Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Thirty-Three

Waking on Christmas Eve to a bright and brisk morning, I'm alone in my own bed but the tussled sheets and my sore muscles swiftly remind me of last night's events. I blink away the dream I was just immersed in, and think of the evening's escapades instead.

I remember being drunk on red wine and Kylo. Making out in the back seat of the town car, not caring what Trudgen thought. Stripping down to nothing but my diamond cuffs as soon as we made it back to our suite.

Kylo threw me on my bed, used his tongue to push me to the brink of orgasm multiple times, but never let me fall over completely. He edged me closer and closer, pulled back until I started coming down, and then edged me closer yet again. It drove me absolutely wild.

After almost an hour of this complete control over my nerves and synapses, finally he stripped down and climbed on top of my body to fuck me. It was harsh, rough, needy.

And when he put his large hands around my throat, just like the man on stage had done with his partner, Kylo stared straight into my eyes and watched as I got insanely high on pleasure.

My body was crackling with raw electricity, every one of his thrusts sent lightning bolts throughout my entire body. I was back on the precipice of orgasm, heightened by the lack of air that was starting to cause my vision to blur.

When the world started going dark around the edges, I knew I couldn't take much more, no matter how badly I wanted to. My voice came out as a whispered croak, just barely audible.

"Y-yellow," I desperately breathed.

Something about finally reaching one of my limits had an immediate effect on Kylo, who released the pressure on my neck and began fucking me brutally. I could tell how close he was, and one of his hands swiftly found its way between my legs and began circling my clit furiously.

When I came, he wasn't far behind. He called me his little slut, claimed my body by painting his cum across my chest.

My aching muscles scream for coffee in the present tense, even though spending the day reminiscing in my luxurious hotel bed sounds like an amazing plan. Instead, I pull myself up out of the sheets and towards the shower.

The rest of the suite is quiet, dark. A quick glance in Kylo's room shows that he's already gone for the day. A day where he'll be seeing his family. What an odd thought.

No note, no text, no hint of what his schedule will be like. Which bugs me as an assistant, but I can feel a different part of my brain that also feels annoyed. I immediately push that aside, scold myself for thinking he owes me any explanations like a boyfriend would.

So I shower, dress in warm layers, and sip some black coffee while thinking back on my trip with Rose and some of our favorite hangouts here in town. Under the sleeves of my sweater I can feel the weight of the bracelets, binding my wrists even when no one else can see, subliminal signs of my submission to Kylo.

My feet hit the Amsterdam streets, bright winter sunshine gleams off of the historic and modern buildings.

I wander through town, following one of the canals toward a neighborhood I'm more familiar with. I pass the hostel where Rose and I would crash between parties, I stop and reminisce in a small park where we made friends I wish I had kept in touch with, I mingle amongst a walking tour as they wander past the Anne Frank House.

I've already done the tourist things before, and today I just want to relax. So when I spot the cafe sign that reads "Amnesia", I know I've finally made it back to the favorite hangout spot from our vacation.

The weed smell hits me before I even open the door to the small cafe, and it's positively divine after days of traveling Europe without my usual stash.

A very beautiful woman with blonde hair and a thick Dutch accent helps me choose which strain I'm in the mood for and I buy a few pre-rolls. She talks me into a couple chocolate "space cakes" that I have her wrap for later.

I find a seat and spark a joint of Lemon Haze while she makes my latte and helps the tourists who aren't sure where to begin. The room is small but cozy, and by far my favorite weed cafe in town. It's nice to be in a familiar space after such a whirlwind few weeks of feeling like a different version of myself.

I pull out my journal to write while the smoke tendrils curl through my lungs. My pen meets the blank paper and begins describing the dream I had last night.

Stepping out of a giant labyrinth, I realized I was on the shore of a great lake. Through the grey mist I saw a lighthouse on the far side, and I knew I would find you there. I needed to find you. The freezing waves crashed at my feet as the angry wind whipped at my face. I knew I had to cross, so I folded a paper boat and became its captain. Over crashing waves I sailed, with the distant lighthouse beam guiding. Until I realized... paper boats don't float... and this lake was an entire ocean... and now I can't even see your light through the fog.

As my paper boat began to shred and sink, I found myself on a sandbar in the middle of the sea. Blue, for miles and miles in any direction. Soon, the water at my ankles began to rise. And ever so slowly I could feel myself start to panic. Surrendering to the incoming tide, I closed my eyes. I still hadn't found you.

Sipping my latte and nibbling at a sandwich, I contemplate the dream. The dream where I tried so desperately to get to Kylo, to break through the impenetrable wall he's erected around his true self. Ben Solo.

Why has he adopted this new persona? What happened in college that ripped his family apart? Is he willing to form real relationships, or is what I have as good as it gets? Is he even capable of goodness? Will he ever drop the wall?

By now, the pot is coursing through my veins and my fingers are itching to pull out my phone to text him. I want to ask him how his day is going, ask if his meeting with his uncle has been productive, ask if he'll ever let me see him with his guard down.

But I don't.

I crave the moments of intimacy, the pleasure, the pain. I'm afraid of causing too big a ripple that would scare him away or cause me to lose his favor.

The dream also alarms me, makes me wonder about the symbolism of drowning. A common theme, thinking back to my mermaid poem. Rose warned me not to get in too deep, to not lose sight of myself. I haven't, right? I'm still me, albeit with diamond cuffs around my wrists.

Instead of worrying, I focus my energy into my writing- letting the drugs flow from my mind, to my pen tip, to paper.

Soon a few hours and joints have gone by, I've chatted with friendly locals and had a lovely afternoon by all accounts. Still no word from Kylo, so I slowly wander back towards the hotel.

When I finally return, the winter sun is close to setting and my bones are chilled. I decide to flip on the electric fireplace in the living room, and settle onto the couch to work on some emails. But I lose focus quickly, and my eyes begin lazily wandering around the room. They eventually land on the wire waste-bin and the crumpled drawing Kylo threw away last night.

Curiosity overtakes me, and I can't help myself from tip toeing over to the basket even though I'm alone.

Flattening out the paper on the desk, I see a face I don't recognize. It's an ink drawing of an older woman, stern jaw and warm eyes, hair pulled into two buns framing her strong face.

As I'm contemplating who she could be, and why he tossed her aside, I nearly jump out of my skin as the main door to the suite unlocks and opens.

For a few tense moments, Kylo and I just stare at each other.