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And he wanted her like he wanted his next breath.
“Am I here?” she repeated, and reached out to lay a hand on his chest. “I feel you, I feel your heart beating. I must be here. Can you feel my hand?”
“Aye.” He covered it with his own. “If it’s a dream for us, let’s not waste it. I’ve a longing for you, Breen Siobhan.”
She knelt on the bed beside him, twined her arms around his neck. “Show me what we can do in dreams.”
Mouths met, softly seeking the warmth, the taste, the promise already given. And with the kiss, the dream spun out, spun on. Held close, body to body, they gave themselves to it, to each other, while the fire simmered and the twin moons shed light through the dark.
Murmuring to her, he slipped her shirt away, so now they were skin to skin, warm flesh to warm flesh. He stroked the line of her back, drew in the scent of her hair. All there, all real, all his.
Indulging himself, he tasted more, taking his lips over her face, herthroat, her shoulders, then sipping her sigh when their mouths met again.
Her breasts under his hands, so soft, so firm. Her quiet sigh of pleasure as he touched her, wherever he touched her. The sweetness of her lips as they brushed his, then lingered.
All his.
She shifted, pressing him back and down. For a long moment, she lay over him to feel that hard warrior’s body under hers. The shape of him, the strength, the scent of his skin enticed her. She felt the beat of his heart inside her own and shifted once more to press her lips to it.
Now she indulged, and took more. Slowly, floating on the dream, she took her hands, her lips over him.
Shoulders broad, muscles taut, jaw a strong line under rough stubble. Skin surprisingly smooth over a tough, ruthlessly disciplined body.
All hers.
As she explored, inside her heart his heartbeat thickened. Though his hands both soothed and seduced, inside her body she felt his need for her. He wanted, yet he waited, and nothing could have aroused her more.
With a thought, she stripped the flannel away before she rose up to straddle him.
She saw his eyes in the moonslight, the way they looked at her. Only her. Lifting his hands, she brought them to her breasts, to her heart. And took him into her, slow, slow, slow, her breath, her body shuddering.
She held him there, held them both while the sensation saturated.
Still he waited.
When she began to move, undulating, fluid as water, she ruled him. His body ached, his blood burned, and the pleasure swamped all. Bewitched, bespelled, he watched her, the tumble of hair a glow of fire in the fractured light. Her eyes, locked on his, so dark now with the power she held.
She lifted her arms high as her head fell back, as she took him as no one had, as he hadn’t known any could. Light glowed around hernow, a dream within a dream. She took him with her, beyond wants, beyond needs, beyond self.
More than a mating, this, a kind of merging so he felt her pleasure even as he felt his own. He rose as she rose, and felt, within himself, the long, keen, welcome release inside her.
When she ran her hands down her own body, he reared up. Seizing her hair in his fists, he crushed his mouth to hers.
She answered, and she chained her arms around him, her hips moving still. Driving him mad, driving him deep.
Crazed words poured out of him, words she wouldn’t know, words his clouded mind barely understood.
Then at last, at last, he reached the edge. When he fell over it, it seemed he fell into her.
He held on to her as he lay back, held her as once more she lay over him.
“I know we have to wake up.” She sighed the words out. “But I’d rather not.”
His hands tangled in her hair again. Here was peace, he thought, such utter peace she brought to him.
“Did you work a spell to bring the dream?”
“No.” She lifted her head. “No, I wouldn’t—”
