While She Sleeps: The Dirty Heroes Collection
While She Sleeps
The Dirty Heroes Collection
Dani René
Contents
The Dirty Heroes Collection
Somnophilia
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Bound in Sacrifice - Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Also by Dani René
About the Author
Copyright © 2020 by Dani René
Published by Dani René
Cover Design - Jay Aheer (Simply Defined Art)
Cover Model - Jonny James
Cover Photographer - Wander Aguiar
Formatting - Raven Designs
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Once upon a time, a scorned Queen opened a box, unleashing horrible evil on the world's heroes.
Instead of gallantry and chivalry, they now possessed much more perverse traits. They’ve fallen victim to their darkest and most deviant desires.
This is one of their stories...
Blurb
Dangerous. Unstable. Obsessive.
She believes in fairytales and awaits her prince.
But I arrive at her doorstep and I’m far from royalty.
The shiver down my back tells me he’s there. As if he were touching me. Cold, angry, aloof—he’s everything I don’t need. But I can’t turn off my attraction when he’s near.
My sleeping beauty doesn’t realize just how dangerous I am. She trusts so easily, smiles so beautifully. And while she sleeps, I watch.
With each passing night, I become more addicted.
Until I’m a man obsessed.
I feel his gaze on me, watching while I sleep.
He pushes me away in the light, but in the dark, he comes to me like a moth to a flame.
I crave it. He doesn’t know just how broken I am.
I believed she was the light to my darkness.
But it turns out my sleeping beauty likes to dive into the shadows alongside me.
She’s mine, but that decision could kill us both.
Somnophilia
(from Latin "somnus" = sleep and Greek φιλία, "-philia" = friendship)
also known as sleeping princess syndrome and sleeping beauty syndrome,
is a paraphilia in which an individual becomes sexually aroused by someone who is unconscious.
From YourDictionary: A paraphilia in which sexual arousal is stimulated by intruding on and awakening a sleeping person with erotic caresses (but not force or violence)
Playlist
Ride - SoMo
Love is War - RUNAGROUND
Shameless - The Weeknd
Scars To Your Beautiful - Alessia Cara
Breathe - Fleurie
Hurts Like Hell - Fleurie
Unsteady - X Ambassadors
Don’t Deserve You - Plumb
Echo - Jason Walker
No Longer Lovers - Kassandra
Hurricane - Tommee Profitt, Fleurie
Monsters - Ruelle
I Found - Amber Run
Don’t Let Me Go - RAIGN
Eyelids - PVRIS
It’s Over - Always Never
King - Niykee Heaton
Find the playlist here
Dedication
To my Deviants who love the bad boy who does all those dirty things that make your toes curl and your body tremble. ;)
Prologue
Vera
He is the first person who sees the real me.
Sees what’s hidden inside.
Not the darkness, not the light, but the gray in between.
I was the first person to see past his affliction, and that’s what started our twisted journey. We were both broken by the life given to us, and in order to survive, we needed each other.
I spent my life falling in love with the stories my nanny read to me. The fairy tales that spoke of princes and castles. And since I lived in a castle—well, a house so big it could be considered a castle—myself, I always thought I would find my prince.
I lost my mother when I was young. And when I fell into the darkness of my depression, I found solace in the depravity that came with addiction. I didn’t waste away on drugs, and I certainly didn’t drink myself into a coma.
No.
My need came from something far dirtier and unmentionable. A desire that grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go.
Until him.
My life was always filled with light, until my mother was no longer around, and I was left to my own devices. Children shouldn’t be left to fend for themselves, especially children like me—privileged. I admit I’m broken, that I should never have found myself on the website I had become addicted to.
But that same lapse in judgment brought him to me.
Each night, I would wait and watch the screen as it illuminated my old bedroom, and I would watch for him. My heart would kick wildly in my chest when I saw his name light up, and his message appear.
I don’t have anyone else but him.
