Chapter 5: Forbidden Dreams (NC-17)

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Petra froze. The question came so bluntly, right after that crude remark, that irritation flared inside her at once.

“I don’t have to answer you.”

Rafah did not let it go.

“So which is it,” she pressed. “Do you, or don’t you?”

Petra turned her face away, but annoyance finally snapped her patience.

“No.”

“And before that,” Rafah continued calmly, “have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Petra frowned at once.

“Why are you prying into my personal life like this?” she snapped, her voice sharp, even as her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.

Rafah said nothing. She simply sat there, watching Petra in silence, applying the kind of pressure she excelled at. It was enough to force an answer just to make it stop.

“I have,” Petra said tightly. “Two.”

Rafah tilted her head slightly.

“Men, or women?”

“Women.”

“And did you have sex with them?”

The bluntness nearly made Petra jump out of her skin. Her voice shook with anger.

“You…!”

Rafah did not flinch. She only watched Petra, waiting.

Heat rushed to Petra’s face as she shot back with bitter sarcasm.

“People who date don’t usually just hold hands, do they?”

The corner of Rafah’s lips curved into a smile. She leaned back in her chair, slowly swirling the wine in her glass, her eyes never leaving Petra.

“So,” she said softly, “what kind of sex do you like?”

That was the moment Petra lost what little patience she had left.

“Khun Rafah, this is too much,” she said, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm. “This is my private life.”

“Hm. Then answer me.”

Rafah replied without guilt, without hesitation, and without any intention of backing down.

Petra sucked in a sharp breath and stood up abruptly.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said tightly. “But if you invited me here just to talk about things like this, then I should leave.”

She turned and had barely taken two steps when Rafah rose and grabbed her arm, her grip firm.

“Wait.”

“Let go of me, Khun Rafah!”

Petra shouted, but before she could say another word, Rafah leaned down and kissed her.

It was brief and light, a fleeting brush of lips. Still, it was enough to make Petra’s heart race.

Then came the second kiss.

Rafah gave her no chance to speak. She leaned in again, this time pressing her lips down with intention. The kiss was aggressive, knowing. One hand held Petra’s arm tight while the other slid to her waist, pulling her closer until there was almost no space left between them.

Petra did not know how long she stood there, frozen, letting it happen. Perhaps that hesitation was what allowed everything to go too far. In the moment she trembled with uncertainty, Rafah’s tongue slipped in.

Warm and deliberate, it traced the inside of Petra’s lips before pushing deeper, as if testing her limits. Petra shuddered, her body going taut for an instant, yet her lips parted on their own. She let Rafah take the sweetness from her mouth, lingering there…

Until Rafah was the one who finally pulled away.

“If you want to do more than this,” she said softly, “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

That teasing smile snapped Petra back to herself.

She tore free and slapped Rafah across the face with all her strength. The sharp sound echoed through the room.

Rafah merely touched her lips, then looked back at Petra with a mocking smile, as if she felt nothing at all.

“What is it, Petra?” she asked calmly. “Are you trying to play hard to get with me?”

The words stunned Petra, but what followed was worse.

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel anything,” Rafah continued coolly, “when you’re practically aching for me to fuck you.”

Petra stood frozen for only a second longer.

Then her hand struck again, harder than before. Rafah’s head snapped to the side, yet that smile still curved her lips.

“Why make this so difficult?” Rafah said smoothly. “You want money, don’t you? Name your price. I can pay whatever you want.”

That was the final straw.

Petra grabbed the glass of water from the table and hurled it straight at Rafah’s face. Cold water splashed across her flawless features.

“Disgusting!” Petra shouted.

She snatched up her bag and stormed out without looking back.

Rafah remained standing there, calmly wiping the water from her cheek. A faint smile lingered at the corner of her mouth, as if everything that had just happened was only the beginning.

Petra might not realize it yet.

But the more difficult she was, the more someone like Rafah wanted her.

...

That night, Petra lay still on her bed in her softly colored bedroom. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, over and over, restless and irritated, unable to stop thinking about Rafah.

From the very first day at the Suphakiat Wildlife Foundation gala, Rafah had seemed flawless. An angel of conservation, admired and praised by everyone. But after Petra witnessed with her own eyes what Rafah had done with Napassorn, that image began to twist. She tried to separate the woman who contributed so much to society from private sexual preferences that should have remained just that, private.

After tonight, everything fell apart.

Rafah was crude, ill-mannered, and vicious in a way Petra could hardly reconcile with the same woman she had once admired as an “angel.”

Petra burned with anger at how far Rafah had crossed the line. She was even angrier at herself for the truth she could not deny. Once, she had imagined Rafah while touching herself, chasing release all the way to completion. Worst of all was how easily Rafah seemed to see through every thought Petra tried to bury.

She tossed and turned, trying to erase every word, every look Rafah had given her. But the sounds echoed relentlessly inside her head.

Words that should never have aroused her.

And yet, they did.

.

“I find you intriguing.”

“And very fuckable.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel anything.”

