behind.

But it’s not my door I’m trying to get to. A vague memory of last night propels me forward as I recall Hazel mentioning his room was next to mine. I slam my palm on the wood, banging and banging, and banging on his door.

“Hazel!” I scream. I can see the man’s long strides from the corner of my eye and my efforts turn hysterical. “Help! Let me in!”

Like a polarizing magnet, I feel him getting closer, his frightening presence buzzing across my skin. The minute hope I’m holding on to dissipates when I realize Hazel isn’t in his room, or worse, is ignoring my distressed call for help.

The hooded man’s gloved fingers graze my arm, and I scream with all of the air I have left in my lungs, bolting down the corridor once again.

But I don’t make it far.

He catches me by my shirt, shoving my back into the wall as he brackets me between two doors. Hazel’s room is so close, yet so far. The stranger’s hard body pushes against my own and my screams die in my throat, terrified and shaking.

He doesn’t say a word, his unnerving facelessness confusing when he presses a finger to my mouth as if to tell me to be quiet, the smell of his leather glove taking me back to the first time he appeared in my bathroom.

Was that yesterday?

Time is bleeding from one fear-soaked moment into another, and I’m slipping, slipping, slipping.

I freeze in his grasp, except for the shivers still racking my body due to my soaking wet clothes, my gaze glued to his face. Although I can’t see his eyes, it’s as if I feel them, they burrow into me as if seeking me beyond just here and now.

My body inexplicably heats as I lose the urge to run, the curves of his facial features hypnotic, as if I can almost see his face … yet I see nothing but black. His body is pressed against me, and I feel the radiating heat of his skin through my wet clothes. I swallow hard, my mouth falling open as my tongue dips out and tastes the leather of his glove.

What the hell am I doing?

How can I possibly swing so fast from one emotion to the next? That’s a lie—the fear is still present. Except now it stokes a fire I was unaware was even smoldering inside of me. The flames lick down my veins and engulf me completely.

I must be going mad.

Cracked open and oozing.

My eyes dip to his broad chest, the white t-shirt straining against it, the black sheet pushed over his shoulder. His hand trails down my chin, then my neck as my eyes rove over the toned muscles of his arms. His hand flattens over my stomach. My gaze sweeps over the flat of his torso, his jeans low on his hips, the wide stance of his booted feet bracketing mine.

His free hand curls around my shoulder and gently pushes me back, pinning me to the wall while the other hand begins to move dangerously close to the elastic of my cotton shorts.

I’m frozen. My eyes lift back up and linger on his fingers moving down.

Down. Down. Down.

My core tightens, warm heat rushing down to meet his explorative touch as it slides under my shorts, and I realize then that I’m not wearing any underwear. His gloved fingers slip through my arousal and over my slit, my clit throbbing at the intrusion. I try to conceal the small mewl that escapes me when he pushes one large finger inside of me, but with the hand pinning me to the wall, he reaches up and pushes down on my chin, coaxing me to open my mouth.

As if demanding to let him hear my reactions.

The smooth feel of the leather sliding in and out of my pussy has me breaking out into goosebumps as I let my head drop back against the wall. I’m trembling. I can barely discern why—only that I don’t want him to stop. Not when it feels this good. Not when my mind empties with every thrust of his finger.

My self-control is holding on by a thread, and I’m not sure what makes it finally snap.

Is it the wet sound of my arousal against his fingers?

Or is it his veiled face grazing my burning cheek?

What if it’s the near certainty that I can feel his breath on my skin even with the sheet between us?

Whatever it is, it snaps, and my hands are on his hips, reaching for the button of his jeans, seeking to find my own personal rapture. His head tilts as if watching me. I turn desperate and fumble over his zipper as he pushes a second gloved finger inside of me.

I swear I hear him groan when I finally shove his jeans halfway down his ass, his cock springing out with the movement. And oh god , it’s beautiful. It’s thick and long, the vein down his shaft throbbing, begging for my touch.

His entire demeanor changes as soon as my hand wraps around his cock and I squeeze . His methodical movements turn erratic, and he slams a fist against the wall next to my head.

Pulling his fingers out of me, he tugs down my shorts and practically rips them off, barely giving me time to step out of them before he lifts me up with both hands under my ass. He sharply turns around and slams us into the opposite wall, his cock pushing against my entrance as his fingers now dig into the meat of my thighs.

Mindless with greedy arousal, I keep one arm around his shoulder and I grab the base of his cock with the other, letting my weight drop as he slowly enters me, stretching me open, and filling me up so completely that it hurts. It quickly turns into pleasure as he begins to fuck me against the wall.

“ Oh fuck,” I moan breathlessly, bringing both arms up to circle his neck.

It shouldn’t feel this good. The sweet burn of his cock pummelling into me, his thrusts ruthless and ravaging. A doll—a plaything for what goes bump in the night.

The lunacy of the situation only manages to heighten my arousal as my gaze lands on Hazel’s closed door, my pussy clenching hard at the realization of what I’m doing so close to his room.

My boss’ door.

The one who I begged to fuck me until I changed my mind— god, now look at me.

I must be unwell. I must be losing my mind.

My core squeezes even harder at the thought, and now I’m positive I hear him moan as his head falls against my shoulder, his hips pistoning into me over and over and over. The urgency of what we’re doing is apparent with every wet slide of his cock inside of me, and the melodic moans slipping past my lips.

The climb to my climax is not a slow one, his pelvis grinding on my clit so perfectly, until I come with a sharp cry. My teeth find purchase on his shoulder as I bite hard over the cotton of his shirt. My orgasm is so intense that all I want is to be fucked even harder, longer—to die against this wall so I can haunt these halls and remember for all eternity what it was like to feel this stranger’s cock fuck me senseless.

I need to feel this heavenly pulse of desire reverberate through my body forever.

I try to catch my breath, my teeth still biting hard into his flesh when I hear him let out a low grunt as his cock throbs deep inside of me, coming with sharp slaps of his hips.

Slowly, we both grow still, and I release him, my jaw aching from the exertion, my breathing still ragged and rough. Pulling out of me, his fingers soften against my thighs as he drops me to my feet.

He turns and leans over to reach for my shorts before kneeling in front of me. I can feel his cum dripping down my thigh and my cheeks burn when he slides his gloved hand over my skin, gathering his release with two fingers and pushing it back into my pussy, his thumb grazing my clit in a slow but possessive manner. I bite down on a quiet whimper but say nothing as I let him help me into my shorts before he straightens back up to his full height.

He offers me his hand, his glove shining with our combined arousal, and I stare at it dumbfoundedly, hating how my rational mind has already crawled back to shame me.

Finally, I place my hand in his, and he leads me to my room door. It’s unlocked, and I don’t even bother questioning why that is. I let go of his hand and step inside. I turn around to face him, my mouth open as if I have anything meaningful to say, but the door shuts softly with a snick, and I’m left alone in my room once again.