Intruders

I sensed movement before I opened my eyes. Or I think I had been dreaming, and then in my dream there was someone in my room. Something like that, I just knew I wasn't alone anymore.

I also knew that I was cold. I think that was what actually woke me up, the breeze from the open window across my skin. Without touching myself, I knew I had gooseflesh, and with that sleepy ability to see everything at once I imagined myself laying sprawled on my bed, skin pale from the chill, and the curtains flapping gently against the window frame.

If it was the cold that woke me up, it was the image of the open window, which I knew had been closed, which finally convinced me to open my eyes. I did so tentatively, scared of what I might see.

I saw my room, empty.

Still bewildered by sleep I sat up, hazily considering my room, and took a few moments to orient my self before I saw him.

He stood in the darkest corner, blending in easily with his long black coat and stormy features, watching me watch him and matching my interest. I blinked a few more times, trying to confirm to myself that he was real. After almost a minute of me just staring blankly, struck dumb by shock, he spoke.

"I hope I haven't scared you too much." His expression was unreadable; he waited for a reply with patient eagerness, both amiable and friendly, and quietly commanding. "I can see how my presence would surprise you." His tone of voice was as ambiguous as his facial expression. He spoke simply and slowly, but glowed with intelligence and wit.

I, on the other hand, must've seemed like a total moron. Not knowing what to say, I just kept staring, open mouthed and wide-eyed at this dark figure standing perfectly still in the corner of my bedroom.

I almost felt I should apologise for seeming like such a dumbass, before remembering that this man had just broken into my house and had been watching me sleep. Then I just got mad.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room?" It was more of a shout than I expected, and that pleased me. I sat up further, my head clearing. "And who the fuck are you?" He opened his mouth to reply but I cut him off. "I mean what the fuck were you thinking breaking into my room and then hoping you hadn't scared me? You're a fuc-"

Before I knew it he had crossed the room and his hand was over my mouth. I was forced to accept that despite my verbal abuse towards him, I was actually shitting myself with fear. I began to sweat, but did not move a muscle. He sat on the bed with me, watching me carefully.

"I don't want to hurt you." He was still speaking with that soothing voice. It rumbled up from his chest like thunder but left his mouth with silken clarity. But despite his affirmation he didn't want to hurt me, and despite his deeply sexy voice, I was still terrified. He took his hand away. "I just want to have sex with you."

I almost choked. "What?" I backed away a little, never taking my eyes from him.

"You don't want that?" His brow furrowed a little as he considered my reaction.

"Of course not!" I snapped back, faking bravery for a few seconds before giving up and dropping eye contact.

I could still feel his eyes on me, however, burning holes into me as I tried to pull the sheets up as high as possible, aware again that I sleep naked. I had never felt so vulnerable and helpless in all my life.

He spoke again, his decision reached. "Then I'll just lay with you for a while. Maybe we can reconsider later." With this, he kicked off his shoes, pulled off his coat, and climbed onto the bed with me. My blood ran cold with fear. I shot my eyes to the door. I would never make it. I looked at the window. It was too far away too. I could call for help.

He saw me looking at the window. "Don't." He said plainly, and slid an arm across me. "Lie down." That was it: I screamed.

I had no idea I was capable of screaming that loud, and was impressed with myself. My scream seemed to completely fill the room, shaking both of us, until once more his hand was clamped across my mouth once more. This time I struggled, which only led to him climbing on top of me, to pin me down. He managed to grasp both my wrists with one hand, hold them behind my head, and still cover my mouth with the other hand. I gave up.

He hovered over me still, saying nothing. I could feel him through the sheets, his weight pressing me down into the mattress. He looked at me as if he were looking at a naughty child, stern but patient. I tried to look defiant. He took his hand off my mouth, and took one of my wrists in each hand so that my arms were separated. Knowing compliance was safer, I let him.

He kept his rich, dark eyes on me the whole time, slowly letting his face dip closer to mine. I knew what was coming next, but knew I was fighting a losing battle, so I decided to accept my helplessness and not to stop him as he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me. At the time I was calling it self preservation. After all, everyone says that when you're confronted by a crazy person, just do what they want, for your own safety. So, quite simply, that's what I did.

It was a slow, firm kiss. His tongue snaked its way in between my lips and found mine, deepening the kiss, before he suddenly pulled away. "I'm sorry."

"What?" I asked, too out of breath to think of anything better.

"You don't want to have sex. So I suppose I shouldn't kiss you." I knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard. He was trying to tease me, get me wound up, getting me to soften to him with a kiss and then ending it before I did so it left me wanting him. And I hated it because it was working.

I paused, looking up at him, my pulse racing as I ran through my options. I should have agreed with his not kissing me. But he was in whatever it was he was doing, because I found myself disagreeing. "You can kiss me."

He raised an eyebrow in startled pleasure and was immediately kissing me again. My wrists were released, and despite my best efforts to remain stiff and reluctant, I somehow let myself bring my hands up behind his head and began to run my nails gently through his hair. Every joint in my body felt fluid and weak, and every inch of my skin was starting to tingle and glow.

I parted my legs slightly, so that one of his legs slipped between mine. Not satisfied, he squeezed his other knee between my legs and used it to push my legs wider apart, before settling into me and grinding his hips against mine, causing me to whimper with the sudden contact.

It did occur to me about this point that what was happening was very wrong. This man was an intruder. I should still be screaming. In the angry, scared way. And yet somehow I was letting this complete stranger kiss me, whilst pressing his huge erection into me, and letting all the tension accumulated by fear now melt into uneasy lust.

I was weak. I knew it. He knew it. And he was relishing it. "We still don't have to have sex," he panted, breaking away. Bastard. I still knew exactly what he was doing. "But I will just take off my pants." It was such a teenage seduction. Softly, softly, one step at a time, the boy worms past the girls defences, using trivial excuses and tiny requests that all amount to some very dirty, sweaty acts. I knew it well; it almost felt safe in its rituality. His pants slid down, only to his thighs, and he began gently thrusting at me through the sheets, squirming with pleasure at the increased closeness. I felt like every weak little girl I had always felt so superior to; and I, like him, relished it.

The air was thick with heat and sweat, even with the breeze from the window, but still we kept pushing and panting for further intimacy. I was now so turned on I barely heard the banging on the door, and it wasn't until he froze, for no apparent reason that I heard it properly.

There it was again. Someone was banging on the door. And shouting. "Miss Temple?" What the fuck? It was really muffled, and I was really confused. "Are you OK?"

He was off me in a second, and pulling up his pants. I wanted to tell him to stay, but his eyes were fixed on the door, and he was backing towards the window. There was more shouting. That was it; he flashed me a wicked smile and was out of the window before I could even open my mouth to speak.

That was when the police broke through my front door. They told me the neighbours had reported screaming, and that a prowler had been sighted in the area earlier that evening. I told them someone had been in here, scared me but done nothing, and been scared off when they arrived.

The police filed lots of reports, told me they'd hunt the dangerous intruder down, but my visitor was never identified. I never saw or heard of him again. Damn it.

The End...