She would forget this by morning.
She wouldn't.
<------------------------------------>
Lilith's breath quickened in the stillness of the night, the sheets tangled around her body as her dream took shape. At first, it was nothing more than a glimmer--an impression of warmth, of soft fabric against her skin. But then, the sensation deepened. She was in a place that felt both strange and familiar. Red--so much red. The sheets she was tangled in, the walls, even the air--thick with the warmth of desire.
A figure appeared before her. She couldn't see his face covered in shadows, but she knew it was him--Adam. Her body stiffened as she watched him, the hunger for his form as palpable, electric. She felt it, too, in the pit of her stomach, the heat radiating from her core.
But this was not just any dream. It felt like something that had already happened--like a memory she had not lived yet. His hands moved toward her, and her body responded before her mind could catch up.
"Let me see you," he whispered, though she was sure he didn't speak. His lips never moved. His voice was in her head--raw, and demanding.
"Let me see you."
She tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to run. The red room pulled her deeper, until she was lost in the heat of it, in the unspoken hunger.
Her lips kissed his tip, and then her tongue dance around his shaft. In this deep dream she sucked her step sons engorged cock.
Lilith loved it. She smiled taking him in her mouth. It felt like surrender. It was fast and slow motions. She squeezed it in between pauses. And massaged his balls. With every wet, and absorbed embrace of her mouth, she let out a licentious moan.
At the moment of ecstasy, she woke up. Her body was damp with sweat, her pulse unsteady. She couldn't breathe. The sheets felt suffocating.
But it wasn't just the dream that rattled her--it was the knowing. The sense that something real had happened, something that had already begun, long before this night. That red room had called her, as if it had always been waiting.
She stared at the ceiling in the dark, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. That place, that red room--it felt like a trap and a sanctuary all at once.
The next morning, Lilith couldn't look at Adam the same way. She remembered his raging cock, so warm and beckoning in her mouth as if it belonged inside. A home for his wavering cock. Now she found her mind aimless trailing back to that dream. And how his arousal twitched around her tongue, touching him.
He was sitting in the corner of the living room, scribbling furiously into his notebook, as always. She couldn't help but notice the way his hand moved, the muscles in his forearm flexing, the intensity in his posture. He was absorbed, lost in his words, completely oblivious to her gaze.
There were moments when she wanted to speak to him, to ask him about his thoughts--anything, everything--but she couldn't. But now when she looks at him that hunger creeps below and into her throat. A hunger for what? To milk him dry. To pump pleasure out of him. To suck pleasure out of him. What does his cum taste like? These thoughts have harassed her ever since she's had that erotic dream.
She wanted to look at him. More than that, she felt compelled to watch him, to see the moments when he was most vulnerable. She found herself studying the lines of his face, the way his mouth curled slightly as he wrote, the subtle shift in his posture as if he were becoming more and more lost in whatever world he was creating with his pen.
As Lilith stood near the window, looking out into the thickening dusk, the Red Room returned to her thoughts. She could feel it, like a pull in her chest. The Red Room wasn't a place of physical space--it was something deeper. It was a place in the mind, the body, and the soul. A place where desire and fear intertwined, where the lines between them blurred.
In her dreams, it was more than just a sanctuary for lust--it was where truth could be uncovered, no matter how dangerous. It was there that her desires took on new, dangerous shapes, the edges blurring with her yearning, her needs, her guilt. She would wake from these dreams with a taste of something burning on her tongue, and yet every time, she wanted to return.
Adam's writing, his poetry, had begun to pulse through the house, like a silent hum that resonated in her bones. She wasn't sure how it had started, or why, but every time she read one of his poems--one of his dark, visceral invocations--she felt it more clearly: the pull of the room. The promise of something more.
She didn't know how to respond to it, to him.
She wasn't sure whether to fear it or embrace it. But she knew one thing for sure--the Red Room was now in her dreams, and she could not leave it behind.
