Kännbar dragningskraft

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

1
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"Vem?" frågar han. Ge upp, din påträngande jävel.
En lång och mörkhårig, stilig kille går förbi och jag tar honom snabbt i armen. Han rynkar på näsan när han vänder sig tillbaka mot oss.
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Mr Tall dark and handsome ler och lutar sig fram och tar tag i mitt bakhuvud innan han drar mig mot sig. Hans tunga kantar mina läppar och han suger på min mun. Hans tunga tar inga fångar när den virvlar djupare in i min mun.
Vad i helvete?
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Jag fejkar ett leende när mitt sinne är helt tomt. "Huh." Mina ögon tittar tillbaka på den andra killen medan jag slickar mig på läpparna. Herrejävlar. Vad var det för sorts kyss? "Umm."
Mr Tall dark and handsome tar min hand i sin. "Dra åt helvete, kompis. Hon är med mig." Sedan drar han mig i handen genom folkmassan. Vad, vänta! Vart är vi på väg? Jag tittar över på mina vänner som alla ger varandra en high fiving över min slumpmässiga kyss med Mr. Holy Hot. Ska jag bara dra mig ur hans grepp? Varför i helvete? Den här killen är jäkligt läcker. Åh, skit också. Vi kommer fram till hans grupp av vänner och han lägger sin arm runt min midja för att dra min kropp nära honom.
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Deras ögon möts och alla skakar på huvudet och skrattar.
"Hej." De ler alla.
"Trevligt att träffa dig", svarar den ena mannen när han skakar min hand.
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"Det var på tiden", säger en annan kille och skakar hans hand. "Grattis, kompis. Vad heter din fru?"
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Jag skrattar högt. "Blossom?"
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Han tar upp sin öl och dricker den. "Och?"
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"Har du märkt det?"
Min mun faller upp. "Ja, ja. Jag inbillar mig inte det."
Han ler medan han smuttar på sin öl. "Det är precis vad jag gör."
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Hans vän höjer på ögonbrynen. "Hej." Han ler när han skakar min hand och räcker mig en drink.
"Tack." Jag ler tacksamt. Jag tittar mellan de sex männen som han är tillsammans med. De här killarna är alla underbara ... och kultiverade. Dyra kostymer och kläder. Jag kastar en blick tillbaka på mina vänner på andra sidan baren och biter mig i underläppen. Jag tar bara den här drinken och går sedan tillbaka över till dem. Det kan inte skada att ta en drink.
Hans vän vänder sig tillbaka till de andra männen, medan den långa, mörka och stiliga mannen återigen riktar blicken mot mina bröst.
"V^ad gAö^rk Ld!u?"K Jéag spk$aqkWarB på& huvMudVet.
"Jag fantiserar."
Jag höjer en panna. "Inbillar mig vad?"
"Hur dessa bröst kommer att se ut runt min kuk ikväll när jag knullar dem."
Mbiqn) Xmzun& CfRaOlflmer )uupjp i chfo)cLkI.F
Han ler ett långsamt och sexigt leende. "Du var säkrare med den andra killen."
Mina ögon håller fast vid hans. Jag har inga ord.
"För till skillnad från honom kommer jag att få dig att göra det jag vill. Och ikväll vill jag knulla dina stora saftiga bröst."
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Woah. Det har gått för lång tid.
"D-det händer inte", stammar jag.
Han rör sig i fickan på sin kavaj och tar fram en femtio-dollarsedel. "Vill du satsa på det?"
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"Jag slår vad om femtio dollar på att du inte får din kuk mellan mina bröst ikväll."
Han blinkar och klinker sitt glas med mitt samtidigt som han höjer en sexig ögonbrynsbryn. "Tack. Jag ska ta det som en personlig utmaning."
Jag skakar på huvudet medan jag smuttar på min drink. "Fungerar den där löjliga raggningsrepliken på många kvinnor?"
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Jag ler. Det är något extremt ärligt med den här killen. Han låtsas inte vara någon han inte är.
Det är avväpnande.
Hans hand sjunker till min bakdel igen och han gnuggar den medan han ler för sig själv och tittar upp och ner på mig.

Jag lyfter på ögonbrynen. "Du kan sluta titta på mig som om jag vore ditt nästa knull. Det kommer inte att bli någon fysisk aktivitet mellan oss ikväll. Jag är inte den sortens tjej."
Han lutar sig fram och kysser mig igen. "Sluta prata." Han ler mot mina läppar. "Du gör bara utmaningen så mycket sötare för mig. Jag är en målinriktad man, det vet du."
"Lycklig fru, lyckligt liv", svarar jag sarkastiskt.
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Jag skrattar högt. "Håll käften, ditt missfoster. Vem säger den här skiten och kommer undan med det?"
Han skrattar högt när hans händer sjunker ner till min bakdel igen.
Två timmar och sex cocktails senare...
