Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her old-fashioned bathroom, Holly looked down at herself and sighed. She was doing everything she could to re-create the circumstances of that night, but her body wasn't cooperating. The pale lilac camisole she'd last worn three months ago was hanging off her now. Her once full breasts were noticeably smaller and her ribs were showing.
She'd been avoiding this moment for weeks, but she really couldn't deny it any longer, so she stepped onto the bathroom scale and closed her eyes as she waited for the large dial to settle on a number. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes for a moment, taking in the information, and then closed them again. It was worse than she'd thought. She'd lost 27 pounds in just over three months.
She knew most women would be thrilled with the news, but she was appalled. As a teenager, she'd periodically starved herself during particularly stressful times. At one point she'd realized that she was routinely and purposely eating less than 300 calories a day. Shocked at how far her obsession had gone, she'd woken up and sought help, but she still had a tendency to fall into those old patterns. As a result, she was usually quite diligent about maintaining a healthy body weight and eating regularly, even when she didn't feel like it.
Like everything else in her life, her eating habits had been impacted by the events of that night. Shopping for and preparing food just seemed so exhausting. Everything seemed to take so much more effort than she remembered.
Not wanting to bother cooking shouldn't have been a problem. She was surrounded by really fine dining establishments and yet she wasn’t comfortable eating at them. She wasn't in the mood to meet with friends, and eating alone was just awful now. She felt like she was being watched, all the time. Logically, she knew this was impossible, but her unease just wouldn't go away.
She'd returned to the city after two annoying weeks spent with her well-meaning but overbearing mother out in Chilliwack, a small city about an hour's drive from her place downtown. Walking back into her apartment had been difficult, but she'd insisted on doing it alone. If she was going to move forward, then she was going to have to face her fears and try to put her odd encounter with that man behind her.
At first being in her apartment alone had been okay. She'd missed her place. Missed everything about living in Vancouver. Her work, her friends, her kitschy kitchen with the black and white checkerboard tile and diner-inspired decor. The many coffee shops and excellent window shopping within blocks of her front door. Everything.
She'd even missed her nosy neighbors, the Kleins, who'd been responsible for calling the police that night. The ancient couple had welcomed her back like she'd been gone for months. Mrs. Klein had even dropped off a rather putrescent casserole for her to enjoy on her first night home.
Holly had almost felt too guilty to accept the dubious offering. In the past she'd been polite to the octogenarian couple, but had inwardly resented their personal questions and intrusive manner. She wasn't proud of this but she'd quite regularly stood at her apartment door, listening for the distinctive sound of their twin walkers maneuvering down the hallway before venturing out of her apartment.
The Kleins weren't malicious busybodies, but it was still disconcerting how they always knew her work schedule or never failed to comment if she had take-out delivered from the Thai place on the corner. But if having neighbors with a bit too much interest in her personal business saved her from what could have been rape or worse, then she would graciously put up with their tendency to know her every move. Even if it was a little off-putting.
That first day back she'd been settling into her familiar routine, not exactly comfortable, but not terrified either. But then night had fallen and her anxiety had sky-rocketed. To avoid going to bed she'd stayed up until the early morning hours. She went over the proofs for the print ad she was working on until she could no longer focus on the computer screen. And still she'd been unable to force herself to step into her bedroom. She'd spent the entire night cleaning and shopping online. As the sun rose outside, she finally fell into a light, restless sleep on her couch. That's where she'd spent every night since she'd been back. Tonight would be her first time actually lying on her bed, thought sleep was still unlikely to find her. Until her dream man left anyway.
Her second and third nights back in her apartment had been equally long and sleepless. Finally, on her fourth day back she decided to call the precinct to see if there'd been some progress on her case. She thought perhaps she could rest if she knew the police had a suspect or even a solid lead. Also, she was curious to know why Constable Delgado hadn't been in touch with her. He had promised her mother that he would keep her safe, and yet she hadn't heard a word from him. She was more than a little disappointed that he hadn't made some effort to contact her.