I’m the possession of someone who ran away from me when I first met him. The memory is still clear of that day, and I recall his disdain for me so clearly. But now I find myself in the dark in a bedroom, which is homely, warm, and cozy. I’ve fought, screamed, and cried, but my owner only ignores me when I act like this. He may have shown me his face, but I’ve yet to see his soul.
For now, I wait. I know he’s there, watching.
I don’t know how long it’s been.
Only that he visits me every day.
He makes me feel things.
I shiver again when I think about him. Rolling onto my back, I sigh loudly, and it echoes in the vast bedroom. It’s different from the one I had while I was growing up.
I no longer have teddy bears on my bed. There are no longer pink and pastel blue furnishings and curtains. This bedroom is filled with deep shades of cobalt and charcoal hues that offer more warmth than what I’d envisioned.
Each night, in the dark, my visitor comes to me. He talks to me in that deep, gravelly tone, which only turns the spark inside me into a raging inferno. He tells me he’s ill and that he doesn’t understand why he is broken.
I want to tell him I am too. My heart, my mind, it’s not the same, and there’s nothing I can do about it but tamp it down and ignore it. I want to ask him so many questions that plague me daily, but I don’t. Perhaps the less I know, the better.
The sun streams through the window, informing me of a new day. He told me I’ll be able to go outside soon. And I can’t wait to run through the forest. I’ve sat in the window seat every day since I woke up in this bedroom, and I’ve watched the birds flit about and the flowers bloom as spring nears.
Last night, he came to me and sat for a long while, just talking. I want to see him, to ask him why he’s taken me, brought me to this place that doesn’t seem like a prison, but sort of is. It’s a cabin, hidden amongst tall trees and green grass.
I’m thankful he’s been kind to me, not hurting me in any way. I imagine other girls who’ve been in similar situations, may not have been as lucky as I am.
My body trembles when I hear the lock of the bedroom door clicking, and I realize he’s bringing in the tray with food for me to devour. He feeds me, keeps me hydrated, allows me all those normal comforts; the only thing he doesn’t give me is his truth. But soon, I know he will.
The spicy scent of his cologne still hangs heavily in the room from last night, and I’m filled with want for him to stay here with me. He makes me crave the nearness of him. I watch as he sets the tray on the vanity before he disappears again.
How can I want him when he hides from me?
How can I need him when he won’t let me in?
1
Logan
One week ago
I click on the profile, reading the name Sleeping Beauty before scanning her bio. It’s short and sweet, just like I imagine her to be. I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t stop myself. I found out how broken I was when I turned seventeen and found myself needing release while I watched my girlfriend at the time asleep beside me. We had been studying late into the night, and while she slept, I found more pleasure than I ever had.
The moment I came all over my hand, I rushed to the bathroom, cleaned up, and left. I never once went back to her house. Fear held me hostage, keeping me from even talking to her, telling her what I did.
I spent my nights searching for reasons why. But nothing could stop it, I was broken. My desires ran deep into my veins. And I couldn’t tell anyone about it. The secret was mine to bear, and I had to do it alone.
For the first time in years after that incident, I met someone else. She was kinky, she would let me tie her up, blindfold her, and for a while, it worked. But happiness doesn’t last forever.
I realized I was never going to be with anyone long-term when I woke my ex-fiancée while I was jerking off over her sleeping form. She looked so beautiful, peaceful and unaware of my perversions. I hid it from her for two long years. But the moment she opened her eyes and felt the hot mess I’d made all over her chest, I knew I needed to leave.
To run so far away, nobody would ever be subject to my sick desires.
I couldn’t explain it away, and telling someone on the first date that you can’t get hard unless she’s asleep isn’t something you want them to know. And that’s why I find myself here, on the dark web, where I can find those who are broken—just like me.
I open her photo, which is blurry at best, but I can make out her bra, a soft-pink color, and the panties she’s wearing match. I open the messenger app and type out my first contact with her.
