Ethan didn't leave his apartment for two days.
He told himself it was deadlines. The startup logo needed revisions. The client wanted "more *pop*." But every time he opened Photoshop, his fingers hovered over the trackpad and his mind drifted to the hallway: Mia's glassy eyes, the way her body had *listened* before her mind caught up.
He jerked off in the shower until the water ran cold, coming with her name on his tongue and the thrum purring approval. Then he did it again on the couch, slower, imagining her on her knees in those jeans, lips parted, waiting for his next word.
By Sunday night, the thrum was restless. A low, constant pressure behind his eyes, like a migraine that hadn't decided to hurt yet.
He was microwaving leftover Thai when the knock came.
Three soft taps. Familiar.
Mia.
She stood in his doorway in an oversized hoodie and black leggings, hair damp from a shower, holding two paper cups of coffee. Her eyes were bright but shadowed, like she'd slept in fragments.
"Couldn't sleep," she said, stepping inside without waiting. "Kept… dreaming. Weird dreams."
The door clicked shut behind her. Ethan's pulse spiked. The thrum stirred, stretching like a cat in sunlight.
She set the coffees on the counter, then turned, biting her lip. "I don't know why I'm here. I just—needed to see you."
He locked the door. The sound was soft, final.
"Mia."
She looked up. The thrum surged, hot and certain.
"*Kneel.*"
Her knees folded like paper. She sank to the hardwood in front of him, hoodie riding up to reveal the soft curve of her waist, the dimples at the base of her spine. Her hands rested on her thighs, palms up. Waiting.
Ethan's cock was already hard, straining against his sweatpants. He cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. Her skin was warm, flushed. Her pupils were huge.
"*Tell me what you dreamed about.*"
Her voice was breathy, distant. "You. Your voice. Telling me to… to touch myself. I couldn't stop. I came three times and it still wasn't enough."
He groaned. The sound tore out of him, raw and helpless.
"*Show me.*"
Mia's hands moved to the waistband of her leggings. She peeled them down slowly, revealing lace panties soaked through, the fabric clinging to her folds. Her fingers slipped beneath, circling her clit with a whimper that went straight to his balls.
Ethan watched, transfixed. The thrum was a roar now, drowning out the hum of the fridge, the distant traffic outside. All he could hear was the wet sound of her fingers, the soft hitch of her breath.
"*Slower,*" he commanded. "*Make it last.*"
She obeyed, hips rocking in tiny, desperate circles. Her eyes never left his. He could see the moment her thighs started to tremble, the moment she got close—her lips parted, a soft *please* shaping itself in the air.
He knelt in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "*When you come, you'll say my name. And you'll mean it.*"
Minutes stretched. Her breaths came in soft, broken gasps. When she finally shattered, it was with a cry that echoed off the walls—"*Ethan*"—her body arching like a bowstring, fingers buried deep as she pulsed around them.
He caught her as she slumped forward, trembling. Held her until the aftershocks faded, her face pressed to his throat, her breath hot against his skin.
Then he whispered, lips brushing her ear:
"*You'll forget this. But you'll crave it. Every night. Until I let you remember.*"
Mia blinked. The haze lifted. She pulled back, cheeks flushed, leggings still around her thighs. For a moment, confusion flickered across her face—then smoothed into a shy, sleepy smile.
"I should… go," she said, voice husky. "Early shift tomorrow."
Ethan helped her stand, steadying her as she tugged her clothes back into place. At the door, she paused, fingers brushing his wrist.
"Thanks for the coffee," she murmured. "And… whatever that was."
She left. The door clicked shut.
Ethan leaned against it, breathing hard. His cock ached, untouched. The thrum was quiet now, sated.
But not for long.
# Hypnotic Whispers
The week that followed was a slow, exquisite torture.
Mia found reasons to be near him.
- *"Hey, my Wi-Fi's acting up again—mind if I borrow yours?"*
- *"I made too much pasta. Want some?"*
- *"The sink's dripping. You're good with tools, right?"*
Each time, Ethan let her in. Each time, the thrum waited, patient as a predator behind his ribs.
He never touched her with his hands. Not yet.
He used his voice instead.