Summoning her nerve, she called the number on the card Delgado had left beside her phone. Her heart was beating like crazy as she waited to be forwarded to the handsome cop. Twice, she almost hung up r emembering the way he'd behaved so coolly towards her when she last saw him. He probably had women calling him all the time, feigning interest in a case when their motivation was actually more about getting inside his uniform. She really hoped calling him didn't make her seem like just another cop groupie.
When Delgado's partner, Constable Gill, picked up instead Holly was momentarily relieved. Until she realized how unhappy the older cop was to hear from her. In fact his tone had been downright hostile when he informed her that Delgado had left the force.
Holly wasn't quite sure why Constable Gill sounded so gruff, but didn't really care. Delgado was gone. Not wanting the ill-tempered cop to guess how shattered she was by this news, Holly quickly shifted the conversation towards the case.
"Well," Constable Gill said, clearly reluctant to share information with her. "We did have a suspect, but he alibi'd out. His mom confirmed his story that he was home with her on the three evenings in question. Too bad really. He looked good for it. A couple priors. B amp; E's and trespassing. That kind of thing."
"Trespassing?"
"Yeah. Apparently our boy liked to go for walks at night and peep in a few windows. Typical pervert behavior. Not necessarily dangerous, but you'd be surprised how many violent offenders start out that way."
Holly swallowed and tried to sound calm. "So, he's still wandering around. His mom got him off. Just like that?"
"Well, actually. He's in the hospital right now. Someone put him there. Really messed him up. He won't be sniffing around any windows for awhile, I can tell you that."
Holly thanked him for the information and requested that he call her if there was any further progress on the case, but was fairly sure he would lose her number immediately after hanging up. Constable Gill obviously thought she was overreacting to her home invasion and didn't see why he should feel obligated to keep her informed. He had bigger issues to deal with, like a new partner and a city where actual crimes were being committed every single second. Her almost rape didn't impress him in the least. He'd just been going through the motions of concern that night to avoid appearing insensitive in front of his former partner, who actually had seemed sincerely sympathetic.
Her next call was to the Delgado's friend: The one who installed security systems. An alarm wasn't as effective or as tempting as a hot cop bodyguard, but it seemed like her only option if she wanted any peace at all. Unfortunately for her, alarm systems weren't much of a deterrent for bad dreams. Or incredibly hot dreams where her intruder seemed to sound and smell just like Constable Delgado.
Stepping off the dreaded scale, she thought about stripping off the gaping camisole set and just going to bed naked to wait for her dream man. That would certainly save time and awkwardness. But she just couldn't do it. Sleeping in the buff was not her style. Even on the rare nights she'd shared her bed with another person she couldn't wait to get her clothes back on after the sex was over. She wasn't comfortable with her body and didn't see that changing anytime soon. Except in the dreams. There she was proud of her body. She flaunted her breasts and that hot, wet spot between her legs, knowing that she was driving her dream man crazy.
In reality, she was self-conscious about just about everything. All the things that empowered her dream self made her feel embarrassed, like the smell of her sex, the sounds it made when a man was thrusting inside of her, the unattractive way her breasts slid to the side as she lay on her back. There was nothing beautiful or poetic in this pursuit. It was animalistic and demeaning. But here she was. Waiting for a stranger to come and violate her on the unlikely theory that doing so would release her from a recurring dream.
God, this is so ridiculous, she thought to herself as she padded into the bedroom on bare feet. Why can't I just get over this? But she'd tried everything her therapist had recommended, and yet she was still suffering. She really didn't know what she would do if this experiment didn't work. She strongly suspected that she was wasting her time, not to mention ten thousand dollars on an idea she'd concocted while high on caffeine and sleep-deprivation. But she would go through with it, if only to see if a professional was capable of coaxing some response from her dormant libido.
Sliding between the crisp white sheets, she breathed deeply and waited for panic to claim her. She felt vulnerable and nervous in her own bed for several long minutes, but finally her eyes drooped shut and she fell into a light, dreamless sleep.
