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“Is this where you’re taking us tonight, then, my lady?” he asked, his eyes glittering with passion as he tore his mouth from mine and gazed tenderly at me. “For, I must say, I approve.”
“I hadn’t planned on it, no.” I frowned at the cuts on his face. “I actually just wanted to dance with you at a festival down in my village. I missed it the day you came for me, and you didn’t dance with me that night with the mages.”
“Then we shall dance now,” he said, taking one of my hands in his and sliding his other to the base of my back before swinging us into a proper, courtly waltz.
“Except now I wish for more privacy.” I pouted, scowling at the crowd of Donnelleans watching us. Slipping my hand from Farrow’s shoulder, I snapped my finger, and the scenery morphed to my bedchamber at home, candelabras blazing from every corner of the room, with the bedsheets turned down as if inviting us into them.
Farrow chuckled. “Best dream ever,” he said and kissed me again as we continued to dance around the floor of my room.
My lips drank from his as my fingers began to wander again, slipping from his shoulders to travel over his back. When I came across his scars and the branded mark of Far Shore, he tore his mouth from mine and pressed our foreheads together, panting as he watched my face.
“I wish I could’ve been able to kiss these all better.” I looked up into his eyes, then glanced at the cut slashing open his cheekbone and another on his chin. With a hiss of regret, I pressed my mouth to each one. “I should kiss this better for you, too. Outside the dream, I mean.”
“And I could heal this.” He trailed a finger gently over the side of my throat, where it was tender and swollen from being strangled the day before. “You have bruises.” His eyes showed remorse as they moved from my neck to my eyes. “And your voice is hoarser than normal. I could fix that. If you’d just let me.”
But I could never seem to give him promises or permission that moved past our dreams. Sometimes, I’d wanted to so badly that I’d opened my mouth, and my lips would move, but no sound would emerge. It must be the ru
les of dream-sharing or something. Or maybe my subconscious was still telling me I just hadn’t forgiven him yet.
In the dream, however, Farrow tilted my face up with a touch to my chin and he leaned in to press his lips to my throat.
I sighed from the brief contact. So he returned, his tongue trailing over my flesh. I moaned, and his teeth nipped. As my nipples hardened, I willed my clothing away, and Farrow sucked in a surprised breath.
“Thank God,” he breathed, taking a beaded tip into his mouth.
I jumped from the pleasure and clutched his hair. My shoulders arched back, which lifted my breasts to him in clear offering. He accepted, sucking and licking even more, plumping one with his palm before moving to the other.
“Farrow,” I panted. “More.”
He looked up at me, seeking permission. I willed us to the bed, and once he realized I was lying on my back, fully nude with him stretched out on his side beside me, a winning smile lit his lips.
“As you wish,” he answered.
His lips returned to me, and he kissed his way down, gripping my hips as I opened my legs for him, spreading myself wide with wanton need. The muscles deep inside my sex were already clenching, craving the feel of him filling me. My clit throbbed, needing pressure and constant, slippery, wet movement.
When his tongue touched me there, I nearly came, so close to the edge already that I tightened my hold on his hair and tugged. My fingers silently commanded him to give it to me hard and fast.
He shuddered, grasping the mattress beside me as he lapped with a greedy abandon.
My hips undulated. That tightening inside me drew to a peak, and I began my first shudder of completion when Farrow suddenly disappeared.
I gasped, sitting upright in bed, my body strung so taut I nearly wept from the agony of incompletion. I wasn’t sure what had woken us from the dream, but something had definitely pulled us away from my orgasm, and I wanted to murder whatever that something was.
I flopped back down on Bison’s mattress in his cottage by the sea and listened to the waves outside, trying to disregard the pulsing in my loins. But they refused to be ignored. Gritting my teeth, I slipped my hand down, needing a climax, when the door to my room slowly creaked open.
My hand jolted away from my pussy in surprise, and I stared wide-eyed as a form crept inside, then silently shut the door behind him. There was no mistaking Farrow’s silhouette, even if my mark hadn’t already recognized him.
I sat up, scowling, aghast that he would dare come in here without my permission. “What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.
He paused for a moment, uncertain, then made up his mind and continued to the bed, where I listened to him undress in the dark beside it.
Then, lifting the sheet, he said, “You have need of me.”
Sputtering in indignation, I snapped the blanket up to my chin, covering myself, even though I wore nightclothes. “I can take care of myself.”
Crawling into bed beside me, he countered, “I can take care of you better.”
“But I’m still mad at you,” I growled.
