Dance with the Devil: A Dark Standalone Romance (The Midnight Series Book 1)

FRankie

The click of the bedroom door registers belatedly and since I’m still clinging to sleep, everything sounds like it’s underwater and far away. I stretch and yawn, bringing my hands above my head. An eerie prickle of awareness floods through me, but it’s still not enough to rouse me from my sleep. The feeling is itching to get out, itching to warn me about something, but I’m warm and content, so I ignore it. What could possibly be so wrong when I feel so good? Squeezing my legs together, pleasure floods through me, and I realize I must’ve been having another one of those dreams⁠—

A shaky breath sounds from the foot of my bed.

Someone’s in my room.

The voice in my mind is clear, but it’s still not enough to wake me.

I’m dreaming.

There are footsteps, but who would be here right now? I’m so cozy. The duvet is silky and cool, sliding against my hot skin and making me more drowsy. The pillow is perfectly molded to the back of my head, and I arch my back slightly when⁠—

The warm grip of a hand comes to my neck, which causes my eyes to snap open. When I do, my heart somersaults inside of my chest.

“Dr. Kincaid?” I ask groggily.

I attempt to pull out of his grip, but he just growls and presses me down harder into the pillow.

I’m dreaming.

This isn’t real.

I must still be asleep.

My whole body is throbbing to the beat of my racing heart, and my clit throbs just as heavily. I squirm away from him, attempting to outmaneuver him, but he makes that low rumbling sound again, and then his other hand works to move the duvet off my body.

Panic washes over me because I realize I’m not asleep anymore, which only enhances what’s happening—and only enhances my arousal.

What the fuck?

His large body looms over me, and when I let my eyes track down his bare chest, my mouth goes dry when I see the way his sweatpants are tented.

Is he…

I swallow, and he feels it, grunting as his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of my neck. He’s not choking me to hurt me, I realize. His eyes are open but he’s not meeting my gaze. They’re not looking at me—they’re looking through me.

The adrenaline wakes me enough to realize that this isn’t a dream, and that Doctor Devil is standing over me with one hand around my neck and the other one removing the covers from the bed, all the while sporting a very large erection.

Realization dawns… he’s sleepwalking.

Fuck.

“Dr. Kincaid,” I say gently, swallowing again. “I think you’re dreaming. Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t say anything, but the hand around my neck squeezes once. He’s breathing deeply and evenly, completely and seemingly unperturbed by this. I claw at his hand, trying to remove it—trying to get free so that I can wake him up—but he’s strong and he doesn’t move.

My whole body is burning, and even though I know this isn’t real, something hot and intoxicating works through my veins, trickling to the space between my thighs.

“Dr. Kincaid,” I try again, hoping my voice will wake him up before I have to decide what to do next. “Can you hear m⁠—”

He roughly pulls the last of the duvet off my body with his free hand, and the fabric snaps in the darkened room, falling to the floor beside my bed. I inhale sharply, moving my legs to get some leverage and hopefully get him off me⁠—

He releases me quickly, but just as I think he’s waking up, he snarls and dips his chin, walking to the foot of the bed. I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as his heavy footsteps thud with each step, and just as I think it’s over, he drops to his knees, grabs my ankles, and pulls me to the foot of the bed.

“Wait,” I whimper, squeezing my legs together as he tries to pry them apart.

That low rumble vibrates through the room again. He hoists one of my legs over his shoulder, and my whole body shivers when his breath fans across my cotton underwear.

Holy fuck, that feels good.

“Don’t,” I whisper, trying to pull away.

Fighting him seems to make him more aggressive, though, because his hands grip my thighs like iron vises. I realize belatedly that he’s going to leave bruises.

One hand works up my bare thigh to my panties, and Dr. Kincaid hooks a finger underneath the edge, slowly pulling them down my pelvis.

“Stop,” I say in earnest, because what is he about to do?

Is this really happening?

He said he was prone to sleepwalking… did he mean sleep sex? If so, he’s going to be mortified tomorrow, no matter how good he’s making me feel right now.

At the end of the day, he’s my boss and I’m his employee.

This will ruin everything—and I might lose my job because of it.

Bye-bye, house. Bye-bye, 401k.

Just as my underwear gets pulled down another inch, I pull back as much as I can, kicking out. He rears back in surprise, and my heel connects with his mouth.

I see the blood first—seeping between his teeth and making him seem like the actual devil as he glares at me from between my legs. His nostrils flare, and his lips pull back from his teeth, showing off the bloodied mess I made.