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Jag är inte den här typen av tjej, men herregud, han gör det så jävla roligt att vara dålig.
Han böjer sig ner och kysser mig, hans tunga dansar förföriskt med min. "Du är skyldig mig femtio dollar." Han ler mot mina läppar.
Jag skrattar högt. "Bastard."
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Mina ögon rullar tillbaka i mitt huvud. Gud, detta är betalning nog. Vad kan vara bättre än denna visuella sensation?
Han börjar verkligen slå mig på bröstet tills sängen börjar gunga och mitt kön kramas ihop av njutning. Herre jävlar, jag behöver den här kuken i mig nu.
Jag skrattar högt. Det här är otroligt. Hur i helvete fick den här killen mig tillbaka till sitt rum, och jag är skyldig honom femtio dollar för privilegiet?
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Översättning: Sluta skratta eller så fyller jag din mun med min kuk.
En oväntad spänning går genom mig när jag svarar: "Je pourrais prendre tout cela".
Översättning: Jag skulle kunna ta allt.
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Översättning: Talar du franska?
Jag tar tag i hans bakhuvud och för det till mitt. "Je baise en français trop", viskar jag mot hans läppar.
Översättning: Jag knullar på franska också.
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"Obwohl, wenn ich in Deutsch ficken ist, wenn ich in meinem besten", viskar jag när min upphetsning når en febernivå.
Översättning: Fastän, när jag knullar på tyska är när jag är som bäst.
Han skrattar i min mun och lyfter mina ben över axeln när han spetsar mig i ett enda hårt slag. Vi står stilla och våra ögon sluter sig i njutning.
HerrnexjjävlUarm.
Den här killen är bra... och enorm.
"Sie sollten sehen, was Sie sagen, deutsch meine Bruchstelle ist", viskar han när han drar sig ut och glider hem igen.
Översättning: Ni bör se upp med vad ni säger, tyska är min brytpunkt.
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Översättning: Jag ville ha din kuk i min mun.
Han drar sig ur och svävar omedelbart över mig medan han matar in sin kuk i min öppna mun. Jag smakar min egen salta upphetsning. Fan också. Den här killen är helt jävla avstängd.
"Votre souhait est ma commande ma chère femme."
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Jag ler runt den stora penisen när han glider ner den i min hals och jag känner hur mitt kön börjar pulsa. "Je voudrais que vous souffler dans ma bouche. Si vous étiez verkligen mon mari je boirai vers le bas."
Översättning: Jag önskar att du kunde blåsa i min mun. Om jag verkligen var din fru skulle jag dricka det.
Han skakar på huvudet och ler sexigt ner mot mig medan han skjuter tillbaka håret från min panna. "Fuck, moi aussi. Vous soufflez mon putain de l'esprit ici", viskar han genom sin filttjocka upphetsning.
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Jag ler när jag sveper min tunga över hans ände. Hans knän är på vardera sidan av mitt huvud, och hans kropp rör sig flytande så att han glider in och ut ur min mun. Hans mörka ögon ser hur jag kämpar för att ta honom fullt ut.
Den här mannen har en guds kropp och en ängels sinne.
Jag är i himlen.
"JveR dobiss tFe gotût_e,r._"*
Översättning: Jag måste smaka på dig.
Han morrar när han drar sig ur min mun och faller mellan mina ben, hans tunga sveper genom mitt svullna kött.
Fan också. Mina knän försöker att stänga sig när jag kämpar för att få kontroll över den sensoriska överbelastningen. Han trycker tillbaka dem aggressivt mot madrassen när hans tunga verkligen tar kommandot, slickar och smakar på allt jag är.
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Han stönar in i mig medan hans ögon sluter sig av njutning. Hans tunga cirkulerar och sveper och jag känner hur jag börjar darra. Herregud, det har varit för länge sedan. Jag kommer att komma redan nu.
"Kom", andas han in i mig. "Jag vill att du ska komma på min tunga. Ge mig lite grädde, Bloss Bomb."
Herre jävlar, den här killen steker min hjärna. Han biter i min klitoris och jag darrar in i honom och han stönar av njutning. Jag tar tag i hans bakhuvud för att försöka stilla honom.
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Jag rynkar pannan mot taket medan min hand går genom hans rufsiga lockar. Jag kan knappt andas. Han är så stor.
Han lutar sig tillbaka på sina knän och håller mina ben i luften medan hans ögon sjunker ner till mitt kön och han ser hur min kropp kämpar för att ta emot hans stora muskel. Hans tumme cirkulerar försiktigt över min klitoris, han vet mycket väl att det kommer att frigöra mig och tillåta hans inträde.
Han är erfaren och han vet hur man lossar en kvinna rakt upp och ner.
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Jag inser att det inte är så.
Han kysser försiktigt min fotled intill örat och ler sexigt ner mot mig. Mina ögon håller hans en längre stund och en rynka korsar hans ansikte när jag håller andan. Hans hand stryker försiktigt mitt hår från mitt ansikte, hans tumme rinner över min underläpp.
