She’s right. My hands are trembling.
“Abilene…” Her name feels too good in my mouth. “I…”
She rises on her toes.
And kisses me.
Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me down, pulling me in. A quiet sound leaves her throat, soft, needy, and I swear it goes straight through me, igniting something I’ve been trying so damn hard to ignore.
My pulse stutters.
Even more so as she slides to her knees in front of me, looking up at my now naked body. Her gaze moves up, seeking permission, and I’m so overwhelmed by the animal beauty of her that it takes several seconds to register she’s waiting for… something.
Consent? Encouragement?
I realize with a sudden, bodily jolt that this is for me, that in this place, she lives and breathes to read and react to the smallest flickers of my desire.
My hands, the traitors, thread through her hair, guiding her closer, cradling the back of her head as she glances up with a smile that’s all self-possessed mischief.
Her breath is humid, her mouth unbearably hot as she slides it over me.
I try to keep my eyes open, to memorize the sight of her, but the sensation blanks out thought, leaving me helpless as she works me with her tongue, her lips, and those skillful little hums that vibrate to the root of me.
“I… I need you,” I gasp before I become undone entirely. “I want to fuck you.”
I don’t think. It’s primal, pure heat, my hips rolling into her mouth.
She seems delighted by this, the way I lose composure, and she rewards me with a tight, savage suction that makes my toes curl. I want to bury myself inside her, want her to take me down so far I disappear.
But then the wildness darkens, and I yank at her hair, not gently, and she lets me pull her up, those hooded eyes greedy and faintly mocking.
She straddles me, black lace digging into her hips. My hands fumble for the elastic of her underwear, desperate, uncouth, and she shimmies for me.
Something about the power of it, the way she withholds and grants all at once, makes me frantic.
“Fuck, Abilene…”
But she isn’t teasing now. She wants this as much as I do, and it is so intense. I can’t get enough.
She arches her back and lets her hair cascade over her shoulder, head rolling in an ecstasy so naked it pins me in place more than any grip ever could.
I grab her hips, harder than I intend, and she rides me with a hunger that’s not pretty or polite. It’s the purest expression of wanting, and I’m grateful to be its object.
Just as she breathes my name again, the dream fractures. I wake up with my heart pounding as if I just sprinted the length of the ranch.
For a wild, disorienting second, I’m still there, in her yard, her mouth under mine, her fingers digging into my shoulders, my body lit up because someone rewired every nerve.
Then the ceiling of the cabin swims back into focus. Pale boards. Hairline cracks. The faint glow of predawn filtering around the edges of the curtains.
I blink hard.
My body is burning hot, a fine sheen of sweat on my skin. My pulse is racing. My breath comes in shallow bursts that have nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
“Jeez,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.
Of all the times for my subconscious to go rogue, now?
In the middle of a crisis? With her asleep down the hall, trusting us to keep her safe?
