Sliding up in the bed to lean against the headboard, I pressed my hand against my mouth when the movement caused the sheets to rub against me. Cloth that had felt so soft and inviting when I’d first crawled into this bed now felt abrasive against my hypersensitive skin.
I wasaching; it was the only word I could think of to describe what I felt. I ached everywhere, forhim. My hand skimmed over my breasts and a whimper sounded in my throat, but as the need of my body increased, I knew my hand wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be, not anymore, not without him.
He was dreaming ofmeand somehow the dream had been strong enough for me to latch onto him, just as I’d dragged him into my vision that day on the hill. Maybe I’d opened a connection between us that day and it was still open. It didn’t matter; I’d seen his dream, knew what he wanted, and I wanted it too,sobadly.
My gaze fell on the flap dividing us. I could feel him over there, waiting. If my hand so much as fell on those buttons, he would be in here in a heartbeat, kissing me, on me,inme. Another whimper slid through me.
Go,a voice in me advised, but the small sliver of sanity still within me kept me on the bed, my hand resting on my lower belly. My body throbbed for release, but I held back. Before it had always been enjoyable to bring myself to orgasm, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough anymore. I would never get any real release from this torment if it didn’t involve him.
A sound, half moan and half sob came from me. I kept my hand flat against my stomach as I stared at the flap. He wouldn’t come to me, not after last night; he would wait to see what I would do.
I lay there until the sun came up, staring at the flap, knowing that the same need wracking through me was also keeping him awake.
CHAPTER 30
River
Over the next week, I became personally familiar with, and increasingly resentful of, the term sexual frustration. The only one more short-tempered than me, was Kobal. Every day we would wake up and go to the field to try to draw some sparks from me, and fail. Then we would go about our regular training. He would demand I try harder; I’d tell him to stuff it, often with the middle finger included. We would snipe at each other in ways we never had before.
Then we would go to sleep, and he would dream, and no matter how much I tried to resist it, I always found myself irresistibly lured forward to watch.
Because of those dreams, I now knew the tattoos encircling his pecs had an identical circular pattern on his back and both sides were a continuation of the patterns on his arms.
The things he did to me in those dreams left me quivering and desperate for more every time I woke from them. I hadn’t known some of those things could be done until he showed them to me, and he showed me with an enthusiasm that made me think some of them were done to shock me, and they did, but they also left me wishing it actually was me he was doing them to and not dream me.
Last night, he’d held my gaze while taking dream me—as I now referred to her—against the table. Dream me’s elbows had rested on the table as she lifted her hips to him while he stood behind her. Eager cries had resonated from dream me as he’d driven in and out of her before pulling away.
The cry of disappointment she released when he stepped away from her echoed inside of me. Lifting her up, he’d placed her on the table and leaned closer to whisper in her ear that he wanted to watch her make herself come. Though his words shouldn’t have carried beyond her, I heard them as clearly as if they’d been whispered in my own ear. I tore my gaze away, unsettled by his words.
“Watch, it’s more pleasurable that way,” he commanded gruffly.
Since that first night, he’d never directly spoken to me again, only watching me while I watched us, but I somehow knew those words were meant for me. I found I couldn’t refuse him as my head turned back toward the two of them. I watched as dream me’s hands slid over her body in a way that no longer satisfied me. Her face relaxed as she kneaded her breasts and her hand slid between her thighs to delve inside herself.
“Do you like it?” he inquired, focused on me.
“Oh yes,” dream me replied.
“As much as you enjoy me inside of you?”
“Never.”
My eyes narrowed on him. I didn’t know how he knew, but I became certain he was well aware I lay awake every night after this, yearning to be touched, desperate for release, yet finding none.
I’d awoken from the dream after.
Now, I stood on the training field with all of the humans who avoided me as if I not only had the plague, but also as if I stunk like I had been rolling around in garbage. Admittedly, I didn’t smell great. I was dirty and sweaty, yet I didn’t smell any worse than any of them.
I was a lot angrier than everyone else, testy as I battered at the straw dummy before me with a katana. All of the finesse moves I’d learned were gone out the window as I hacked the straw man into pieces so thin a mouse wouldn’t use them for a nest. Wrapping both hands around the handle, I lunged forward, driving the blade through the straw man’s heart, all the way to the hilt.
Someone chuckled from nearby. Bale stepped forward and pulled the katana free. “Not much in the way of skill, but it got the job done.”
“That’s what I do,” I muttered and wiped away the trickling sweat streaking down my face.
I was doing better than the other humans in the sweltering July sun; many had to take breaks to avoid heatstroke and a few had been admitted to the infirmary with it, but I rarely took a break. The heat was not helping my temper though.
I hated the surveying look in Bale’s striking, lime-colored eyes. I found myself scowling back at the demon who could probably rip my head off as a party trick. She smiled back at me. “Let anger fuel a battle, but don’t let it rule you in one.”
She handed the katana back to me and walked away with a sway of her hips that had the men nearby leaning back to watch her go. I envied her the ability to be so free with her sexuality, and if I didn’t believe my heart would become entangled in the whole mess, I would have jumped Kobal by now, consequences be damned.
