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He laughed a little, the way he had in Walgreens, and walked toward her. He didn’t speak either, but she knew that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. He reached out and touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes, nestled her face in his big, rough hand. That touch felt right, and warm, and … not enough.
Because this was a dream, one second they were face-to-face and fully clothed, then the scene changed and they were naked, lying in a bed in the room of color. The bed hadn’t been there before, but whatever; it was there now, deep and wide, just what they needed. Good dream, she cooed approvingly in her thoughts.
She wanted him right now. They were naked, they both wanted it, she was wet and he was hard—there was no reason she shouldn’t be able to have him. Instead he laughed as he pinned her wrists to the bed and lowered his head to kiss her neck … simply kissed. She couldn’t believe it. He was hard, so how could he kiss her so softly and with such aggravating and unnecessary patience? She squirmed impatiently and he moved on top of her, his heavy weight pressing her down as he held her still.
Skin to skin, his scent filling her, his mouth on her, everything stopped. Time stopped. There was just his body and hers, this big bed that stretched forever, this room of color. This felt so real she forgot it was a dream, lost herself in the sensation.
She found her voice, just enough for one word. “Now.”
Finally he spoke, too, in that deep, rough voice of his, a voice that matched the dark eyes and hardness of him. It was a voice she almost knew. “Relax, Lizzy. We have all night.”
That sounded all well and good, but what if they didn’t have all night? Oh, right—she remembered again that this was just a dream. Not real, no matter how real it felt. But dreams didn’t last forever; what if she woke up before they were finished? That had happened before, dreaming that she was falling off a cliff and waking up just before she hit the ground, or coming face-to-face with a tiger and waking with a gasp just as it lunged. In this case she wanted to hit the ground; she wanted to be eaten alive. She wanted the dream to last.
She knew how to make X hurry, how to make sure he didn’t drag this out too long. She reached down, their bodies so tightly pressed together she had difficulty working her arm between them, but she managed to get her fingers around the thickness of his erection and began stroking. He growled in her ear and caught her earlobe between his white teeth, biting down just enough for her to feel the sharp pinch, but he didn’t roll on top of her and push between her legs where she ached. Frustrated, annoyed even in sleep, she stroked harder, longer, and after another low growl in his throat he whispered, “Keep it up and I’ll come in your hand.”
Crap! That would definitely defeat the purpose. She snatched her hand away, scowling at him, and he laughed.
He kept on kissing her, his mouth moving from her ear to her throat, throat to chest, chest to nipple. His tongue circled the tight point, then suddenly he clamped his mouth on her and sucked hard, strong, pulling at her until he wrung a sharp cry from her. Her back arched and she wrapped her legs around him, straining, trying to lift herself to his engorged penis so she could take him in.
Diabolically, he moved back just enough that she couldn’t get into position, and she made a feral sound deep in her throat that earned her another of those wicked, gloating laughs.
Thinking furiously, calculating grip and balance and momentum, she worked out how she might toss X onto his back and straddle him, taking him in before he could stop her and ending this painful wanting. Damn him, he was always like this, pushing her out of her comfort zone of control. He was big, but not so big that she couldn’t handle him, if she took him by surprise. Fuck foreplay.
Even in her dream, that sentence startled her into laughing.
Somehow, he knew. This was her dream but he was in control, and instantly he whipped out a pair of handcuffs and shackled her to the headboard, both wrists. The handcuffs must have come out of the ether, because being naked, he didn’t have a pocket to hide them in. Dreams were such a hoot.
X grinned at her. It was a predator’s smile, all teeth, very much like the lunging tiger.
She tugged on the handcuffs, torn between excitement and fury. “That’s not very nice.” She’d have pouted if things like that ever worked on him, but they never did. Still, she wasn’t afraid, not of him. Never of him.
“You want nice?” His eyes narrowed. “Since when?” He ran big, rough hands over her body, from neck to waist, from waist to thighs and downward, as if he were tracing her outline so slowly the complete study would take hours … days. She shook with wanting him. She trembled, when he lowered his head and kissed her on the neck again while his hands … played. His skin was burning hot, but his touch was so gentle and hard and demanding and patient, all at the same time, despite the steely hardness of his erection that betrayed how turned on he was. He’d be the perfect lover … if she could just get him in the right position. Didn’t he want her as much as she wanted him? Wasn’t he as hungry?
Hungry like a tiger whose dinner had been handcuffed to the dinner table.
She wanted to touch him, but with her hands above her head she couldn’t. She was restrained, he was in complete control, but if he thought she was helpless he was about to learn otherwise. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, concentrating on his position, calculating the distance. She’d already tried this, but he might not be expecting the same move twice. The thick, bulbous head of his penis brushed between her legs, teasing, and like lightning she scissored her strong legs around him and pulled him in to the very point of entry.
Time froze. Everything in her waited, caught on the cusp of orgasm. He was right there, touching her, almost inside her. Almost, almost.
Then she heard something, a faint noise intruding on the intimate battle between them. She was suddenly aware that they weren’t alone in the big, rambling house. Someone was searching through all the white rooms for her. Maybe they didn’t know she’d found this room of color. Maybe they didn’t know that she’d found him. X. Her lover.
He was right there, and she needed him more than ever, but they were running out of time. She wanted to hold him, but she couldn’t. She wanted to scream, but if she did they would hear. The searchers would find them any minute and she didn’t want to be caught naked, didn’t want to be caught, period, yet she couldn’t make herself let him go. So she lifted her head up and whispered in his ear.
Desperately she pressed her mouth against his ear, whispered, demanded, “Fuck me!”
He gave another of those growling laughs that she could feel as well as hear, and pushed inside, filling her deep and hard.
Lizette woke with a lurch of her body, a moan tearing from her throat as the dream orgasm faded away. Her covers had been tossed aside; her pillows were on the floor. In spite of the overhead fan and the air conditioning, she was sweating.
Oh, God, that had been good.
How long had it been since she’d had a really hot dream? She couldn’t remember, and she didn’t miss the irony that the dream had been about a stranger who’d frightened the crap out of her in a pharmacy aisle.
One thing for certain: dreaming about sex was way better than dreaming that unknown strangers were watching her.
She glanced at the clock as she grabbed the pillows from the fl
oor. Three sixteen in the morning, which was way too early to get up, especially considering what a tough time she’d had going to sleep last night. She was thoroughly relaxed now, so maybe the hot dream had been her mind’s way of dealing with the stress of the day.
