Even now he could feel her growing desperation, his own insatiable desire. He hardly knew himself like this, so intoxicated he thought he might die if he didn’t taste her, everywhere.
“Cyrus,” she gasped.
She reached between them, tried to close her hand around him, and he made a strangled sound, too overcome to care that his body was shaking.
“Please,” she said breathlessly.
His heart was still beating at a dangerous pace, his own physical distress drowning out an ability to form coherent thought. Still, he forced himself to move slowly, drawing his hands down her legs with a quiet reverence, trailing kisses along her calves and ankles as he gently spread her open. He slipped his hands under her thighs, then hooked her knees over his shoulders.
The sight of her like this, vulnerable and trembling and ready for him –
Her eyes were radiant, her breasts lifting as she struggled for breath. She was so beautiful he could hardly bear to look at her.
“Cyrus –”
“Not yet,” he said.
He lowered his head to the heat of her, and she nearly screamed, her hands grasping at the sheets as he tasted her, her soft cries rending the silence over and over. She’d chosen him – trusted him – to know her like this,to protect and pleasure her heart and body, and this astonishing reminder filled him with a blinding ecstasy. He loved watching her come apart, loved the way she gave herself over to him so completely. He loved that he could feel her spiraling, nearing release –
“I want you,” she said, reaching for him. “Please – I want you now, I want to feel you –”
He retreated with torturous care, pressing a final kiss to her heated core as he shifted away, his hunger only intensifying as his eyes devoured the sensual lines of her supple body. He touched her where he’d tasted her, felt the evidence of her need and groaned, burying his face in her shoulder. She had so much power over him it was terrifying even to examine the way she owned his soul. When he finally managed to meet her gaze, his heart seemed to detonate in his chest – and her eyes, heavy with desire, shone briefly with amusement.
“Are you” – she bit her lip, fighting a smile – “Cyrus, are you trying not to look at me?”
His answer was breathless. “Yes.”
“Why?” Her smile grew wider.
“You already know why.”
She actually laughed this time, and he bent his head to her body and kissed her, everywhere, until her eyes were no longer entertained. Her breathing grew fast and shallow as her desperation peaked, and she reached for him where he needed her most, the feel of her hands offering a relief that only multiplied his anguish. Suddenly – urgently – she said his name,and he looked up, immobilized, caught in the crossfire of her attentions.
“Do you know what I love most about you?” she whispered. She was still touching him, and he was rocked by a fresh tremor of feeling.
“No,” he rasped.
He could never quite believe this was happening. That she would look at him like this, want him like this. She was the rare combination of heart and beauty only ever encountered in dreams. And this – he blinked, then hesitated, confusion pulling at the edges of his mind –this–
Without warning his head clouded; his lungs contracted in his chest. He felt as if he was pitching forward, falling out of his body. He didn’t understand – he couldn’t sort through his thoughts – and what was he remembering? Gasping for breath now, remembering –
This was a dream.
Yes, a dream, but he knew that, didn’t he? He knew he’d been dreaming, knew she was a figment of his imagination, a manipulation of his mind, a corruption installed in his head –
“No,” he breathed. “No–”
He was going to be sick. His leg screamed with pain, his hand burned, his head pounded, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe and he’d known – of course he’d known she wasn’t real, he’d known she didn’t actually love him, that she would never –never–
“Cyrus?”
“NO,” he cried, jolting away from her. “No –no–”
“Cyrus–” She reached for him, alarmed, but he tore away, his limbs tangling in the bedclothes.
“Don’t – Please –” He dropped his head in his hands. “Oh God – not again – I can’t – I won’t survive it –”
“What’s happening?” she said, panicking. “What’s wrong – ?”
