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He holds out his hand again. “Touch me more. Touch me while you can. You don’t know how I’ve longed just to feel your soft human fingertips on my skin.”
Something about the way he says that has me focusing on his. Whoa. At the end of every one of his fingers is a pointed, black claw that’s at least an inch-long.
Good thing he’s not asking to touchme. With claws like that, he could rip me to shreds if he wanted to. Not like I get the vibe he would… but this is a dream. Despite how vivid it is, I shouldn’t be able to touch him at all. And if I did? Is it normal to be able to sense how warm he is? My fingers still hold his heat… and, even so, I kinda want to touch him again.
I kinda want to do more than that…
Inching toward him, rubbing my thumb against my forefinger even though I know damn well I’m about to stroke his arm again next, I ask, “Are you sure? I mean… nothing’s going to happen to me if I do?”
“This is the dream-plane,” he says by way of answer. “It is a miracle that I could accept your essence, but maybe that’s because you already recognize Sammael as your male.”
Or maybe I need to stop watching Halloween movies so late at night.
“Go on, Hope,” he murmurs. “Learn your mate. Hold him. And, for this moment in time, allow me to hold you.”
I can’t tell you the last time someone just wanted to hold me. Not to have sex or to convince me that they’ll stop at just a handjob or even a blowie. But hold me like I’m something precious?
Oh, yeah.
This is definitely a dream—but I let him do it, enjoying the feel of his big body as he swoops me up into his embrace, keeping me close…
* * *
Dreams end.
It’s the sad fact of life that, one moment I was clinging to my monster. The next? I’m coming to, alone in my bed, with just the memory of his warmth on my skin.
Only… woof. Iamwarm.
More than warm, actually.
My room is a balmy seventy degrees since I refuse to turn the heat on just yet since October in New Jersey can vary, but it doesn’t matter. When I wake up the next morning, I’m drenched in sweat.
Like, literallydrenched.
What the…
My hair is stuck to my face. When I pull myself up, my pajamas are stuck to my skin. Lifting my hand, pressing the back of it to my forehead, then my cheeks, I’m shocked by how hot I feel.
Is that a fever? It feels like a fever. I’m not achy, though, and usually when I’m coming down with something, I get muscle cramps and achy bones. This is something different.
I don’t like it.
Worse, when I force myself to get to my feet, the fabric of my clothing rubs me raw. I have the sudden urge to strip. Figuring that, if I’m naked, I won’t be so hot, I tug off my clothes in a frantic rush.
It doesn’t help.
It should have, but it doesn’t, and now that I’m standing here without any clothes on, I realize just how much my sudden urges have just changed. Instead of just stripping, I reach between my legs, cupping my pussy, gasping at the jolt that passes through me the moment I touch my swollen pussy lips.
What the—
Okay. Something’s wrong.
Something’s wrong, and I don’t know what, but now that I’m wide awake, I do what I do in situations where I can’t immediately figure out what’s going on.
I do my best to ignore it.
CHAPTER6
