Nightmare

My eyes grow heavy, lids sealing shut as the city's distant hum fades into oblivion. Tessa's warmth presses against me, her heartbeat a steady lullaby syncing with mine. The phone buzzes once more on the nightstand, ignored, unimportant. Darkness swallows everything, a velvet void that pulls me under. Sleep comes deep and absolute, the kind that erases boundaries between flesh and thought.

The dream uncoils slowly at first, colors bleeding in like ink through water. I'm back at the office, but everything shimmers wrong, fluorescents too bright, casting harsh yellows that make shadows jitter unnaturally across the cubicles. Desks stretch endlessly, monitors flickering with code I can't quite read, lines twisting like serpents. The air tastes metallic, charged with that pre-storm tension, and my skin prickles as if watched. I move toward Elena's QA station, my steps echoing louder than they should, each one thudding through my chest.

She's there, perched on the edge of her desk, legs crossed in those fitted jeans that hug her toned thighs. Her dark ponytail swings gently as she laughs, a sound bright and unrestrained, slicing through the hum of printers and keyboards. But she's not laughing with me. No, her green eyes sparkle at someone else, someone whose voice rumbles low and confident from the shadowed aisle behind her. Derek. The name slithers into my mind unbidden, a ghost from her bar confessions that night: her ex-husband's old college buddy, the slick sales rep who'd circled their marriage like a shark, always "just checking in," his hands lingering too long on her shoulder during group dinners. She'd brushed it off then, a failed date before the divorce finalized, but now he's materialized here, tall and broad-shouldered in a crisp button-down that strains against his gym-sculpted chest. Blond hair perfectly tousled, smile flashing white and predatory.

"Elena," he says, voice smooth as aged whiskey, leaning in close enough that his cologne, something sharp and citrusy, wafts toward me. He rests a hand on her knee, casual but possessive, thumb tracing a slow circle over the denim. She doesn't pull away. Instead, her lips part in that playful grin she saved for me just days ago, freckles dancing across her nose as her cheeks flush pink. "You look incredible today," he murmurs, eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that pins her in place.

I stand frozen a few cubicles back, my mouth dry, limbs leaden. I try to speak, to stride forward and claim what's mine, but my feet root to the carpet. The app, where's my phone? I pat my pockets frantically, but they're empty, fabric smooth and mocking under my fingers. No weaves, no commands. Just me, raw and powerless, watching as his hand slides higher, fingers splaying possessively over her thigh.

She tilts her head, ponytail brushing his wrist, and bites her lower lip, the same gesture that had unraveled me at the bar. "Derek, you shouldn't," she whispers, but her tone drips with invitation, not protest. Her hand covers his, guiding it upward instead of shoving it away. Laughter bubbles from her again, lighter now, freer than anything she'd given me. "Mark's on my ass about deadlines, but... maybe a quick break?"

He chuckles, deep and triumphant, pulling her to her feet in one fluid motion. She stumbles into him willingly, body molding against his broader frame, her athletic curves fitting perfectly where mine had felt like a revelation. His arm snakes around her waist, hand dipping low to cup the swell of her ass through those jeans. She gasps softly, pressing closer, her full breasts flattening against his chest. I clench my fists, nails biting crescents into my palms, but my body won't move. Rage bubbles hot in my gut, a sour churn that tastes like bile.

They don't see me. Or if they do, I fade like smoke, irrelevant. He backs her against her desk, papers scattering in a white flurry, her monitor toppling with a plastic crack. Elena's hands roam his shoulders, fingers threading into that blond hair, tugging him down. Their mouths crash together, hungry, devouring. No tentative exploration like ours; this is fire, her tongue darting out to meet his aggressively, moans vibrating between them. His fingers pop the button of her blouse, peeling it open to expose lace-trimmed bra, pale freckled skin glowing under the fluorescents. She arches into his touch, urging him on.

"Derek," she breathes against his lips, voice husky with need. "God, I've missed this." His free hand shoves her jeans down her hips, rough and impatient, thumbs hooking into lace panties to yank them aside. She kicks the denim free, standing bare from the waist down, toned thighs parting instinctively for him. Her arousal glistens already, slick folds swollen and begging. He drops to his knees, right there in the open office, and buries his face between her legs.

The wet sounds echo obscenely, her fingers clenching his hair as she rides his tongue. Hips buck shamelessly, grinding against his mouth while whimpers spill free, sharp, ****, the same noises she'd made for me in my bed. "Yes, right there," she pants, head falling back, throat exposed in ecstasy. He devours her ravenously, lips sucking her clit with audible pops, fingers plunging deep to curl against her walls. Juices coat his chin, dripping down her inner thighs in shiny trails. She trembles violently, orgasm ripping through her quick and brutal, cries echoing off the cubicle walls. No one else appears, no coworkers, no Mark with his scowl, just endless empty desks witnessing her unraveling for him.

I strain against invisible bonds, throat raw from silent screams. This can't be real. Elena is mine, sealed, devoted, her note still tucked in my pocket affirming it. But in this dream-twisted office, she's his. Always has been. He rises smirking, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, jeans tented obscenely. She sinks to her knees before him now, eager, worshipping. Fingers deftly unzip him, freeing a cock thicker than mine, veined and throbbing. Her full lips wrap around the head, tongue swirling eagerly as she hollows her cheeks and takes him deep. Gagging softly but pushing on, eyes watering yet locked on his adoringly. He threads fingers into her ponytail, guiding her rhythm, faster, deeper, groans rumbling from his chest.

