A voice rumbles against my hair, sleep-rough and low.
"Are you awake?"
Am I? I'm not entirely sure anymore. I can’t really distinguish who’s even asking, but it doesn’t seem to be important right now. Everything feels hazy, suspended in that space between sleeping and waking where reality blurs at the edges and anything seems possible. Where dreams and truth tangle together until you can't tell which is which.
"Mmm," I manage, which isn't really an answer but is all my sleep-addled brain can produce.
His lips press against the top of my head—soft, gentle, testing. Then they trail down, kissing along my temple, my cheek, the sensitive spot just below my ear that makes me shiver. Each touch sends sparks skittering across my skin, makes my breath catch, makes me press back into the solid warmth of him.
This is real. Has to be real. Dreams don't feel this vivid, this detailed.
I can feel every point of contact between us—his chest against my back, his arm around my waist, his legs tangled with mine beneath the blanket. Can smell his scent stronger now that he's moving, that intoxicating blend of smoke and fir and something uniquely Theo.
Theo…my Theo…
His mouth finds my neck, lips and tongue exploring the column of my throat, and I moan before I can stop myself. The sound is breathy and desperate and entirely too revealing about exactly how affected I am by this.
He chuckles against my skin, the vibration traveling straight through me.
"You're definitely asleep."
"No," I mutter, even though I'm not entirely convinced myself. My eyes are still closed, my body still floating in that pleasant haze. "M'awake. Mostly."
His lips trail higher, finding the corner of my jaw, my cheek again, and then—oh god—he's claiming my mouth.
Kissing me properly, deeply, with an intensity that burns away any remaining fog of sleep. His tongue slides against mine, tasting, exploring, claiming in a way that makes my toes curl and my core clench with need.
I moan into his mouth, kissing him back with everything I have, pouring all the desperate want from my dream and my waking into this single point of connection. My hand comes up to grip his shoulder, nails digging into muscle, holding on like he's the only solid thing in a spinning world.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, I hear myself mutter, "Those are my lips."
His laugh is low and pleased, rumbling through his chest into mine.
"You're definitely asleep, Sugarplum."
"No," I insist again, but it comes out more like a whine than an argument. "'M awake. Just... warm. Comfortable. Maybe a little bit dying from want but definitely awake."
"Dying from want?" His voice drops even lower, takes on an edge that makes my pussy clench. "Should I be creative in waking you up properly?"
I try to form a coherent response, but all that comes out is something between a whimper and a moan.
My brain has officially given up on words in favor of just feeling.
His hand begins to roam, sliding from my waist up my side, tracing the curve of my ribs through the soft cashmere.
Then he discovers what I'd hoped he wouldn't notice in my sleep-addled state when I crawled into his bed—that there's nothing but skin beneath the sweater.
Theo goes completely still.
His hand pauses just below my breast, fingers splayed across my ribs. Then he growls—actually growls, low and possessive and so Alpha it makes my Omega hindbrain practically purr with satisfaction.
"So you really weren't wearing nothing, hmm?" The words rumble directly into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His hand slides lower, beneath the hem of my sweater, calloused fingers meeting bare skin.
"Came into my room in just this sweater? No panties? No pants?"
I can't answer.
Can't do anything but gasp as his hand explores freely now, mapping the curve of my hip, the softness of my belly, moving lower with clear intent. My legs part automatically, instinctively, giving him access even though we should probably talk about this, should probably establish boundaries or something responsible.
