The zipper slides down. Her eyes meet mine.
Damn, I love her mischievous, naughty expression.
She slides my boxers down without breaking eye contact.
Sloane leans in, her mouth a whisper from my skin, her warm breath brushing my groin, freezing me in place.
Then her beautiful lips close around my cock.
And… oh, fuck.
My head falls back, my hands rest on her head, I push her gently and move deeper inside. For a moment I think I could die like this—lost, blinded, completely hers.
Then—darkness.
A flash of white behind my eyelids.
A muffled sound, a breath that isn’t hers anymore, but mine.
I snap my eyes open.
The ceiling.
The hammering in my chest.
The sheets tangled around my legs.
Shallow breaths. Damp skin.
It takes me a second to place myself.
Another to realize my hands are shaking—
that everything, every single detail, felt real.
The scent.
The voice.
Her lips—
“Christ,” I whisper, dragging a hand over my face.
Just a dream.
A fucking vivid, irresistible dream.
I sit up in bed, lungs burning, forehead slick with sweat.
Every muscle tight, like I’ve just played a full ninety minutes.
And in my chest, that hollow pull of want and emptiness
I no longer know how to carry.
I brace my elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
Sloane has completely screwed with my brain.
