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He sat on the side of my bed, and I reached for him like I always did. I wanted him close; I wanted him to hold me and never let me go.
He sounded confused when he said, “Your boyfriend was weirdly okay with me coming in.”
I couldn’t help but laugh because it was such a silly thing to say. I didn’t have a boyfriend, especially not Dom. In this dreamland, there was only ever me and Max and the love we shared.
I pulled him down to me, annoyed with how the covers separated us but so, so happy to have him touching me like this. It was strange, but I felt like I hadn’t seen him for years. In the dreams, we were always younger.
He held me, stroking my hair, kissing my forehead, whispering how much he loved me over and over again until my cheeks hurt from smiling. I felt him shuffling under the covers. I could finally be closer to him, put my head on his chest, and sleep in his arms.
In the next dream, he was naked, leaning over me, telling me I was too hot and he needed to get me out of my clothes. I thought it was another one of his schemes to get me naked, but I went along with it. It was boiling under the duvet.
He slowly unbuttoned my pyjama top, peeling it from my damp skin, honouring each knuckle with his lips as he guided my arms, then softly rolled me from side to side to remove it. I lay there on my back, naked beneath him, as he sat on his knees beside me. I was panting, hungry. I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, smother me with his lips.
Dream Max usually never hesitated, but this time he stroked my hair and murmured, “Not yet, Kitty Cat. Later,” before curling around me and holding me tight.
Time passed while I slipped in and out of dreams, until I felt his hard cock on my back and bent into him, groaning. I was happy to sink into this new dream. Even though I had been avoiding him as much as I could, I missed him more than I had in years.
Then I felt an arm under my neck and a hand deep in my hair, brushing it away from my ear as his lips graced the shell. That oh-so-familiar dark caramel voice whispered, “Are you awake?”
I still hoped it was a dream, that somehow Max wasn’t in my bed and we weren’t both naked and I wasn’t grinding into him — until he nibbled the top of my earlobe, his hand running down my arm to slip around my hip. When he spread his fingers across my belly, I knew this was real.
My first thought was,how did I get here?but then he caressed my stomach, murmuring how much he loved me, and the confusion dropped away. I softened in pleasure, feeling his skin melding against mine. It felt so good, so right for us to finally touch like this. I didn’t have the strength to question where our clothes went, not when his hand crawled up my chest, hovering for a second above my breasts before he cupped me.
He buried his head in the crook of my neck, groaning. “I’ve waited so long to hold you like this again,” he whispered.
I knew the moment he started stroking me, I’d come undone, but I didn’t care anymore. Here, in my room, hidden away from the rest of the world, I could forget about the hurt and the need to hold myself apart from him. I didn’t have to dominate or be in control, nor let myself be overtaken by the need to ruin him. My body already knew what it wanted, my heart was a passenger along for the ride.
I was still. I could feel him holding his breath, waiting, wondering. He took my nipple between his fingers, and I moaned before the first squeeze, my entire body trembling with unmet need finally being fulfilled.
“Oh, God.” I gasped, my neck arching back on his shoulder as I thrust my chest forward, deepening his hold over me.
I ground back onto his cock as he licked my ear in response.
“Do you like that?” His cock nestled between my ass cheeks, the pressure building already.
I couldn’t reply, already lost in his embrace.
He released me. A hollow rush of need had me writhing against him until he found my other nipple, gently rubbing, winding me up. He pinched me hard, tugging at the sensitive skin as he bit my neck, and I cried out. How long had it been since anyone had taken me like this? That I’d let anyone see me like this?
The twin pleasures of his fingers and cock fired heat straight into my pussy. I was so wet. I needed him to touch me. I thought I was going to collapse. I craved it so deeply I split my legs, pushing one knee up in line with my hip, giving him better access, if he wanted.
I couldn’t see his face. I didn’t want to. It made it too real. Each time we’d been close, I’d been in control. He’d been mine to play with. Now he stroked me with such tenderness it almost broke my heart. Like this, with my face pressed into the pillow, I could pretend afterwards I’d been half-asleep or that it was a fever dream or some other crazy reason that meant I didn’t have to admit how deeply I wanted him.
I was too out of it to remind myself it was part of his game. This is what he did, made me believe he loved me and used me.
“You sound so beautiful. Will you sing for me again?” he moaned, the sound etching into my skin as he nuzzled the tip of my spine. His hand left my breast as he drew a soft line from my nipple to the tender skin of my thigh, achingly slow, scattering kisses on my shoulders as he went. My breath hitched as he crept closer, anticipation rising. This was intimate, gentle, playful. None of the blazing aggression that had been storming me since he first walked into my office. I melted at the way he caressed the soft wisp of hair between my thighs, stroking me, learning again where to touch me.
He hissed as his fingers pushed through my lips, delving into my wetness. I wanted relief from the tension of weeks without his touch. Was it weeks or years? We’d only been dipping our toes, circling, wondering, testing the push and pull of this attraction, not tipping over that final edge, the one where he entered me, where he took me completely. He ran his fingers over every inch of my pussy, deliberately orbiting my clit, my frustration growing with each near miss.
“You’re not the only one who can tease, Kitty Cat.”
It made me weak when he purred at me like that. I wanted to growl, bite back, tell him to get on with it, but his smoky chuckle wrapped itself around me, and I loosened, giving in, softening in his arms.
He was agonisingly slow, dipping into me, exploring with his fingers the way his tongue had only weeks ago. He savoured every stroke. I could feel him intensely, the roughness of his guitar-worn fingertips amplified against my soft heat. I shifted my hips, trying to widen my legs, give him more access.
“Is this what you want?” he chuckled.
One stroke on my clit and I forced back a cry, trembling in his arms. I gripped his forearm, biting his inner elbow in contempt.
