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A second finger, knuckles crooking.
My thumb swirls over her clit.
Helen moans, breathless and wild, and Christ. These dreams will be the death of me.
“That’s it,” I tell her, my teeth bared as I work my fingers deeper, stretching her ready. So slick and tight. “That’s it. Good girl.”
And I’ve dreamed this dozens of times by now, but my heart still lurches when I position my length at her entrance. If only. If only.
I’d give anything for this to be true.
“Are you ready for me, sweet girl? Do you want all of me?”
The dream-Helen nods frantically, clawing at my shoulders. And it’s like heaven, sinking into her wet heat; it cleanses me from the inside out. Makes me brand new.
“Oh,” she says, her breaths ragged against my throat. I go slowly, rolling my hips to press deeper inside, because even in my dreams I can’t bear hurting her. “Oh, wow.”
So sweet. So perfect.
Fuck.
Lightning flashes, strobing the room with light, and Helen’s dark hair lays in tangles over my pillows. Toffee eyes stare up at me, so wide and trusting, and every night that I dream of her this way, my bruised old heart breaks a little more. Tonight is worse than ever, a deep fissure cracking through my chest.
No more. After tonight, no more.
I can’t bear it.
No more modeling or longing glances. No more dreaming of a woman I can’t have. This ismybrain, damn it, and I will wrangle it under control.
The bed creaks with each thrust. The storm rages outside, gusting out its rage against the mountain, and safe here in the warm, I’m storming too.
“Helen.” Can’t stop kissing her. Stroking her hair. I lick her neck. “My Helen. Sweetheart.”
She whimpers, and I die a little more.
My leg hurts, and that’s what keeps me anchored. So long as I can focus on that knotted pain, I can keep my head, working my body into hers in a steady rhythm. Dimly, I remember to cram a hand between us and rub the bundle of nerves between her legs.
The shudders come slowly, then take over her body like a maelstrom.
Helen cries out, her chin tipping back, and I scrape my teeth over her throat before burrowing home. Wedged as deep as I can go, I empty myself inside her.
My heart. My soul. All of it.
And sleep nudges at me before I’ve even finished, while I’m still holding myself above her, muscles tensed. As I collapse onto the pillows beside my little apparition, my vision is blurry. Everything aches, my chest worst of all.
Sleep drags me under in less than ten seconds.
Thank god.
Five
Helen
Iwake up so happy.
Don’t get me wrong: life has been good since I came to the Sky High Hotel, but this is next level. I wake upglowing.Who knew sex would make me feel like this?
It’s early morning, blue-tinged light spilling through Mr Grangemoor—throughRufus’s—open curtains. The storm has died down, and an unearthly hush has wrapped around the building.
