“Come, child,” she coaxes again, and I hesitantly move to the bed. “Disrobe, petal. It will only be me that sees you, and I need to check you over thoroughly,” she instructs.
This time, it’s my turn to huff and then do as she says. The destroyed fabric that once served as a shirt drops limply to the ground. The healer’s breath catches, and I look down to see what’s warranted her shock. Purple bruises mottle the skin of my ribs and abdomen. I have what are clearly finger mark hematomas on my shoulders and upper arms, and my left hip has a yellowish sheen to the skin covering it.
I’m shocked by the damage that I find. I haven’t had time to check myself out since I woke up with Ryn in the dungeon, but I haven’t been hurting or sore in anyway. There’s been nothing to indicate that I’m clearly fucked up.
“Your gryphon is blocking it,” the woman explains as though she can read my mind. “The fact that you aren’t hurting is a good sign, but we must work fast. Lie down,” she orders and then moves to the side of the bed.
I gingerly sit down and scoot to the middle of the huge bed. Now that I’ve seen the state of my body, the drive to be extra careful with it is at the forefront of my mind. I settle into the soft fabric of the bedding and wait for whatever she’s going to do to fix me and Pigeon. Warm, rough hands settle on my stomach, and I flinch.
“Shhh, petal, just breathe, it will all be over soon.”
Heat gathers underneath her touch, and then the next thing I know, I’m slamming into a wall of black, and everything is just gone.
5
Imoan and arch my back to stretch. I press into a large hard body and freeze. A tan meaty arm encircles my torso, and I can feel deep measured breaths tickle the hair on the top of my head. It seems I’m the little spoon in a spoon situation I did not sign up for. My heart picks up speed in my chest, and I look around, trying to figure out where I am and what’s going on. Everything is dark and has this strange fuzzy quality that I’ve only ever noticed in dreams.
I relax and let out a relieved breath. I’m dreaming. Fuck, it’s always so weird when I’m all aware and logical in my dreams.
The body behind me stirs, and the well-muscled arm pulls me back tighter against his chest. A deep groan fills the fuzzy dark wall-less room, and my nipples and clit wake right on up. I chuckle silently, totally game for a delicious wet dream. I push my ass back into whoever’s behind me and start an internal chant of “please be Charlie Hunam, please for the love of all wet dreams, be Charlie Hunam.”
The breaths tickling the top of my head change, and I can tell Charlie is slowly waking up. His tan hand moves from around my waist and slowly skims down my stomach. His fingers dip into the curls at the apex of my thighs, and he groans and grinds his long hard cock against my lower back. I feel a touch of wetness at the small of my back, and I can just picture the precum dripping off of Charlie’s shaft. I lick my lips and hum my approval as he dips his fingers between my now wet lips and strokes my opening softly.
I widen my thighs and arch back into him, giving him better access, and his other hand reaches around to squeeze my breast while full lips start kissing a trail from my earlobe down my neck.
“Mmmmm,” he growls in my ear as he dips a long thick finger inside of me.
I whimper, wanting more.
He chuckles and pulls his finger out of me to circle my clit. I reach back to stroke the thick cock pressed between my back and his stomach, and he nips at my throat in approval. I don’t know much about Charlie Hunam, but I now know the man makes quick work of a wet pussy. He tweaks my nipples with one hand, and with the other, he’s spread me wide so he can play all he wants between my wet folds. He circles my clit, the revolutions picking up pace with each round. And his scratchy chin nuzzles my ear.
“Do you want my mouth on you?” he asks, moving his hand faster, the tingles building with each pass against the bundle of nerves. “Do you want my mouth on you next, drinking your sweet nectar, or would you rather I bury myself deep inside of you until you’re screaming and spent?”
I giggle and then moan as my orgasm sneaks closer. Sweet nectar? Who knew Charlie said shit like that, probably picked it up in some period movie. I open my mouth to tell him to let loose some dirtySons of Anarchyshit in my ear, but an orgasm rips through me, and I’m lost to the tingling that scatters throughout my entire body.
“Fuck me,” I order, my head thrown back and my eyes shut as I revel in this perfect release.
“Spread for me, little sparrow,” he commands as he moves out from behind me and climbs on top of me instead.
I freeze, and my lids fly open. Honey-dipped eyes glow in front of me, and black shoulder length curly hair falls forward like curtains trying to close off Zeph’s face.
“What the hell? What are you doing here? Where’s Charlie?” I ask, sitting up and almost head butting him.
“I’m fucking you,” Zeph answers simply, his eyes narrowing. “Who the rut is Charlie?”
“My fantasy dream fuck buddy,” I answer, looking around and trying to figure out why my dream self would have conjured Zeph over Charlie.
What the fuck, brain?
I mean, I guess it’s better than the faceless dudes I sometimes fuck in my dreams, but I hate real life Zeph, so why him? I tilt my head in thought as I try to put it all together. I got nothing. Maybe I just needed a good hate fuck?
“You’re impossible even in dreams,” Zeph huffs out, and I chuckle.
“Of course I am, and you know you like it, so stop complaining and fuck me already,” I snark, lying back in the bed and spreading my legs wider in invitation.
“I doubt that tongue would be so sharp with my stem buried down your throat,” he grumbles.
I laugh at the wordstemand shake my head. “You’ll never be lucky enough to find out.”
