I’m too exhausted to deal with it tonight.
I crawl into bed without bothering to change out of my clothes. I pull the blankets up to my chin, stare at the ceiling, and try to quiet my racing mind.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every creak of the old cottage makes me tense. Every rustle of wind against the windows sends my heart rate spiking. But eventually, exhaustion wins out, and I drift into an uneasy darkness.
The dream starts the same way it has since I arrived in Silvercreek.
Connor’s hands on my body. His mouth hot against my neck. We’re in his cabin this time, somewhere I’ve never actually been, but my subconscious has filled in the details with dark wood walls and a fire crackling in the stone hearth. The bed beneath me is soft, and the sheets smell like him. Pine and cedar and something wild underneath.
“Tell me what you want,” he mumbles against my skin.
“You.” The word slips out before I can stop it. “I want you.”
He smiles against my throat and trails his lips lower. His hands slide up my thighs to push my dress higher, and I arch into his touch like my body knows exactly what it needs, even if my brain is screaming at me to stop.
“Say it again.”
“I want you, Connor. Please.”
He rewards me with his mouth between my legs, and I whimper at the first stroke of his tongue. He licks and sucks and devours me like he’s been starving for this, and I fist my hands in his hair, pull him closer, and beg him not to stop.
The pleasure builds fast and hot. He slides two fingers inside me and curls them just right, and I shatter with his name on my lips. Before I can catch my breath, he’s crawling up my body and positioning himself at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he demands.
I open my eyes and find his face inches from mine. Those blue eyes burn into me, and I see everything there. Hunger and possession and something that looks almost like love.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He drives into me with one smooth thrust, and I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper. He sets a punishing pace, and every stroke hits something inside me that makes me see stars. The bed creaks beneath us, and the fire crackles, and the only sounds in the room are our panting and the slap of skin against skin.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
The words send me over the edge. I clench around him and scream his name, and he follows me with a groan that vibrates through my entire body. He collapses on top of me, and we lie there tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in unison.
“Mine,” he whispers against my hair. “Always mine.”
I jolt awake with a gasp.
The bedroom is dark and quiet. No fire, no Connor, no evidence of what just happened except the wetness between my thighs and the lingering pulse of arousal still thrumming through my veins.
“Damn it.” I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
This has to stop. I can’t keep dreaming about a man who forced me into a supernatural marriage. I can’t keep wanting someone who treats me like property instead of a person.
But even as I list all the reasons I should hate him, my body remembers the feel of his hands on my skin. The way he looked at me in the dream, like I was the most precious thing in the world. The way he said mine, like it was a vow instead of a claim.
How the hell did I let him get under my skin like this?
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow as I try to will myself back to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I see Connor’s face. Every time I breathe, I smell his scent on my sheets even though he’s never been in this bed.
The bond. It has to be the bond messing with my head. Making me want things I shouldn’t want. Feel things I shouldn’t feel.
Because the alternative is admitting that some part of me actually wants to be his.
And I’m not ready to face the possibility that might be the truth.