“Wake up,” I beg, nearly sobbing.

He doesn’t.

His eyes are still blank, still dead to what he’s seeing—not registering the monster he’s becoming in his sleep.

I pull my other foot back to kick him again, but he ducks, snaps his hand out, and grabs the leg I was kicking out with, pulling me onto the floor of the bedroom with a loud thump. The breath is knocked out of me momentarily, which gives him an advantage. Ripping my underwear off, he bends down and swipes his tongue up my slit.

He groans, and I swear I see stars from that low, reverberating sound. Even in his sleep, he’s enjoying this. I buck my hips, but not to get away from him. My nerve endings are on fire, and I let out a breathy gasp when he does it again—this time pressing his flat tongue against my swelling bud.

“Fuck,” I whimper, fists curling. “Dr. Kincaid⁠—”

He uses two fingers and rubs his saliva around before reaching between my legs and inserting two fingers inside of me. Gasping, my eyes roll back—the stretch is delicious and unexpected. I briefly think of the fact that I haven’t had a proper wax in weeks, but he doesn’t seem to mind or care, and that thought only spurs me on.

What the hell am I thinking worrying about being waxed? The man is asleep!

He hooks his fingers inside of me and pushes deeper. I groan and spread my legs wider. When I do, he reaches under me and lifts me up by wrapping my legs around his waist and moving one arm under my back. Carrying me back to the bed with his fingers still inside of me, he sets me down surprisingly gently. Just the fact that he lifted me… I’m not a small girl, and I have curves and cellulite for days.

I keep my eyes on his face for any sign that he’s going to come to, but there’s nothing—just that same dark, faraway look. Rolling my hips underneath him, he climbs between my legs and drives his hand into me roughly and with abandon. Oh, fuck. His fingers are directly hitting that sensitive spot inside of me, and I grab onto the sheets as he continues relentlessly.

I suck in a sharp breath as my eyes roll to the back of my head, and my legs open wider of their own accord. He grunts and bends down, flicking my clit with his tongue. That deep, dark pressure inside of me begins to build—and I squeeze the sheets harder as his hand thrusts in and out, drawing my orgasm closer with every bump against that spot, and every hot, wet swirl of his tongue against my swollen bud.

“S-stop,” I murmur, squeezing my eyes shut.

He growls and quickens his pace, focused on one thing only.

A second later, I tip over the edge and explode.

Releasing a garbled cry, I come hard on my boss’s hand, squeezing him with every wave that rushes through me. He groans and sucks, his teeth grazing my clit as aftershocks work through me. Then, without warning, he sits up and unsheathes himself.

My mouth drops open as he strokes it a few times. The tip is leaking precum, and the shaft is thick and veiny.

The reality of what we’re about to do crashes through me, and I reach up for his hand.

“Dr. Kincaid,” I rasp, my heart still palpitating in my chest. “Wake up⁠—”

He bumps my legs apart with his knees, and then he hovers over me, lining himself up with me. Even if I wanted to stop this, I couldn’t—he’s bigger and stronger than me. He should stop. As good as this feels… it will ruin everything.

Placing my hands on his face, I slap him once—twice.

It incites him, and he snarls as he swats my hands away.

Fighting back makes it worse, I think.

I don’t think about the repercussions—I don’t think about how we’re going to look at each other tomorrow.

Instead, I give in to the feeling of his heavy, hard body over mine.

I give in to the danger, the excitement, the insane and crazy unknown of what’s happening.

Will he even remember this tomorrow?

A second later, he plunges his cock into me tip to root, and I cry out. It stings—and my toes curl at the delicious intrusion.

He pants and hisses, dipping his head so that I can’t see his face. His whole body shakes and shudders before he slowly pulls out and slams back in. This time, a low groan escapes his lips, but there’s a tinge of desperation in the tone. I run my hands along his bare back, and his skin is surprisingly smooth. He groans that same way again—almost pleadingly—so I keep going. On the third pass of my fingernails on his back, he takes one hand and grabs my jaw. Then, he presses his lips against mine.

We both moan as he kisses me, as his hips roll on top of me and he fucks me stupid.

What the fuck is happening?!

