I smile. “Then what happens?”
“I must make a noise because you spin around and look right at me. I hide just in time so you don’t see me, but I’m still watching you.” He glances at me. “Oh, your tank top is wet by the way. Totally transparent. I can see literally everything. It’s hot as hell.”
I don’t ask why. Logic doesn’t belong in dreams. “What are you doing as you watch me?”
His voice turns husky. “Stroking my cock. From the moment you stripped out of your cape, I started fucking my fist and wishing I was inside you.”
Shit.
I shift about a bit. “Then?” I ask breathlessly.
“You have a pie on this round table in the kitchen. Cherry. You stick your finger in it, and you suck it clean real slow.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “I stick myfingerin it?”
Does he know how much work goes into making a pie? Especially one with a lattice crust? I know this is a dream and there is no logic in dreams, but the willful destruction of a pie crosses a line I didn’t know I had until now.
He covers his red face, his voice muffled as he continues, “Don’t, Maisie. Just know that I’m so turned on by this point that I’m barely holding myself together. Like… my need for you isintense.”
Suppressing my smile and struggling to hide how turned on I am by all this, I ask, “What happens next?”
“Then…” He moans. “Oh God, I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud.”
“Go on.” I poke him on the arm.
He takes a breath, clamps his hand over his eyes, and says quietly, as if terrified someone other than me will hear him, “You call out, ‘I know you’re watching me, Mr. Wolf. I feel your big eyes on me. I want your big teeth in the back of my shoulder when you pin me down. And I want your big’—uh, that’s it.”
He sits up.
I drag him back down. “Uh oh. You arenotstopping there. Tell me the rest.”
He turns to look at me. “You say, ‘I want your big teeth in my shoulder when you pin me down. And I want your big cock inside me, filling me with your cum when you fuck me over this table.’” He clears his throat. “Then I climb through your window,knock the pie on the floor, yank your shorts down, and fuck you on the table. Several times. And, uh, on the floor. And over the windowsill.” He lifts one hand as if to ward off a question he suspects is coming. “Don’t ask about the windowsill. It made sense at the time. Also, there’s lots of growling, which you seem to like a lot.”
I stare at him, breathing hard with my mouth wide open.
I close it.
“Yeah,” he says unnecessarily. “Just so you know, I wouldneverknock one of your pies to the floor like that. I know how hard you work on getting them perfect.”
I forgot to be outraged at the willful destruction of pie.
My mind is on other things. Urgent things. Things that make it difficult not to shift around, uncomfortable.
Turning away from Hunter, I stare up at the ceiling. My nipples are hard, and my panties are drenched.
“Hunter?” I say, my voice faint.
He tenses beside me. “Yeah?”
“I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck me exactly like in your dream.”
He snaps his head toward me. “What!”
I look at him. “I’m being serious.”
He laughs. “No.” He looks almost hopeful, then shakes his head. “You’re joking.”
As I get up from the bed, he bolts upright, panicked. “Maisie! It was just a—wait. Why are you going into my bathroom?”