She woke suddenly, less than a half hour later, to the familiar feeling that someone was there, in her apartment with her. She had awoken so many times to this exact scene, this feeling of terror, that it was impossible to tell if she was dreaming or not. Panic set in as she waited for the fear to really take hold of her. Then she heard something completely out of place which convinced her that she was safe in her apartment, waiting for her fantasy to unfold instead of her nightmare.
Someone was cursing, loudly and creatively. Evidently her less than stealthy Scene Facilitator had tripped over the coffee table in her family room.
Holly stifled a giggle as he gave the offending coffee table a good kick in retaliation and then swore at the offending piece of furniture again as he re-injured his toe.
Whatever trepidation she had been feeling diminished into low-grade excitement. She'd been imagining her dream man as some kind of deadly serious, erotic phantom who would come to her in the dark, attempt to pleasure her, and then disappear. A guy who tripped over things and swore at inanimate objects didn't fit her fantasy at all. She should have been disappointed, but she wasn't. His clumsy entrance made him seem significantly less threatening and mysterious. More human. She liked that. A lot.
As her bedroom door creaked open, instead of feeling fear wash over her, she felt a small tingle of anticipation. She also had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. Nervous laughter, but still, she felt mirth bubbling up within her chest. It was a good feeling, but it certainly wouldn't contribute to setting the mood, so she buried her face in her pillow to stifle any amused sounds that might escape her.
Still feigning sleep and hoping that the grin on her face wasn't visible in the dim light from the patio door, she turned onto her back and raised her hands above her head to make them easier to shackle to the wrought-iron headboard. She waited for him to pounce, but he didn't make a move toward her. He was standing over the bed. She could feel his presence there, hear his quiet breathing. She really wanted to crack an eye open and get some impression of his face and body, but she needed to maintain the integrity of the dream. And that meant he must stay completely anonymous except for the sound of his voice and the feel of his skin.
When she felt like she couldn't stand the anticipation a moment longer the bed finally dipped as he settled on the edge next to her hip. From the way her firm mattress shifted her body towards him it was obvious that he was big, really big. She could feel the firm heat of his long muscular thigh all along her side. It was incredibly odd, yet exciting to be willingly in such close proximity to a stranger. She carefully avoided sitting next to anyone on the Skytrain and yet here she was, waiting impatiently for this unknown man's touch.
She really hadn't counted on enjoying this so much. In fact, she'd been hoping to get it over with as quickly as possible. Now she wasn't quite so sure she wanted to rush this experience. Having her dream man here, in the flesh, was much more entertaining than she'd anticipated.
She waited for some of her residual fear to surface and sabotage her pleasure, but it remained dormant. She was surprisingly relaxed and calm. She'd expected to be feeling some anxiety over his every move, but instead she felt an unfamiliar yet delicious tension gathering between her legs.
She knew what arousal was, had even experienced it during heated make-out sessions with her high school boyfriend and more recently, while reading some really torrid historical romance novels, but for the most part, this was very new for her. She was surprised and delighted to find that she was drawn to her mysterious visitor and desperately wanted him to touch her.
"What have we here? Sleeping Beauty?" he said softly, finally reaching out with one large hand, he brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. His voice was low and deep. It wasn't raspy exactly, but there was a roughness to it that made it sound like he'd just woken up or had spent the previous night shouting to be heard over a concert or professional sporting match of some sort. In short, it was exactly the sort of voice Holly remembered from her dreams. Miss Bright had promised that her Scene Facilitator would have the voice of a butch angel, but he sounded more like a very sexy demon.
His touch was unexpectedly tender as he traced a knuckle over her forehead. In the dream he was never this gentle, but she still felt herself responding to it. He was spreading her hair out around her pillow now. Raking his fingers through the long tresses, and arranging them in a chestnut halo all around her head. Still trying to appear to be asleep, Holly felt like purring as his hands worked through every single strand of her hair, pulling and tugging gently at her scalp, sending little impulses of pleasure through her without touching her skin at all.
