I scream as an explosive orgasm rips through me, releasing fireworks behind my eyes.
And with a jolt—I wake.
Rising onto my forearms and bracing my elbows against the mattress, I pant as I stare down at the clean white sheets covering my legs.
My body still throbs with my release, but the gorgeous, hazel-eyed man is no longer buried between my thighs, his wicked gaze daring me to disobey him.
Tingling euphoria races through my veins as I try to clear the fog from my brain.
And as I slowly come down from my momentary bliss, a mortifying realization hits me.
It was another of my vivid dreams—only this time, my subconscious slapped the gorgeous face of my new neighbor onto the shadowed figure I can’t stop dreaming about.
It must be my mind’s way of trying to make sense of why they always seem so realistic—and wow, did this one feel real.
It’s the first time I’ve ever actually seen the man’s face—so of course it would have to be someone I already have complicated feelings about.
Groaning, I fall back onto my pillow, covering my face with my hands.
What is wrong with me?
I can’t deny I’m attracted to Gio.
He’s a gorgeous man by anyone’s standards.
But we only just met, and even if Jackson likes him, I need to be careful about making any connection that might hurt my son in the long run.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I release it slowly.
I force thoughts of Gio to the back of my mind as I turn to look at the clock.
Is that really the time?
“Jackson!” I call, leaping out of bed.
We’re definitely going to be late this time.
“Jackson, it’s time for school!”
“I’m up!” I hear faintly through the door.
Scrambling to pull myself together, I determine I’m going to have to get a new alarm clock if this keeps happening.
Or I could just stop having sexual dreams about my new neighbor…
Just thinking about the dream makes my core clench, and I shove the thought away as fresh heat curls beneath my skin.
I need to pull myself together if I’m going to get out the door.
I can feel the flush in my cheeks as I finish zipping up my dress and slip into a pair of flats, then step out into the hall.
Jackson’s already there, his hair a rumpled mess but his outfit put together.
“How does a banana and a protein bar sound for breakfast today?” I ask, cringing at my failure to cook him a hearty breakfast. But Jackson never complains.
“Yeah,” he agrees, stooping to scoop up his backpack as I make a beeline for the kitchen.
We’re out the door in record time, and I hurry Jackson down the walkway to our front gate.
