Phantom Touch Ch. 02

Thanks for the encouragement, votes, and suggestions. This chapter would not exist without your feedback.

Once again, I end this installment without a clear idea of what will come next so I thank you sincerely for coming along for the ride, however long or short it may be. I appreciate the company.

- JillieB

Chapter Two

He waited impatiently in the shadows, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets with a loud sigh. His sudden movement startled a neighborhood cat, and he watched as the feline quickly scurried across the pavement towards an amber streetlight before climbing a low fence and disappearing from sight.

He sighed again as he stared at the dark bedroom window across the street, thinking about his current assignment. He was grossly overqualified for this task and it irritated him that he was standing here, stuck with a routine imprinting. An imprinting of all things! Of all the low-risk missions he could have been given, it would have to be the task typically reserved for those that still had to learn sufficient control over their thoughts.

Naturally, he'd tried to reason his way out of it, but there had been no escape. It was standard procedure for those of his kind to end five years of increasingly complex missions with a low-risk task that their mentors would select for them after a careful review of their performance.

"An imprinting assignment is just what you need, Collin. It will refresh you, give you a moment to slow down and remember what it's like to love, to be human," his mentor's earlier words echoed in his mind.

His attempts to sway his mentor had fallen on deaf ears, so he'd acquiesced in the end, taking some small comfort in the knowledge that others before him had tried to escape similar fifth-year assignments and failed. The sooner he accepted the mission and completed the task, the sooner he could move on to assignments more worthy of his experience.

Not that he had anything against imprinting itself. It was a constant source of amusement to him that modern humans still held on to the notion of love at first sight, completely unaware that the elusive "spark" and "chemistry" they thought they'd found in another was nothing more than the result of a carefully applied imprint.

A mere century ago, imprinting tasks were rarely needed and even more rarely performed. But human life in the past few decades had become so busy and stressful that people routinely encountered their intended life partners without experiencing that flash of recognition. Imprinting had become a much needed form of intervention. Due to sheer volume and the low-risk nature of the task, it was often the first assignment given to one of his kind. Even Kismet, it seemed, needed the occasional helping hand.

So here he was, standing outside her house, waiting for enough time to pass from when her bedroom lights were turned off, until he could reasonably expect her to be asleep. His mental skills had improved so much over the past five years that he didn't even need to be in the same room with her. He had acquired enough expertise and focus that, even from this distance, he could manipulate her thoughts and feelings without breaking a sweat.

When he felt he'd delayed long enough, he reached out with his thoughts, nudged at her mind, and waited.

He was mildly surprised by the small frisson of fear that echoed back to him. Fear was not an emotion he typically encountered from an imprinting subject. Some initial confusion was normal, even expected, but in their sleep imprinting subjects were usually quick to accept the sensations as a product of their dreams.

He nudged at her again, more gently this time, just to be sure he had not imagined it. Sure enough, fear echoed back to him, this time tinged with a hint of confusion.

Frowning, he paused in an uncharacteristic moment of uncertainty before deciding to continue. He reached out to her mind once more, creating sensations that were light, unhurried, almost playful. He knew anything more aggressive at this point would be counter-productive, and he didn't want to spook her into wakefulness.

Patiently, he manipulated her thoughts, deciding to focus the sensations on just one place. Subjects responded better, felt less threatened when he kept things localized to just one part of their body. Doing things this way took more time than he'd like, but his patience was eventually rewarded when he felt a hint of heat from her, a sense of breathless arousal.

More confident now, he pushed a little harder with his mind, stimulating her more firmly. He felt a hum of satisfaction knowing he had her now. It was just a matter of time before she completely succumbed.

He continued to project his thoughts, waiting for his subject to produce some audible response that would confirm she was ready for more, that his ministrations had convinced her that she was caught in an erotic dream. It didn't take too long; he was unsurprised when her soft moan finally filtered into his consciousness through their mental link.

He was concerned, though, by the ribbon of fear that still came with the soft sound. While not unheard of, fear at this stage was not a good sign; it often meant the subject was partially or completely awake.

Stifling a curse, he quickly considered his options. He couldn't proceed with the imprint while she was afraid; that would defeat the purpose. But he didn't want to abandon the task at this stage either, not when he'd already started, and certainly not when abandoning the task now meant he'd have to return the following night.

