“Come with me,” Fiona says. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
She tugs at me, and like magic, I can move my legs. She lets me go, then runs ahead. I follow her along a long, dimly lit corridor.
Abruptly she turns, cradles my face in her hands and crashes her mouth against mine. Her lips are soft, giving under mine like a ripe peach. The taste of her—all woman and sugar—drives me wild, and she smells like rosewater and warm female flesh, an intoxicating combination.
I push my tongue into her mouth, needing more. She moans and sucks on my tongue, tunneling her fingers into my hair. The heat underneath my taut skin is unbearable. She drives me crazy. She always did. All the blood in my body pools in my dick. She rubs herself against me.
The more she strokes me with her tongue, the more the layers of chill and ugliness Mom brought fall away. I cling to Fiona like salvation, fuse my mouth to hers like I could meld our bodies if I just kiss her deeply enough. I don’t know how I stayed away from her for so long—
She pulls me down until I’m on top of her, her back on the floor. She’s in a stunning white gown—very much like the wedding dress I saw in the pictures.When did she change?But I never get to ask the question; she hikes her skirt up to her waist, raises her knees and spreads her thighs, beckoning. My mouth waters.
“Like what you see?” she teases softly.
“You know I do.” My voice is guttural. I run my palm along her soft inner thigh, heading for the gorgeously flushed flesh, but she wags a finger.
“Uh-uh. You can’t touch methere.”
“You spread your legs for me. You’re mine.”
“I can spread my legs for anybody.” She dips a finger into her opening, keeping her eyes on me. Pleasure clouds her gaze. “Including myself.”
Lust clutches me. I’ve never seen her touch herself, and the sight makes my dick ache, my fingers itch. Her breathing hitches.
“Let me stick my fingers into your pussy. Find the spot you can’t resist while I suck your clit.”
She shakes her head, her eyes narrowed. She thrusts two fingers inside herself. When she withdraws them, they’re slick. She bites her lip.Jesus.The visual is too much. The need to hammer into her thrums in my skull. I want to fuck her through the floor and into the dirt below. I want to defile her, hate her and love her at the same time until I get this maddening obsession out of my system.
“Not a good idea,” she says breathlessly. “I’m waiting…”
“To come?” I say when she doesn’t say more. My dick hurts so much, but most importantly, the need to touch her rides me like a monster I can’t resist.
“No. She’s waiting forme.” Jude appears in a tux and starts to fall on her. I grab him before he can touch her. My fist connects with his face until blood spurts from his nose. Satisfaction sears through me.
I’vealwayswanted to do this. It’s almost as good as sex with Fiona.
Fiona’s scream echoes, the impact of the shriek hitting me like a concrete block—
I blink. My eyes struggle to find something tangible in the utter darkness. I rub them, smell the soft lavender scent—potpourri from Akiko. She sends it to me every so often because she suspects I don’t sleep well, but also knows if she worries too overtly, I’ll withdraw.
I run a hand over my face. The lavender smells nice, but it doesn’t do a thing to keep nightmares at bay. Nothing worked until I met Fiona.
For some reason, holding her helped me sleep. The nightmares stayed away when she hummed for me, her fingers threaded in my hair. But I’ll be damned if I admit she had anything to do with my improved sleep back then. She’s no human Ambien. It was just a coincidence.
It sounds annoyingly unconvincing even to me.
I turn, burying my face in the pillow, chills and heat chasing eachother through my body.The damn nightmare. What the hell was that—Mom, Fiona and…Jude at the end? Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve had a messed-up dream involving those three. If I were still seeing a therapist, he’d have a field day with it…especially since I’m still hard.
I don’t blame my dick too much. After all, I’m healthy, in my prime, so when a hot chick masturbates in my dream, yeah, I’m going to get an erection.
But I’m awake now. The dream’s over.
My penis continues to throb. If it could talk, it’d say, “Grab me, fucker. For God’s sake, gimme a break!”
The problem is that the only thing I can think about right now is Fiona—her legs spread, her eyes dark with pleasure, her cheeks and mouth flushed with heat. I’mnotjerking off to that. No. No way.
My mood hits rock bottom when I finally drag myself out of bed three hours later. I haven’t slept a wink and my head feels like it’s full of wet cotton balls. Thank God I’m not working today. I need to get some pills to help me sleep through the night. I quit using them after my last birthday—didn’t like the dependency—but screw it.
My dick still refuses to get the memo. It’s semi-hard. I ignore it and shower. “This is going to be a great day,” I tell myself as I get ready to attend Ares’s wedding. My brother is disgustingly happy with his wife, and he deserves that more than anybody else.