I tighten my legs around his waist, and he lets out a satisfied sigh against my lips, another shiver working through him as he closes his eyes. Pressing his tongue into my mouth, he works his hips into me, rolling them in a way only someone experienced can do. My hands wander to his hair, and I run my fingers through his silky strands. Like his skin, it’s surprisingly soft. I expected someone who’s as formidable and unyielding as him to feel like stone, but he’s warm and soft and kissing me…

My orgasm starts to sneak up on me, surprising me as I pant into his mouth. He kisses me harder—teeth clacking against mine as one of his hands comes between us.

“Fuck,” I rasp just as his thumb swipes over my clit.

He pulls back an inch so that our lips are barely grazing each other’s as he groans again, sounding supplicant and hoarse. His desperation pushes me over the edge, and I shatter around his cock. At the same time, Dr. Kincaid slows his thrusting, and then his body goes rigid as he empties inside of me. Hot spikes of cum hit my cervix, and I moan as he jerks on top of me. And just as quickly as he finishes, his whole body stiffens for an entirely different reason.

Fuck.

He woke up.

Without thinking, I let my body go limp and close my eyes.

He’s breathing heavily as he quickly pulls out of me—backing off of me with impressive speed and agility. I don’t move—I just stay there with my seeping cunt on display and my tank top pushed up slightly. He doesn’t move either—probably trying to assess what the actual fuck just happened.

It’s easier if I pretend to be asleep, I think.

I hear his breathing get more rapid, as if he’s starting to panic. I should tell him. We should talk about this. It’s not like he did it on purpose, and it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it, as fucked up as it is.

But just as I work up the courage to open my eyes, I hear him pull his pants up. Then he’s touching my feet… putting my underwear back on.

He drags the duvet over my body slowly and carefully, and then I hear him exit the bedroom.

He… left?

A few minutes after the door clicks closed, I sit up and look around.

Other than the warm pool of fluid between my legs, there’s no evidence that he was ever here.

Holding my breath, I place a hand around my neck where he had his hand earlier, wanting… more. Wanting him.

I exhale, struggling to think clearly. My mind feels restless.

After what must be an hour, I throw the duvet off and walk to where I stepped out of my sleep shorts. Pulling them on, I walk out of the bedroom to the bathroom and try my hardest not to look over at the cot where Dr. Kincaid has been sleeping. From my peripheral I can see his form laying down on his back.

Is he asleep?

Just as I walk into the bathroom, I turn around and shut the door slowly, eyeing my boss.

His chest rises and falls evenly.

He’s fucking asleep.

I’m not sure why, but that makes me angry.

Cleaning myself up, I walk back to my bedroom and shut the bedroom door a little too loudly. I don’t bother locking it—what he was afraid of already happened.

And the worst part?

I liked it.

I climb back into bed and pull the duvet over myself, staring at the wall until the room begins to lighten with the early morning sun. My mind is surprisingly blank considering what just happened, and it freaks me out that I’m not more freaked out.

Should I be?

Should I call the cops and report him? A small, rational part of me thinks I should. No job is worth this.

Then again, maybe he’s planning on apologizing. It’s not like he was conscious. He was asleep. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it in some sick, sadistic way. Perhaps it’s because I’d been through one of the worst things a person can go through, and this feels negligible compared to that.

Should he have woken me up? Maybe.

But I probably shouldn’t have pretended to be asleep.

He’s a decent person—a doctor. He’s going to say something, and when he does, I’m sure he’ll be nothing but supportive about how I want to move forward. He might be a grump, but he’s not a sexual predator.

Dr. Kincaid shuffles around out in the living room, and I hear him take a quick shower before the door to the hotel room snicks shut.

“I think we’re born with darkness. And I think certain things cause that darkness to seep into our bloodstreams. Like a chemical being activated and turned on. My colleagues are having some harmless fun, sure, but what about the rest of the population who think about the most depraved things imaginable? What stops a person like them from raping or assaulting the women they fuck? Just food for thought.”

“That’s the second time you’ve no-so-subtly told me to stay away from you.

“And you should listen.”

He was warning me with the locked door.

He didn’t want to hurt me.

But this obviously isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he’s probably wondering every single day what kind of monster he becomes at night.

We just need to talk about it. Maybe this isn’t a big deal—maybe we can work through it, and I can continue being his perfect, little employee and pretend this never happened.

Unable to sleep anymore, I take a long shower and change into a more serious outfit: wide-leg plaid pants and a plain, black t-shirt. Grabbing my black blazer, I don’t even bother drying my hair. Instead, I pull it into a wet, sleek low bun.

Taking several deep breaths, I slip into my loafers and go in search of Dr. Kincaid to sort everything out.