I cuddle into his side and his arms tighten around me. I stifle another yawn, sinking slowly into my exhaustion. My eyes lose their battle, and they drown in sleep.
TWENTY-TWO
P R E S E N T D A Y
SAM KISSES MEfiercely, my entire body alight with desire. He hovers above me, touching me everywhere but where I really need him, his hands roving over my tingling skin.
I love you.
I think the words, because I know I can't say them aloud. I want him more than anything, but still, he doesn't take me.
"Please," I beg, wrapping my legs around his waist, trying to pull him down to me, to get him to align our bodies just right.
"Baby," he groans, and I love the sound more than I should. I lift my hips, but he's still out of reach.
"Oh, God, please!" I plead desperately.
Finally, he enters me slowly, and I cry out in triumphant pleasure.
Our hips rock together in perfect rhythm.
Mustering confidence I never knew I had, I roll so I sit astride him, kissing him with everything I have.It feels so good this way, I think, as we continue to move together.
"Oh, God!" I scream.
"Ror!" Sam pleads.
"Rory, wake up!"
My eyes shoot open.
It was only a dream.
I'm gasp in thick air, my body turned on, unaware that it only took place in my subconscious. I'm so disappointed it was just a dream that it takes me a few moments to remember the events that led up to my being asleep, utterly naked, in Sam's arms.
Oh, right. The incredible sex.I blush at the memory, and then again at the memory of the dream.
Well that's new.
I haven't had anything but night terrors since Robin, and I'veneverhad a sex dream in my life, ever. When my eyes finally find Sam's, I realize they swim with worry.
"You okay?" he asks.
I nod, mortified, as if he can know my thoughts.
"You were begging again." His tone is threaded with distress, and it finally registers that he thinks I just had another nightmare.
"I'm fine," I insist, but he's not placated. Of course he's not - I always insist I'm fine.
"Another nightmare?" he asks somberly.
"Um... no, just a- uh, dream," I reply noncommittally.
Sam's eyes narrow. "It didn't sound like just a dream," he accuses, and I know he thinks I'm lying - just trying to brush off a nightmare, and rejecting his empathy. "I thought you said you always have them. That you don't have regular dreams."
He's right, I did tell him that. I shrug. "I don't. I mean, I haven't. But, I guess I was wrong, because it was just a dream, Sam."
He furrows his brow and shakes his head. "But you were begging, like before. You said 'please', and 'Oh my God', and..." he trails off.