Left with no choice, he took a deep breath before shimmering into her bedroom, blending carefully into the shadows at the head of her bed as he turned to look at her. While he was reasonably confident that he could cloak himself from her thoughts, there was no point taking any chances.

His gaze quickly took in her tightly-shut eyes, her shallow breathing, and the lock of dark hair that fell across her forehead. He felt a pang of guilt as he noted the way her arms were folded defensively across her chest. He really had not meant to frighten her.

Shaking off the guilt, he continued his mental work, flooding her brain with the sensation of a warm mouth latching onto and licking at her flesh, trying to overwhelm her with enough pleasure to override the fear. He worked automatically, without conscious thought, even as his eyes roamed over what little he could see of the soft, lush cleavage beneath her arms and her silk nightshirt.

It had been so long since his last imprinting that he found himself absently wondering what her nipple would feel like in his mouth; wondered if she'd be less threatened if he'd proceeded with a physical touch rather than a mental one.

He caught himself with a start, horrified by the dangerous train of thought and all too aware of the consequences. Like an unskilled rookie, he had stopped thinking of her as a subject and had tapped into her emotions instead of just shaping them. He had unwittingly opened himself up to the sensations she was feeling, the sensations he had created.

Frantically, he tried to close off the mental link, but it was too late. A fierce wave of need crashed over him, followed immediately by a rising tide of arousal. He sucked in a deep breath and staggered back a step as his body reacted instantly; blood rushed to his groin, causing his cock to strain painfully against his clothes in a sharp echo of the heat that coiled between her legs. His body overheated, and he gasped for breath as his heart thumped loudly in his ears and drowned out all rational thought.

He swayed unsteadily on his feet, closing his eyes as the sensations swept through him, as he became just as lost to them as she was. He could feel her nipple in his mouth, taste the ridges along the tight bud as his tongue licked at her mentally. Unable to resist, he imagined himself sucking greedily at her areola and was immediately rewarded by the shiver of anticipation that came back from her through their mental link.

His body hardened further as he felt her surrender completely to the pleasure he gave her; felt the last traces of fear fade from the sensations emanating from her. He opened his eyes in time to see her arch her back invitingly as her arms dropped weakly to her sides.

His gaze immediately went to her breast, to the distended nipple now clearly visible beneath her nightshirt, the nipple that he could still taste in his mouth through their mental link. Recklessly, he dropped to one knee beside the bed, giving in to the temptation to suckle at her breast physically as well as mentally. He bent his head to the task, pulling at her breast urgently.

The raspy feel of her silk nightshirt against his tongue finally seeped into his consciousness, jarring him, bringing him to his senses. Horrified by his loss of control, he gathered what little concentration he had left and forced himself to shimmer out of her bedroom, severing their mental link as he collapsed on the pavement outside her home in an exhausted heap.

He lay on the ground, panting heavily as he raised a shaking hand to push his hair away from his face. He was still aroused, his cock straining painfully against his clothes. For a crazy moment, he entertained the fantasy of shimmering back into her bedroom to finish what he'd started, but he knew it would be wrong, that it was taboo, and he'd be in more trouble than he already was if he gave into the temptation.

With effort, he forced himself to his feet, then hurried away on foot, instinctively staying clear of the amber streetlights. His overheated body did not feel the chill night air as his long strides quickly took him further away from her, away from the bedroom he'd just left, away from his worst screw-up in five years.

He had regained some semblance of control by the time he reached the corner of the street. The short brisk walk had helped clear his head and the cold air had calmed his body somewhat, though his clothes still chafed against his erection. His mentor's words about this assignment echoed again in his head, and the thought of how amused the old one would be when he learned of tonight's debacle made him groan out loud in embarrassment.

He knew he would have no choice but to return tomorrow night to finish the task. He would not be allowed to move on to the next assignment without completing this one. That was to be expected.

He was therefore surprised when his stomach twisted in dread at the thought of having to come back, even though he wasn't worried about the possibility of failing again. He knew the task was doable, that he'd be less careless when he returned tomorrow night, and that he was more than qualified to complete the assignment.

No, he realized with dismay, he was dreading tomorrow night because he knew deep down that he didn't want to succeed.

How could he imprint her with a desire for someone else when he wanted her himself?