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A primal moan escapes my mouth as I arch my body toward the friction I need.
In my brain, it’s not him. I work to replace him with someone—anyone—else.
I can pretend and enjoy this moment for what it is.
A much-needed release. One I’ve deprived myself of for too long.
If I open my eyes, the mirage will fade, and I’ll have to acknowledge that I hate this man, yet my body craves him.
My hips lift of their own accord, begging for him to touch me…begging for him to sear me with his fingers.
My body throbs with need, and he knows it. His hand works against me, eliciting sounds I didn’t know I could make.
I’m desperate for the friction of his touch to bring me over the edge.
Need and desperation fill me to the point of madness.
I push my hips up, wiggling my body, indicating for him to give me more. He doesn’t disappoint. His finger pushes aside my panties and finds me hot and ready.
“Please,” I beg, sounding needy and desperate.
“Please what, firefly?” His husky voice only makes things worse.
It’s so hot. So damn sexy.
My orgasm is building. I’m on the edge of falling.
A throat clears loudly, and my eyes open. That’s when it all comes crashing down.
Gideon is standing in the doorway to the closet.
It was a dream.
And he had a front-row seat.
His tall, lean body, only a few feet away, doesn’t help.
I woke too soon and subsequently missed out on release.
My hand reaches up, and I scrub the sleep from my eyes, trying to pretend nothing happened.
That what he thinks he saw isn’t true. It’s clear he believes he walked in on something because he’s smiling like a damn clown.
“Good dream, firefly?” he asks with that smug face of his.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Only nightmares here. But I didn’t dream, so…”
“Right.” He bites his lower lip to likely stop his laughter from bubbling over.
Asshat.
“Coffee?” he asks, lifting his hand.
With my dream long gone, I finally notice that Gideon is holding a mug of coffee in his hand. The fragrance fills the closet, and I groan in response. It’s an inviting scent of roasted beans and sugar.
Gideon takes a step and reaches the mug out while I move into a sitting position, arms outstretched, like a kid in a candy store waiting for the cashier to hand over the bag of treats.
He holds it just out of reach, earning him a scowl. Lesson number one: do not withhold coffee from me. I will snap. Gideon chuckles but finally gives in, closing the distance so I can grab the porcelain and bring it up to my mouth. The rich flavor is both bold and smooth, awakening my senses as it slides down my throat.