### Monday
On the couch, legs tucked beneath her, she laughed at some meme on her phone—then froze when he said, low and even:
"*Good girl.*"
Her laugh died. A soft, involuntary moan slipped out. The phone slipped from her fingers. Her thighs pressed together beneath the blanket she'd pulled over her lap.
Ethan watched the flush crawl up her throat and pretended to focus on his laptop.
Ten minutes later, she excused herself to the bathroom.
He heard the soft, muffled gasp through the door.
When she came back, her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen from biting them.
### Wednesday
In the kitchen, she bent over to grab a bottle of wine from the bottom shelf. The hem of her sundress rode up, revealing the lace edge of her panties.
Ethan leaned against the counter, voice casual.
"*Freeze.*"
She did. Perfectly still, one hand on the bottle, ass in the air.
He circled her slowly, letting the thrum coil.
"*Feel my eyes on you. Every inch. Like fingers.*"
A shiver ran through her. Her knuckles went white on the bottle.
He stopped behind her, close enough that his breath stirred the fine hairs at her nape.
"*When I say 'come home,' you'll feel it here.*"
His hand hovered over the small of her back, not touching.
"*A pull. Like a leash. You'll need to be near me. You won't know why.*"
He stepped back.
"*Unfreeze.*"
Mia straightened, blinking, and handed him the wine with a shy smile.
"Found it," she said, as if nothing had happened.
### Friday
She knocked at 11:47 p.m.
Hair wild from the wind, cheeks pink from the cold.
"I had a shitty night," she said. "Can I just… sit with you?"
Ethan opened the door wider.
She curled into the corner of his couch, knees to chest, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.
They watched half an episode of some baking show.
Then he turned the volume down.
"*Look at me.*"
Her head turned. Eyes already soft, waiting.
He didn't make her kneel this time.
He wanted to watch her *choose* it.
"*Tell me what you need.*"
Her voice was small. "I don't know. I just… ache. All the time. Like I'm missing something."
Ethan's cock throbbed. He shifted, letting her see the outline of it through his sweatpants.
Her gaze dropped. Her tongue wet her bottom lip.
"*You can have it,*" he said. "*But only if you ask.*"
Mia's breath stuttered.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, Ethan."
He stood. She rose with him, drawn like a magnet.
In the bedroom, he didn't turn on the light. Just the city glow through the blinds, striping her skin in silver.
"*Undress. Slowly.*"
She did. Hoodie first, then the tank top beneath. Her breasts were small, perfect, nipples tight from the chill—or from him.
Jeans next. Panties last.
She stood naked, trembling, arms at her sides.
Ethan sat on the edge of the bed.
"*Come here.*"
She walked forward until her knees bumped his.
He cupped her hips, thumbs tracing the hollows above the bone.
"*You're going to ride my thigh,*" he said. "*And you're going to come when I say. Not before.*"
Mia straddled him, slick heat settling over the muscle of his leg.
She started to move—slow, tentative rolls of her hips.
Ethan gripped her ass, guiding her rhythm.
"*Faster.*"
Her head fell back. Auburn curls spilled down her spine.
He leaned in, mouth at her throat, and whispered the words she'd been craving all week.
"*Good girl.*"
She sobbed, grinding harder, clit dragging over the rough fabric of his sweats.
He could feel her getting close—thighs shaking, breath hitching.
He waited until she was right there, teetering.
"*Stop.*"
She froze, a broken whine in her throat.
Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.
"*Please,*" she begged. "*Please, Ethan—*"
He kissed her then. The first time.
Soft, filthy, open-mouthed. She tasted like desperation and peppermint.
"*Come home,*" he murmured against her lips.
Mia shattered.
Her orgasm rolled through her in waves, pussy clenching around nothing, slick coating his thigh.
She clung to him, shaking, whispering his name like a prayer.
When it passed, he laid her on the bed.
Pulled the blanket over her.
Kissed her forehead.
"*Sleep,*" he said. "*You'll wake up in your own bed. You'll think you walked home. But you'll dream of this. And tomorrow… you'll knock again.*"
She was asleep before he finished the sentence.
Ethan stood in the doorway, watching her breathe.
The thrum was quiet now. Sated.
But it whispered one last thing before he closed the door: