I used to watch her night after night. She’d be curled under the sheets, lashes fluttering in sleep, one arm always flung above her head, as if reaching for something she couldn’t name. I told myself she was reaching for me.
I’d lie there beside her, barely breathing, my heart lodged in my throat, my fingertips brushing her skin, but never enough to wake her.
I always wondered if she was dreaming of me.I let myself believe that somewhere, in the part of her mind I wasn’t allowed into, I was already there.
She doesn’t know this yet, but I’m never sleeping without her again. She’s ruined me for solitude and for anything that isn’t her head against my chest and her breath on my skin.
Wake up, baby. I need you to wake up.
I miss her.
She’s right here, breathing beside me, red hair fanned across the pillow, and I still miss her.
I want her eyes on me. I want my name on her tongue and her fingers knotted in my hair. I want her to turn and face me, tangling her legs deeper with mine. But for now, I stay right where I am, my fingers drawing lazy circles across her bare stomach.
She’s so warm, so soft,so fucking therethat I could lose my mind just holding her.
My hand creeps down to the small patch of hair between her thighs, and I touch her gently, feeling her swell under my fingertips. She’s so responsive, even in sleep, and it fucking ruins me.
“Wake up from your dreams, feeling me. Know that I’m here. Know I’m not going anywhere.”
I fist myself once, twice, before I notch myself at her entrance and push inside in one deep thrust, burying myself to the hilt.
“Feel me,” I whisper, wrapping my hand around her throat with just enough pressure to remind her who’s keeping her full. I grind in deep, my lips against her ear. “It’s me, baby.”
Her hand flies up, fingers curling over mine where I’m holding her throat, and she moans my name.
“Good morning, pretty girl,” I growl, pounding into her, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.
She tips her head back, spine arching, and I take the invitation to drive deeper.
“Feels so good,” she whispers.
“Your pussy was wet before I even got inside you. Were you dreaming about me? Were you imagining me taking you from behind like this?”
“No.” She gasps. “I was dreaming I was on my knees for you.”
That stops me for half a second. We haven’t done that yet. She wanted to last night, but one step at a time. Watching her mouth around my cock is something I need to be ready for, because fuck, that’ll end me.
“Yeah?” I push harder, thrusting faster. “Was I fucking your pretty throat?”
“Yes—ah—you were using my mouth, knowing you owned me. You knew I’d kneel and worship every inch of you because you deserve everything, baby.”
Praise from her lands like a drug straight to the bloodstream. My cock throbs inside her, and I groan, burying my face in her neck.
She figured me out that night in her office, and I’m not even surprised. Of course this is how I’m wired—the kind of fucked up that needs to hear I’m enough.
“Keep talking. Tell me.”
“You’re so good, Phoenix,” she whispers, and her hand tightens over mine at her throat. “So fucking good for me.”
Goddamn it.
“You have no idea what that does to me, how close I am to filling this pussy just from hearing you say that.”
Her praise drives me wild, makes me fuck her harder, deeper, chasing that high of knowing I’m all she needs.
“Phoenix!”
