I closed my eyes and arched my back, relaxing into my touch. It didn't feel completely real, but it was real enough for me.
I relished the sounds Grayson made, and the slight pull of his magic in my gut as he fed. I moaned and panted, my body moving on that chair in ways it couldn't move in real life while I touched myself in ways I couldn't manage in reality.
Grayson's filthy compliments were the soundtrack of my pleasure.
"God, you're so fucking wet for me."
"Tell me how you feel."
"Show me how you ride your fingers, Love."
"Let me see how much you want me."
I was practically frantic by the time he finally crossed the room and replaced my hand with his mouth, getting me off once, and again, before he slipped out of the dream.
I stared in a daze up at the ceiling as the Cabinet's meeting room faded away.The dreams were usually only an hour or so, but they felt endless.
My hands were in tight fists, my body frozen stiffly in place while I clenched my jaw to suppress a sound of desperation.
It was fine.
I'd be fine.
Being fine was the only option.
I never left the dreams completely satisfied. I always needed more. I could never give it to myself, though, because I couldn't cope with the feel of my own touch any more than I could handle anyone else's.
I slowly rolled out of bed, ignoring the eyes I could feel on my back as I shuffled to the bathroom, mostly clothed and absolutely drenched in sweat. There was no door to separate the bathroom from the bedroom, or me from Grayson.
He didn't follow me inside, and he didn't say a word.
His shadows moved over my skin slowly, like they didn't realize that I was so close to losing my complete and utter shit.
I needed to sink into the bathtub.
Picture myself on a boat, or in a cabin so, so far from here.
I felt more than heard him finally follow me into the bathroom as I started the water running into the bath.
"I want a door," I said to Grayson. "Between this and the bedroom. I like to take baths, and if you're forcing me to stay here, I want privacy."
"Mates don't get privacy from each other." His hands landed on my bare waist, and I closed my eyes at the sudden relief from my magic's hellish price.
Slowly, he walked me away from the tub.
"Put your hands on the countertop," he said, and I peeked through my lashes to see where we were. He'd walked me to the sink.
"Why would I?—"
"Now, Love."
The command was so obviously sexual. He gave it the same exact way he would've—and had before—in my dreams.
My hands flew to the edge of the counter.
"You need me," he said, his voice lower.
"Yes." The confession was soft.