She moans around him, vibrations pulling grunts from him, her hands cupping his balls to roll them gently. Saliva trails from her mouth, slicking him glossy. This is how she should look with me, broken open, addicted. Not him. Fury coils tighter in my chest, veins pulsing hot with impotent rage. I lunge forward in my mind, willing my body to shatter the paralysis, but it holds fast. Derek's hips stutter, release barreling through him, thick ropes painting her tongue, spilling over her lips as she swallows hungrily, not wasting a drop. She licks him clean, smiling up with swollen lips, chin glistening.

He hauls her up, spinning her to bend over the desk. Ass presented high, cheeks parting to reveal her dripping pussy. No foreplay now, just the fat head of his cock nudging her entrance, slamming home in one brutal thrust. She cries out sharply, bracing on elbows as he sets a punishing pace, hips snapping emphatically. Skin slaps skin, wet and relentless, her tits bouncing free from the bra, nipples peaked hard and scraping the desk blotter. "Harder," she begs, pushing back to meet him, olive, no, pale now? skin sheening with sweat. Freckles stand out vivid against the flush creeping down her back.

He obliges, one hand fisting her ponytail to yank her head back, arching her spine. The other delivers sharp slaps to her ass, leaving red handprints that bloom angry. She keens with each one, walls clenching visibly around his plunging length. "You're mine, Elena," he growls, possessive and final. "Always were." She sobs agreement, climax shattering her again, body convulsing, juices squirting in messy arcs that puddle on the carpet. He follows roaring, burying deep to flood her with pulse after hot pulse, seed overflowing to trickle down her thighs.

They collapse together on her chair, her straddling him lazily now, his softening cock still nestled inside. Lips meet tender, tongues lazy as they murmur affections I can't hear. Laughter again, her hand stroking his jaw, eyes soft with something dangerously like love. The office warps around them, cubicles melting into a haze, but they remain sharp, eternal.

My heart hammers thunderous in my ears, rage boiling over into white-hot fury. How dare he? She's mine, claimed through wit, through patience, without spells or screens. Yet here, in this hellish reverie, he's rewritten it all. Helplessness twists like a knife, fueling a primal snarl building in my throat...

The scene fractures suddenly, office dissolving into mist. But the nightmare doesn't release me. It reforms elsewhere: the dive bar from our night, neon signs buzzing erratic, pool table shadows stretching long under low lights. Smoke curls thick in the air, smelling of stale beer and cheap perfume. Elena's there again, at our booth, but her knee presses against Derek's now, not mine. She's radiant, blouse unbuttoned one notch too far, green eyes locked on him with that intoxicating spark.

"You always knew how to make me laugh," she says, voice low and intimate, fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He's closer than physics allow, thigh wedged between hers, hand vanished under the table to where I imagine his fingers tease her folds through soaked lace. She shifts, biting her lip to stifle a moan, but her flush betrays her. Conversation flows easy between them, work gripes, inside jokes from years past, the kind she only hinted at with me. His laugh booms, hand emerging slick before he licks his fingers clean right there, eyes never leaving hers. She watches mesmerized, then leans in to kiss him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue.

Bartender slides shots their way, but they ignore the burn, lost in each other. His hand returns beneath the table, evident from her hitching breaths, hips grinding subtle against his palm. "Derek," she whispers, urgent. "Take me home." He grins wolfish, tossing bills on the table. They stand tangled, her arm looped through his as they stumble out, her free hand groping his crotch openly.

Cut to his apartment, sleek, modern, miles from my cramped space. King bed dominates, silk sheets gleaming under recessed lights. She strips for him shamelessly, blouse fluttering down, jeans peeled off with a shimmy that displays every curve. Bra snaps free, breasts spilling full and heavy, nipples already begging. Panties last, dark patch of arousal stark against pale fabric. He lounges naked, cock rigid and waiting, stroking leisurely.

Elena crawls onto the bed, predatory now, straddling his face without preamble. Her pussy hovers dripping above his mouth, clit swollen red. She grinds down slow at first, folds parting around his probing tongue, then faster, smothering him in her scent. Muffled groans rise from below, hands gripping her ass to spread her wider. She rides him to oblivion, thighs quivering as orgasm crashes, squirting sharp across his chest, soaking the sheets.

Reversing positions, she devours his cock throat-deep, gagging wetly but relentless. Saliva sheets down her chin, pooling on his balls as she deepthroats with porn-star fervor. He bucks up, face-fucking her roughly, tears streaming her cheeks yet smiles around the girth. Pulls out to slap her face lightly with his slick length, then flips her prone. Legs splayed wide, ass up, he mounts her doggy-style, plunging balls-deep into her sopping heat.

Thrusts hammer merciless, bedframe groaning protests. Her cries fill the room, raw, animalistic, "Fuck me like you own me!" He does, spanking rhythmically, pulling her hair to bow her back. Multiple orgasms wrack her, body seizing, pussy gushing around him each time. Finally, he roars triumph, pumping her full, cum overflowing obscenely as he keeps thrusting through it, churning to froth.

Post-coital, they entwine lazy. Her head on his chest, fingers tracing his abs. "Never letting you go again," he murmurs. She hums content, kissing his skin. "I know."