Logan: Are you looking for a Prince or just another bad boy who can fulfill your fantasies?
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it’s the safest way to find release. It’s the only way. I glance outside. The moon hangs in the sky, heavy and bright. The cabin I bought is secluded, away from prying eyes, because the moment I’m surrounded by people, I feel my anxiety twisting inside my gut, hammering against my chest. Reminding me that I’m nothing more than a monster.
Her reply dings from the speakers of my computer, and I’m too afraid to open it. This is ridiculous. It’s not like she’s here. And if she were, I doubt she’d stick around long enough to know who I am.
SB: I learned a while ago that princes aren’t as charming as they claim to be. At least a bad boy doesn’t apologize for his behavior.
I chuckle. She’s cute.
Logan: This is true. But what if the bad boy was dangerous as well?
SB: Then, I suppose it would be even more exhilarating. Wouldn’t it?
She’s challenging me to see if I’m said bad, dangerous boy. But what she doesn’t know is I’m a man, nearing my thirties, and she’s only twenty years old. I should shut this down, stop responding, but my fingers have a mind of their own.
Logan: It would be. Danger excites you. Doesn’t it?
SB: It does. I don’t know why. Perhaps I’m broken in some way. Maybe I’m meant to be the bad girl who corrupts the good boy.
I can’t stop smiling. I sit back, watching the screen as if it’s meant to give me answers. Do I tell her who I am? No. If I do, she’ll stop talking to me. I keep my gaze pinned on the screen, and then I see another notification pop up.
SB: So . . . your profile doesn’t tell me what it is you’re into.
Logan: I know. I . . . I don’t know how to tell people about it. It’s not . . . normal.
I sigh as I push off the bed and make my way into the kitchen. I don’t want to see her response. But I also do. The forum we’re on isn’t exactly normal, and she should expect chat partners to ask for random shit, and mine isn’t as bad as some I’ve come across, but it doesn’t mean it won’t scare her off.
Sleeping Beauty.
How is it a girl would want to be a fairytale character? Brought up on stories of happily ever after isn’t the right way to live. I should know. I tap my phone screen and see a message from my mother. My father would never contact me, but she does.
I know she misses me. She wants me to return home, but I can’t. After the darkness I brought on the family name, my father would sooner disown me than have me back in the house.
My computer dings from the bedroom, but I ignore it for a little while. My mind is on my folks for the moment, and I consider responding to my mother, but after a moment, I turn and head back to the bedroom with a bottle of beer.
I flop on the mattress and tug the laptop toward me. Waiting for me are two messages from the little princess. She’s not even seen what life can do, and she’s on this fucking website, talking to me—a stranger. At least, that’s what she thinks.
What the hell could’ve happened to her to push her into this life?
Onto this website?
SB: Normal is subjective. Perhaps you should just come right out and say it.
SB: But if you’d rather not, I won’t pursue it. I’m into . . . I need . . . I like being watched. Is that wrong? I mean, the fear that courses through my veins spark my arousal, and then I’m lost to it until I find release.
I stare at the screen. I read her words, then reread them. I try to make sense of her. In just that one confession, she’s given me more than I could ever have hoped to give anyone in my own damn life.
She deserves an answer. She should get one, but I can’t bring myse
lf to do it. My fingers hover over the keys as I regard her name. I know it’s not real, but just the thought of her being able to accept my ache, to see her unconscious, to feel her limp body as I curl myself around her and rub my cock against her smooth, porcelain flesh, has me groaning.
SB: I like when a man . . . I enjoy a man to hunger for me. I crave attention, the need to feel his eyes eating me up. I know it’s dangerous, but this is how I find my fix. By roleplaying scenes online, so I don’t do it in person. Is that why you’re here too?
Fuck.
My fingers move without me thinking.
Logan: Yes. Your needs and my desires seem to tie into each other more than I could’ve hoped for. But this is all it will ever be, my beauty.