The First of Many

Control

[quick warning: this chapter has a scene where the reader will be scared. bad BDSM etiquette portrayed (no established safeword/reader is temporarily worried things won't stop) ]

-☾-

Your eyelashes fluttered open to face the golden light of dawn filtering in your window, your entire body stiff under your comforters. A groan escaped you as you lifted your head, a small spot of drool darkening the pillowcase beneath you. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and let your head flop back down; a few more minutes of sleep couldn't hurt. You shifted your hips to find a more comfortable spot but your muscles protested the movement. It felt like you hadn't moved all night, so deeply drawn into your—

Dream.

You jolted upright, sleep-weary eyes darting around your bedroom, but you were alone. The room only contained the familiar sights, your nightstand and dresser, that spot on the wall that had been repainted a slightly different shade of white. You hugged yourself, forearms crossing over one another as you remembered your night, remembered him. The hands petting your hair and coaxing you to sleep were gone, and so was he. But, maybe all traces of him weren't. You gripped the edge of your blanket and slowly pushed it down over your thighs.

Your eyebrows raised at the dark red splotches dotting your inner thighs like tattered rose petals inked into your skin, the reminder of his mouth on you, his claim on you. You ran your fingers over one; none of the skin had been broken, just bruised from the way he had sucked greedy mouthfuls of your delicate skin until the minuscule vessels gave way to his will. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, glad that at least today, you had woken up on time and didn't have to rush to get ready for work.

Your feet found the wood floor and you trudged towards the kitchen, coffee calling your name. Today, you'd have time to sip and enjoy a cup and catch up on your social media feeds. Maybe you'd finally reply to some of the unanswered texts you'd been avoiding, lacking the extra mental energy to devote to a meaningful response. As you passed through the hallway, you glanced at yourself in the mirror, catching a glimpse of disheveled hair, your cheek still indented with the creases of your pillowcase, and —

You froze and stepped closer to the mirror, your hand rising to your neck in disbelief. Around your throat laid a necklace, a delicate silver chain affixed to a perfectly circular silver loop that rested near the hollow at the base of your throat. The warm metal nestled elegantly in that little divot as if it had been made just for you. Maybe it had been.

It was a beautiful piece, graceful and understated. Though you couldn't deny that it suited you, you never really wore jewelry. You reached for the clasp behind your neck, but your scrabbling fingers can't locate it. You lean forward toward the mirror and twist the necklace, your blood running cold as your fingertips grazed its entire length searching for any sign of a little hook or metal claw keeping the ends together.

There wasn't a clasp. It was too tight to pull over your head — and you didn't dare try to break the chain, though it seemed that might be the only way to remove it. Morpheus had been kind enough to not leave you with another hickey that others could easily see, a considerate choice as your boss and coworkers would begin to notice and give you uncomfortable stares if he kept it up on your neck. But it was clear he still wanted to stake his claim on you; this had to be Dream's way of leaving a mark on you that would be a bit less obvious.

You snorted a huff of laughter out of your nose in disbelief, too early and uncaffeinated to really think too deeply about it.

You realigned the ring into its little resting spot on your neck and refocused on your mission in the kitchen. Over coffee, you scrolled through your phone and cringed at the weeks-old messages that you had yet to answer. You cringed at your mom's text from five days ago asking about how you were doing. How could you answer that now? It's not like you could tell her about any of what was really going on with you.