Darkness filled my vision. Within me, there was only a quiet but pervasive thrumming that seemed to have its own looping beat after the consuming nature of their music.
Just as I began to feel the loss of … whatever that had been, Griffin was there again. As before, his fingers trailed my arms, my collarbones, the outline of my body through the comforter. He peppered feathered kisses across my cheeks, pressed the softest of them yet along my lips.
I moaned softly, unsure whether aloud or only in my dream.
His kisses continued, his touch, too, before he lifted the covers and slid in next to me. When his body pressed against mine, I felt only skin—and his arousal, hard and incredibly erotic against my hip.
If this was a dream, let me not wake from it.
Unsure whether I was asleep and dreaming or slowly waking, I didn’t open my eyes.
I thought sluggishly, pointing the thought at my dog.
Now that he could talk, it felt wrong to have sex in front of him.
Griffin’s hand was under my camisole, palming my breasts. His lips dragged along my bare shoulder.
I murmured silently to him.
Neither Bobo nor Griffin answered, but Griffin’s hand was trailing down from my breasts, across my abdomen, and slipping beneath the waistband of my sleepshorts. I wasn’t wearing panties.
He ground his erection against my hip. I decided I no longer cared if Bobo stayed. We were under the covers anyway, and Bobo wasn’t even moving. He was probably fast asleep on the job. He was, after all, adog, not a person. And didn’t dogs go at it, humping away without care of their audience?
Griffin’s fingers slipped between my rapidly slickening folds.
I moaned, and this time, I heard my pleasure aloud.
“That’s it, baby,” Griffin encouraged, dipping a finger inside me, then dragging my wetness up to circle around my clit.
I moaned some more, my hips circling in an echo of his movement.
“Get nice and wet for me,” he said.
Couldn’t he tell I was plenty wet for him already?
“Then I’ll plow into that pretty cunt of yours and fill you up with my cum.” His words were hot as he growled them against the shell of my ear.
My core pulsed at the imagery they evoked. He rubbed my clit faster, harder. My breathing came faster and harder too.
“That’s it, baby,” he said against my ear. “Come for me. Come, hard as you can.”
He flicked my clit—hard—and my eyes popped open.
Not dreaming, then.
My blinds were closed. The faintest of moonlight struggled to stream through. It was too dark to make out much of Griffin beyond his silhouette. But I knew the feel of his body intimately. Every hard plane and provocative bulge, every one of his gestures and movements.
His usual scent.
He flicked my clit again—harder this time.
I gasped.
“You like that, don’t you?”
I wasn’t sure I did. It kind of hurt.
But his fingers were back to rubbing. Pressing harder, harder, faster, faster.
