Hot air burns my lungs. My skin bubbles from the unbearable heat, every square inch throbbing with agony. I grit my teeth.
“Klein, Klein!” I try to call out, but struggle to make any sound. It feels like somebody rubbed sandpaper along the inside of my throat.
Desperate, I stretch my arms, my fingertips just brushing her hair. My foot catches on a short log on the floor. I fall, hitting the ground hard with my elbow and chest. The impact is jarring—
I gasp. Icy air fills my lungs, making me twitch.
I blink in the darkness, my cheek on the cool hardwood floor. Sweat has created a clammy film over my body. The A/C hums softly. My knee aches. Probably hit the floor with it, too, when I fell.
I fumble for the phone on the nightstand and check the time—four thirty-two a.m.
My heart is still racing. I rest my head in my hands, take a few breaths, then scrub my tongue over the edges of my teeth, trying to expel the acrid taste of burned wood in my mouth. It doesn’t work—almost as though I really was in a fire trying to save Klein.
I push myself off the floor. Count to ten slowly, willing my heart to settle. But it continues to pound at the same rapid pace. The image of Klein, tied to the chair—
I have to check to make sure she’s safe.
Exhaling roughly, I throw on a robe, open the double doors to my bedroom and step into the hall with its faint scent of beeswax. There’s no extra heat here. The night-lights glow softly just above the floor as they always do.
Everything’s the way it should be. No sign of fire.
The door to Klein’s room is closed, a barrier from her like the fire in my dream. There’s a sudden urge to smash it down, but I rein myself in.Don’t want to scare her at four thirty-two in the morning.And I certainly don’t want her thinking I’m crazy.
I inhale and exhale, then roll my shoulders. The muscles behind my neck are tight; I stretch them a little, but it doesn’t help. I move across the space between our rooms, my bare feet making no sound on the comfortingly cool floor. Very carefully I turn the knob and push.
The door opens silently, the dim light from the hall providing some meager illumination. I wait for my eyes to adjust.
Klein is curled up in bed, the blanket wrapped around her, still as a kitten in sleep. I stare at her, looking for signs of life. Finally, she shifts a bit.
Relief washes over me in a sweet tide.Of course she’s fine.Whywouldn’tshe be fine? My knees loosen a bit and I let out a soft breath. She’s under my roof—and under my protection. Mom wouldn’t dare. I won’t let her toxic presence touch Klein.
I turn away and start back to my room, then notice something on the floor. I pick it up, then blink. A pair of small panties. The soft cotton drapes over my fingers and palm perfectly. The fabric smells faintly of Klein.
My pulse picks up. Heat rushes through me. I look toward her, and just then she flips over, kicking the tangled sheets. She’s still in my shirt. Her fingers stroke her collarbone. “Josh,” she murmurs dreamily.
I freeze.Did she notice me?But then she shifts again, and I realize she’s still asleep.
What kind of dream is she having to whisper my name like a lover? Is she reliving the flowers? Or what we did in the kitchen after I gave her the flowers? Am I kissing her? Doing more?
I want to know what makes her sigh like that. I want tomakeher sigh, make her beg and scream and quiver with pleasure.
I glance at the panties still in my hand. Did she, thinking of me, take them off because they got too wet for comfort?
My dick grows painfully hard as I imagine her warm, naked body under the sheets—and in my shirt.
She sighs softly, and all my blood drains to my cock. She sounded just like that when she said my name for the first time in the kitchen. I so desperately wanted to say, “The hell with dinner,” but she wasn’t really sober enough to consent. She barely processed anything while we ate, either. Bet none of my compliments registered. Her yakisoba was better than Akiko’s—mainly because she put plenty on my plate and used a generous amount of pork.
Klein shifts. The woman is torturing me, seducing me even in her sleep, as naturally as breathing. I want to kiss her, see if she’sreceptive, but I should probably do the honorable thing and let her sleep in peace.
You’re no prince on a white horse trying to wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss.
I spin around, pad out silently and close the door behind me. I lean against the wood, the back of my head dropping against it. The air in the hall is too hot, and my groin too tight. My dick is so swollen it’s touching my stomach. I make a fist, and realize her panties are in it. The top of my skull prickles with heat. I should give them back, but I simply can’t go back in her room.
I’m a man, not a superhero.
Okay, what to do?I start toward the gym, so I can pummel Mom’s face on the punching bag. But my dick won’t die down. It throbs like if I don’t do something about its condition, it might just break.
Biting back a curse, I turn around, enter my room and close the door. The clammy fear from the nightmare is gone, replaced by searing heat. It’s not even five in the morning. I should try to squeeze in some extra sleep before heading to work, but it won’t work. A different kind of restlessness throbs in my veins.
