He’ll smother, she thought, climbing up.
“Bannock? Bannock?Luke?” she hissed, kneeling over him. She grabbed a bare shoulder, the skin hot and sweaty, muscle flexed to rock hardness. She tugged, trying to flip him over. He shrugged and let out a moan.
Dani took hold of his other shoulder and lowered herself over his muscled back. The heavy rope of her braid dropped against his skin. He jerked and Dani tossed the braid behind her. Digging a knee into the mattress, she tried to flip him. “Luke, wakeup,” she panted. “It’s me. It’s Dani. You’re alright. It’s a dream. You’re having—”
With no warning, the thrashing ceased, he gathered himself, and he rolled in the opposite direction. She’d been gripping his shoulders, and his movement dumped her over his back to the mattress beside him. Dani landed on her hip, froze, and then fell back on a pillow. The ceiling swung into view, but only for a second. Luke moved again, rising up and then coming down on top of her. She saw only him above her.
Dani gasped and took hold of his biceps. When he was squarely on top of her, he collapsed, burying his face in her neck. He scooped his arms beneath her, gathered her up, and crushed her to him.
For a long moment, Dani lay in his arms, stunned. She’d been here before, of course. Not in a bed; not half-dressed—but he’d laid her out on the settee in the library, on the beach at Beckley Pond, on the parish-house stage. The position was familiar. The smell of him, although now liberally mixed with whiskey, was familiar. Certainly, her body remembered. The weight of him was delicious, his strength dizzying. She’d wanted this—she’d wanted it then and, before his great revelation, she’d wanted it for tonight. But this was not affection or passion. He wasn’t even awake. He was haunted, and miserable, and out of his head.
“Bannock,” she whispered. His hair was soft against her face, damp with sweat. “Bannock?”
He burrowed more deeply into the crook of her neck. He squeezed her. Dani’s skin sizzled; any lingering fear was chased away by a warm buzz of sensation. He said something into her braid and gave another half cry. Dani understood none of it, but she could feel the pain. It radiated from him like a fever. Without thinking, she released his bicep and placed her hand on the back of his head, holding him against her neck.“Luke...”she whispered.
She slid one leg free and propped it up, knee pointing to the ceiling. She pressed her foot into the mattress and ever so slightly rocked them back and forth.
“Shhh...”she whispered. He burrowed deeper. His beard, now a day and night’s worth, scraped against her throat. His hair tickled her cheek.
The more she rocked them, the more his body relaxed. Hard, taut muscle settled against the swells and shallows of her body. His thigh slid between her legs. His elbows nudged the sides of her breasts. He melted into her, limb by limb. With every rock, he felt heavier. His flexed muscles grew looser—nay, they grew languid. The release of all that power felt delicious; like floating into a shallow lagoon after leagues and leagues of swimming.
“It’s alright, Bannock,” she whispered, moving her hand through his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp. After some minutes—three? thirty?—he went totally still. The nuzzling stopped. He was silent. She thought perhaps the nightmare had abated; he was drifting into a deep and peaceful sleep. She was just about to lower her knee and release his head when she felt the warm, wet tip of his tongue tickle the skin of her neck.
Dani went still. Her world shrunk to the tingling spot where his tongue touched her throat.
Next, he inhaled slowly. Dani held her breath.
Finally, he replaced his tongue with a nuzzling; a slow back-and-forth of his lips.
And now Dani’s heartbeat was the only sound. Had she fallen asleep? Was this a dream? And then—Oh. There it was again. His tongue. Longer this time, slower. After that, his lips brushed the crook of her neck. Another inhale, so very close to her ear.
Dani’s body lit up like a chandelier. She drew a ragged breath. She tried to turn her head, but his face was tucked so tightly against her neck. His nuzzles turned to kisses. And after he’d kissed and licked, he suckled. His hands slid from beneath her and found her breasts, palming them through her chemise. He let out a desperate breath, half pant, half moan, and pumped his erection, now thuddingly obvious, against the burning spot between her legs.
“Bannock...” Her mouth made the shape of his name, but there was no sound. How completely had she wanted this? To be beneath him, in his bed, to be loved by him? Foolish girl that she’d been, she’d wanted it more than the house or the prestige of being Mrs. Bannock. She’d wanted it most of all. And then he’d rejected her in the most extenuated, calculated way. And yet...
And yet now he’d somehow needed her, and he was—?
What was he doing? Was heun-rejecting her? Was he claiming her inside his unconscious fever dream? Did he realize it was her?
“Danielle,” he hissed, speaking sleepily into her ear.
Alright, he knows it’s me, she thought, pressing her head into the pillows. Pleasure unfurled inside her. It was impossible to deny the burn her body felt for him. It was impossible for her mouth not to seek his, for her hips not to rise to meet him. It was impossible for her heart not to run away.
“M’étoile?”Another whisper. His kisses were becoming longer, harder, he was working his way up her neck to her mouth. She need only turn her head. And suddenly that was all she wanted—his lips on hers.Shewas the delirious one. This washerdream.
“M’étoile?”he repeated against her throat.
“I am here,” she heard herself reply.
“My Danielle.” He scraped his mouth from her jaw to her lips, claiming her in deep, blazing kissing—no preamble, no tiny nips, no nuzzle. He pounced with mouth open, tongue probing, breath sawing.
“Luke,” she answered, speaking around his kisses. “Luke, I—”
“Whoa—” With no warning, his body went rigid.
His breath stopped.
He fell back.
