I held my breath, the cotton sheets cool against my skin, as the floorboards groaned under a weight that shouldn’t be there. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I forced my limbs to stay heavy, limbs turned to lead by the sheer thrill of his presence. The thought of Sex with Dead Bodies is a macabre chill that usually stays in the dark, but here, in the silence of my room, he wanted me to embody that haunting stillness.
He didn’t say a word as he reached the side of my bed. I knew he was here… the shadow I’ve felt following me for months, the one I’ve secretly craved from the safety of my window. He leaned over me, his breath smelling of winter air and something sharp, something dangerous. His fingers, calloused and cold, traced the line of my jaw, and I fought every instinct to shiver. I had to be his porcelain doll. I had to be vacant.
“Don’t move, Layla,” he whispered while fingering my wet pussy, with his voice a low, jagged rasp that sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. “Just stay like that. Cold. Quiet. Mine.”
I felt his eyes roaming over my breast, heavy with a twisted sort of devotion that felt more romantic than any flowers or candy. This was raw. This was real. He wasn’t looking for a conversation; he wanted the aesthetic of my surrender. I kept my eyes closed tight, my lashes fluttering just enough to show him I was struggling to obey, which only seemed to make his breathing go shallow and quick.
He didn’t touch me roughly. Instead, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that made my stomach flip. It was a beautiful, fucked up contradiction… the man who broke in just to watch life fade from my expression. I felt his hand rest over my heart, waiting for the rhythm to slow, demanding that I sink deeper into the role of his silent, lifeless muse.
The air in the room felt thick, charged with a magnetic tension that made me want to arch my back and scream his name, yet the pleasure of his gaze kept me pinned. I was addicted to the way he worshipped my stillness, the way he hovered over me like I was a treasure he’d stolen from a grave. I lay there, his perfect, obedient girl, drifting in the intoxicating space between fear and absolute ecstasy, hoping he’d never leave.



















