Too long.
As I lean against him, his warmth seeps through the thin material of my dress, relaxing my thoughts and stripping me of my inhibitions.
A hunger to be touched, to be wanted, coils within me.
Please, touch me.
No words are spoken as his hands travel over my skirt, the sensation sending a shiver of pleasure up my spine.
It’s not enough.
I want to feel him.
As if my thoughts have reached him, he tugs at the hem, sliding his hands over my skin. Goose bumps erupt at the feel of his fingertips.
I rest my head on his chest as my dress is pulled up, the hem now sitting on my waist. It doesn’t occur to me who the man is or whether the people on the balcony are watching us. My only concern is that he doesn’t stop touching me.
I tighten my grip on the railing as his hands smooth over my backside, brushing my soft skin rhythmically and purposefully as heat grows between my legs.
Wordlessly, I encourage him.
More.
I want more.
Give me more.
One hand moves over my thigh, inches from the fabric of my underwear. Shifting my right foot, I widen my stance in the hope that his touch won’t stop there, the craving growing.
Closing my eyes, I block the night out, the people and their voices, and focus solely on his hands.
One of them snakes up my stomach and traces my nipple through my dress as the other glides over the sheer fabric of my underwear. Biting my lip, I stifle a cry as he strokes me through the gossamer of my knickers.
I lean into his caress, and he slides my underwear to the side, his fingers slipping inside me with ease as his thumb explores my clit.
Butterfly kisses land on my neck, the softest lips buttering my skin.
He plays my body like a musician with a rhythm all his own, hitting all the right notes.
It’s bliss.
It’s beautiful.
It’s beautiful bliss.
The night air claims my groans as the buzz builds, the fire inside me raging until my body starts to shake and my mind explodes.
Shuddering, my breathing becomes tight as I roll through the longest orgasm I’ve ever had.
When I open my eyes, my vision blurs, the stars shimmering against the indigo sky as my body comes back down to earth. As my eyes recalibrate, I glance down just in time to see his hand retreat from around my waist, adorned with the unmistakable tattoo of a raven.
The room spins as I bolt upright, my body hot and damp, bitter bile rising in the back of my throat. Throwing the covers off, I examine my skin for evidence of his contact, but there’s nothing other than a throbbing between my legs.
I don’t need to touch myself to know how wet I am, how turned on I was by him.
“It was just a dream,” I say aloud, as if verbalising it will verify the fact.Just a dream. There’s no way on this fucking planet I am attracted, sexually or otherwise, to Valdemar fucking Montresor—although, right now, my body would argue otherwise.
Checking the time, I note it’s nearly morning, and for the first time in forever, I’ve slept for more than a couple of hours. I’ve never been touched like that before. In the real world, my sexual encounters were limited even before my brother’s murder, and I’d always wondered if men kept their distance because I was tainted by death, the aura of the dead following me around.