“When you’re practically aching for me to fuck you.”

.

Petra should have hated those vulgar words.

But she could not deny that their rawness stirred something unfamiliar and electric, as if a hidden switch inside her had been flipped without warning.

Especially when the memories returned. Two stolen kisses forced on her. Fierce, heated, relentless kisses that left her breathless and impossible to forget.

Petra shook her head lightly, as if she could chase the images away, then closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep, even though she knew that the harder she tried to forget, the clearer everything became.

Until…

She dreamed.

And in that dream, it was Rafah.

...

In that dream, Petra found herself back in the luxurious dining room of Rafah’s penthouse, Black Eden No.4. The oak table was still there. The chandelier still shimmered. Yet this time, everything felt different.

Rafah sat at the far end of the table, her sharp gaze fixed on Petra as if it could burn her to ash. Petra stood opposite her, wanting to speak, to say anything at all. Before a single word could leave her lips, Rafah rose, crossed the space between them, and lifted Petra onto the table.

Petra’s back struck the polished wood. Plates and cutlery shifted softly, their faint sounds meaningless against the weight of Rafah’s voice.

“Take your clothes off.”

The command was calm and steady, yet carried an authority Petra could not resist.

In the dream, she did not resist at all. She slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders. The fabric slid slowly down her skin, revealing her body inch by inch, as if she were shedding every last trace of shame along with it.

Rafah returned to her seat, lifting a crystal glass to her lips. She sipped her wine, her sharp eyes watching Petra with open satisfaction.

After a moment, she spoke again.

“Touch yourself for me, Petra.”

Petra hesitated, only briefly, as if her mind needed a heartbeat to catch up with the order. Then she obeyed. Her hand rose slowly, fingertips settling against her most sensitive place.

She felt as though she had become a devoted servant, offering a private, intimate performance for the sole pleasure of the woman seated before her.

Across the table, Rafah lifted her glass again, set it down, and resumed eating with slow, elegant movements. All the while, her gaze never left Petra, as if she intended to absorb every reaction, every movement, and carve them into herself.

Rafah’s detached composure bound Petra even tighter with desire. The faster her fingers moved, the deeper she sank into the role of a woman who existed only to satisfy the pleasure of one beautiful mistress.

In that dream, Petra abandoned every last trace of shame. Her soft moans, the way her body arched beneath her own touch, all of it became exquisite entertainment atop the dining table.

Everything she did was an offering to the woman watching her.

Rafah Witchakornin.

Just as Petra teetered on the edge of release, Rafah stood and stepped toward her, halting everything with a single sentence.

“Petra… I haven’t given you permission to finish yet.”

The words dragged Petra back from the brink in an instant. Before she could gather herself, Rafah closed in, gripping both of Petra’s legs with unyielding force.

Petra’s body was pulled closer. Her legs were positioned wide, exposing her completely.

Her breath fractured into uneven gasps as Rafah’s long fingers grasped her knees and spread them further apart, lifting them into a deliberate angle.

Then Rafah lowered her head.

Her lips pressed against Petra’s most intimate place without warning, leaving no time to brace herself. Everything happened with practiced certainty, as if this were a path Rafah had walked countless times before.

Her heated tongue teased and circled Petra’s sensitive spot, and then long, slender fingers slipped inside, filling her with a decisive thrust.

“Khun Rafah… your fingers hurt me,” Petra breathed, her voice trembling as the words escaped her.

Yet her hands betrayed her. Her fingers tangled in Rafah’s long, silky hair, silently begging her not to stop.

Rafah did not. Her mouth worked with ruthless intent, tasting Petra as if driven by hunger, while those fingers continued to move, thrusting in and out without mercy. The closer Petra came to release, the harder Rafah pushed, rough and relentless, as if determined to tear her apart right there.

“Say my name,” Rafah commanded, her voice low and absolute.

Petra shook her head weakly, gasping for air.

“Say it,” Rafah said again. “My name, Petra. I’m ordering you.”

“Khun Rafah…”

The name slipped from Petra’s lips, barely more than a breath. It was enough.

A satisfied smile curved Rafah’s mouth. She intensified her movements, and Petra could no longer hold back. Moans spilled from her lips as she cried Rafah’s name again and again.

“Ah… Khun Rafah… Khun Rafah…”

And then the sensation crested, exploding into a wild, overwhelming release.

Petra’s final cry tore free without restraint. The last image seared into her mind was Rafah’s face, her lips glistening with the sweetness taken from Petra’s body.

Then everything dissolved.

Petra jolted awake in the darkness of her bedroom. Her breathing was ragged, her heart hammering so violently it frightened her. Sweat dampened her forehead and soaked her back.

She blinked slowly, reality seeping back in, until she understood.

It had all been a dream.

But it had been a dream of Rafah.

A dream thick with obsession and desire she did not want to admit to herself.

Petra’s hand slid down to her lower body.

There, she found herself still slick and wet, lingering with the heat and sensation the dream had left behind only moments ago.

…