Gud. Jag blundar för att stänga ute honom. Den här jävla killen är löjlig.
"RgegardeH moi",i PvinskarD Jhamn.
Översättning: Titta på mig.
Jag tvingar mina ögon att öppna och drar upp dem för att möta hans.
"Vous êtes la plus belle femme putain j'ai jamais été avec", viskar han mjukt. Översättning: Du är den vackraste jävla kvinna jag någonsin varit med.
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Sluta. Du känner honom inte ens och det här är ett one night stand.
"Cesser d'être molle et baise-moi", viskar jag.
Översättning: Sluta vara mesig och knulla mig.
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"V-vad menar du...?" Jag flämtar.
"Ingen har någonsin sagt det till mig förut."
Jag skrattar när han drar sig ut och slår tillbaka in i mig och slår luften ur mina lungor. Han pumpar mig hårt igen. "Och om jag vill vara mustig med min fru har jag all jävla rätt att vara det."
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Åh, han kommer inte att vara lätt att glömma.
Min kropp börjar darra igen, och han ler mörkt och känner av att min orgasm är på väg. Han vet hur han ska hantera en kvinnokropp.
Fan också.
SxjäPlvklart gOörz hazné déet.O
Våra kroppar är täckta av ett skimmer av svett och jag blundar för att försöka stoppa orgasmen. Jag vill att detta ska hålla i sig.
Jag behöver att det här ska hålla i sig.
"Jag... vill... inte... komma", kippar han.
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Han skrattar mot mig. "Vi kan göra det här hela natten, Bloss."
Jag ler när han lyfter upp min bakdel med sin hand för att verkligen träffa slutet av mig, och jag skriker ut när min kropp drar ihop sig runt hans stora muskel.
"Fuck, yeah!" ropar han när hans huvud rullar framåt och han kommer i ett rus.
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Herregud...
Vad i helvete var det där?
Hans mun möter min och han kysser mig mjukt samtidigt som han håller min käke i handen. Jag ler mot hans läppar och han kysser mig ömt igen. "Vilken utmärkt hustru du är."
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Hans läppar dammar av min panna. "Gör dig inte besväret att somna." Hans hand faller mellan mina ben och han sprider dem så att de hänger över vardera sidan av hans kropp. Han börjar bearbeta mig igen; hans tre stora fingrar glider in i mitt våta, svullna kött. "Det där var förrätten och det här är en tio-rätters måltid."
Fyra timmar och fyra duschar senare ligger jag i det halvmörka rummet med min falska make. Ljuset tittar bara in genom sprickan i gardinerna. Mitt huvud ligger på hans bröst och hans stora, muskulösa armar omsluter mig. Natten har varit minst sagt otrolig.
Vi har slukat varandra, och om han inte hade slut på kondomer hade vi förmodligen fortfarande gjort det. Jag tror att vi måste ha använt en hel låda.
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"New York", andas jag. Jag kryper ihop när jag hör min hesa röst - ett symptomatiskt problem från gårdagskvällens tequila och givande aktiviteter, utan tvekan. "Var bor du?" Jag frågar.
"Texas. Ursprungligen från Australien."
Jag kysser försiktigt hans bröst och ler nöjt. "Jag hade en bra bröllopsnatt."
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Jag fnissar mot hans bröst. "Kan du faktiskt ordna en rullstol så att jag kan ta mig tillbaka till mitt rum, tack?"
"Det skulle jag göra, men jag tror att jag kommer att använda den själv."
Vi ligger i behaglig tystnad ett tag till. Hans hand går fram och tillbaka över min bakdel, som om han memorerar varje centimeter.
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Han skrattar högt och rullar mig på rygg och håller mina händer över huvudet. "Ditt sinne är jävligt upphetsande", andas han innan hans tunga försiktigt utforskar min mun.
Jag kan helt enkelt inte få nog av den här killen. "Jag skulle kunna säga samma sak. Jag har aldrig haft tvåspråkigt sex förut." Jag ler. Fan, de flesta killar jag legat med kan inte ens tala engelska med mig när vi har sex, än mindre hoppa in och ut ur tre språk.
Han ler när han biter mig i underläppen och drar den mot sig. "Moi non plus. Je peux être accro."
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Jag har alltid haft en kärlek till språk. De var min stresslösare när jag gick i gymnasiet och mina föräldrar skilde sig. Jag låste in mig i mitt sovrum och lyssnade på språkband genom hörlurar så att jag inte kunde höra dem bråka. När jag ser tillbaka var alla dessa timmar ensam i mitt rum som jag ägnade åt att lära mig själv värt det bara för att få uppleva den natt jag hade med honom.
Han utmanade mig, men jag utmanade honom tillbaka och jag vet att jag överraskade honom. För helvete, jag överraskade mig själv.