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Brett’s mouth was on mine. He was kissing me in a way that told me he no longer saw me as Mark’s annoying little sister, the tag-along baby with a slight lisp that only disappeared when I reached high school.
No. This was a real kiss. The kind a man gave a woman that he wanted more than anything else. His erection pressed hot into my stomach, and he had me caged between his muscular arms. The very same arms that had been haunting my dreams since I was sixteen and saw them wrapped around some cheerleader in my parents’ pool.
Jealously had burnt through my body, an ugly green monster that wanted to rip her out of those arms and feel them around my waist instead.
But I didn’t have to be jealous anymore, because now, I was the one in his arms. I was the one enveloped by his delicious, athletic build. His lips pressed to my neck, and his hand worked its way under the tight leather skirt I’d worn in the hopes of him finally realizing that I wasn’t just Mark’s little sister or his lifelong friend.
And it had worked.
His hand kept working its way up until he was cupping my mound over my drenched panties. He groaned when he felt my wet, aching heat. “Christ, Soph. You’re so fucking wet for me. Why didn’t I see it before?”
“All that matters is that you know now,” I moaned, my hands threading into the thick, espresso-colored strands of his perfectly messy hair that sometimes fell over his eyes when he laughed.
When I tugged at it, his breathing hitched, and when I rolled my hips against his, he let out a low hiss.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
His eyes, gray like smoke with tones of dark blue, almost like a cloud floating in the sky just before dusk, locked on mine as he waited for my answer. The hunger in them begged for me say yes.
So, I gave him what he wanted and nodded once. “Let’s get out of here.”
A slow, sexy grin curled on his full lips, causing one of his cheeks to dent where his dimples sat. Those dimples were going to be the death of me one day. I was sure of it.
As a young boy, the dimples had been cute, hinting at the playful troublemaker that he could be. As a man, they were anything but boyish or cute. They were rugged, manly, and they didn’t come out to play nearly often enough anymore.
The scene changed quickly, and we were in Brett’s bedroom. I’d only been in there once, shortly after he’d bought his new place and was giving me a tour of the house. But each detail of it was perfectly etched into my brain.
I was naked on his king-sized bed, my hands grasping at his smooth, white sheets. Lake Michigan winked at me from beyond his bedroom windows. A full moon hung in the sky, reflected in the small ripples that broke the surface of the lake from the breeze outside.
Brett’s bed had a heavy, dark wooden frame that knocked lightly into wall each time that he thrust into me, his rock-hard length sliding into me over and over with a perfect rhythm that never broke. Tension was already knotting in my lower stomach, and I knew the orgasm he was building inside me would be nothing like the mediocre ones I gave myself every so often.
He was whispering into my ear. Dirty things and sweet things, telling me how good I felt around his cock and how I was the most beautiful girl in the world, just like he had that night back in high school. But this time, he wasn’t drunk.
He told me now that he’d wanted me for as long as I’d wanted him. His words and his body took me higher and higher. The muscles in his back bunched under my palms when he moved, and his thighs quivered when mine started shaking.
When he reached down between us, his fingers found my clit, and I cried out.
Close. So damn close. My neck arched into the pillow, and Brett caught my mouth for another searing hot kiss, owning every part of me.
My sex clamped down on his dick, and then, just when I was about to come, a loud moan escaped.
I started awake at the sound of it.
I blinked wildly against the beams of early morning sunlight that were wreaking havoc on my eyes and causing my head to pound from the aftereffects of the enormous amounts of tequila I’d consumed hours before. The crushing weight of disappointment crashed into me when I realized I was alone.
It was nothing but a dream. A seriously hot dream that left me covered in a fine layer of sweat and with an intense ache between my legs. Groaning into my purple comforter, I took a few deep breaths, willing my body to calm down and my mind to release me from the last vestiges of the dream that it still clung to.
The single stuffed animal that I’d brought with me when I moved out of my parents’ house, a pink elephant named Rosie, silently judged me from the built-in reading nook in my bay window. Brett had won her for me at a fair when we were kids, and I couldn’t bear leaving her behind.
But now I wished that I had.
“Butt out,” I whispered to her, then covered my head with a sheet, hiding away from the inanimate object that was witnessing my
moment of weakness.
Weakness or not, however, the dream kept replaying in my mind, and my body begged me for some kind of relief. It wouldn’t be anything near what “dream Brett” had been building and tending to with such care, but I still needed it. Badly.
My hand skated down my side, pushing underneath the elastic waistband of my panties. I must’ve lost my pajama bottoms somewhere during my dream, but I’d find them later. I had much more pressing business to attend to.
