"Axel, please—"
"Yes…” He adds another finger, pumps harder. "I love it when you beg for me, Aurora, fucking love it, tell me what you want.”
"I need—I need to come—"
"Then come." His mouth seals over my clit, sucking hard while his fingers work me mercilessly. "Come on my tongue, Aurora. Let me taste it."
The orgasm slams into me. I scream his name, my whole body shaking—
And I wake up.
No.
I'm alone in my bed, thighs clenched together, underwear soaked through. My heart's racing, skin flushed and sweating.
It was a dream.
A dream so vivid I can still feel his mouth on me, hear his voice whispering filthy things.
What the actual fuck?!
I moan in frustration, pressing my hands to my face. I'm aching. Actually aching with need, throbbing between my legs so intensely it's painful.
This is pathetic.
I'm dreaming about my fiancé's father. Having sex dreams so real I wake up on the edge of orgasm, desperate and wanting.
The clock reads 2:47 AM.
I'm not getting back to sleep. Not like this. Not with this need burning through me and nowhere to put it.
I slip out of bed, pull on a robe over my nightgown. Maybe a walk will help. Fresh air. Clear my head.
The estate's quiet at this hour. I pad through hallways on bare feet, avoiding the squeaky floorboards I've memorized over the past two weeks.
The gardens are dark, lit only by scattered lanterns along the paths. I breathe in the night air, try to calm down.
It was just a dream. Just your brain playing tricks because you're stressed and hormonal and—
I see him.
Axel's sitting on a stone bench near the fountain, a cigarette between his fingers. He's still in his dress pants and shirt from the gala, tie gone, top buttons undone. Staring at nothing.
This must be a joke from the heavens.
Run. Turn around and leave before he sees you.
I take a step back.
A twig snaps under my foot.
His head whips toward me.
Shit.
"Aurora?" He stands. "What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