"Hmmm… Look at you. Do you have any idea what I want to do to you? I don't even know where to start." He murmured as he began tugging the white sheet down her body, slowly exposing her silk-clad chest, her rib cage, her tiny waist and then her gently flaring hips. The slide of the cotton sheets against Holly's mostly naked skin caused goose-flesh to rise and her nipples to harden. She had to fight the impulse to cover her chest with her hands. She knew he could probably discern very little about her body in the dark room, but she still felt embarrassed by her body's reaction to his voice, and the sensual friction of the sheet against her flesh.
When the sheet was finally pushed to the foot of the bed, she fully expected him to begin caressing her much more forcefully, but instead he was completely still for several long moments. Unable to resist, she cracked one eye open to see what he was doing.
She couldn't really see much. It was too dark to discern any real details. Her sneak peek had provided an impression of broad shoulders in a white T-shirt, and a strong profile topped by wavy dark hair, but his face was completely in shadows. All she could really tell was that he was looking down at her body, studying it intently. She found this both embarrassing and flattering. What could possibly be that interesting about her shape?
He leaned forward and she felt his warm, minty breath against her face. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her. It should have seemed much too soon for such intimate contact, and yet she found that she wanted to feel his lips on her very badly. She lifted her chin slightly to give him better access to her mouth, but he just turned his head and began rustling around for something he'd placed on the floor.
Had he brought a bag with him? Like the one the intruder had brought with him? That thought should have sent her into a blind panic. After all, that horrible man had brought instruments of torture into her home and had intended to used them on her. Instead she found herself wondering what kind of instruments of pleasure were now sitting on her innocent bedroom floor. Handcuffs. Certainly. A blindfold. Most likely. But what else? How kinky was this going to get? She wasn't well-versed in this arena at all but her curiosity was definitely piqued for the first time in her life.
What if her friends could see her now? Emily and Josie would be totally shocked to see her participating in a sexy, role-playing scenario. With a complete stranger. She almost wished she had the nerve to tell them about it, but suspected they wouldn't believe her. This was so out of character for her.
She had a small group of female friends who got together regularly over martinis at an intimate club just down the street from her apartment. Occasionally these gatherings lead to discussions of her friend's wilder sexual exploits. Understandably, she usually tried to steer clear of this subject. Partly because such frank talk embarrassed her, but mostly because she knew eventually the focus of such conversations would eventually turn to her and her lack of enthusiasm for sex would be discussed at length. Again. Eventually these debates over the genesis of her dysfunction would lead to well-meaning but pointless advice. As much as she loved her friends for wanting to help, she just couldn 't abide being the object of their pity.
Judging by all the erotic possibilities that bag represented it seemed she was going to get an erotic education to put her friend’s tame exploits to shame.
When his attention returned to her, she took another peek and there was something hanging from his hand. He was leaning over her again, so she expected to feel the cool bite of metal against her wrists as he snapped on a pair of handcuffs. Instead she felt something smooth and unbearably soft against the inside of her right arm which still rested next to her face on the pillow.
Whatever he was using to caress her felt like a strip of silk or perhaps satin. He was trailing this item slowly along the sensitive skin of her elbow and then her naked armpit. She felt like cringing. No one had ever touched her there. Not ever. She'd always considered it a rather nasty body part, prone to unwanted hair and sweat. And yet her skin seemed to come alive as he slid the material over that sensitive crevice again and again.
Just when she was getting used to this unfamiliar sensation, he abruptly slid one of his powerful hands beneath her neck and lifted her head easily from the pillow. In a flash the silk scarf he'd been using to torment her was wrapped around her eyes and secured firmly in a knot above her right ear. It all happened so quickly she wasn't quite sure how to react. Should she continue to pretend she was asleep? Try to escape? Moan some encouragement?
Before she could decide on an appropriate reaction he was leaning over her again. Grabbing her wrists in a vise-like grip, he pressed them into the pillow, effectively pinning her to the bed. Shifting slightly, he lowered his large, muscular chest until all the wonderful ridges and contours of his upper body were flattened against her from hip to breast.
"Now," he said, breathing directly into the sensitive shell of her ear. "You can stop playing opossum. I know you're awake and I can't wait a second longer to make all your dirty dreams come true."