Chapter 5
GREG
Breasts. God, how I love ’em. And don’t get me started on nipples—pink buds, cherry ripened, plum peaks, or chocolate drops. Rolled between fingertips, extended by lips, and tortured by tongue. Used as leverage as we fuck. Delicious. Addictive. I never met a tit I didn’t like.A literal tit, that is. Never met one I didn’t want bouncing in front of my face or framing my cock. And the one that’s under my hand right now? I’m not quite sure if it’s a dream or real, but it feels fucking perfect.
A dream. It has to be. I wouldn’t have a woman in my bed still in her bra. They’re pretty enough, especially when used to mount those creamy mounds of flesh on, but at the end of the fucking, I like them free. Free for my touch. Bras are useful and pretty, but they’ve no place in fucking unless I’ve used it to tie her hands. And if we’re sleeping together, your tits are fair game.I’m a snuggler, see. And the cheeks of your arse? Somewhere soft to rest my dick.
And speaking of the favourite part of my anatomy, it stiffens as her nipple pebbles between my fingers, her soft, feminine moan amplified in the dark room. I lower my lips to her neck, sleepily expecting to find the silky warmth of her skin, only to end up spitting fur or fibres from my tongue.
I’ve gone to bed with a yeti.
But at least she doesn’t have furry tits.
Yet this dream is bizarrely real. Her moan, the feel of her. The sweet scent of her hair.Or is it fur?
It does’nae matter because you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a gift yeti in the titty.
‘Again,’ she commands, her voice sleepily suffused as she arches into my hand, her arse pressing into me. Her next breath is tight as I repeat the motion, lightly pinching the hardened tip. ‘Mmm, so good . . .’
The sound is like a reverse siren’s song, one that pulls me from the depths of my dream even as my mind resists, stubbornly holding on to this very sensual dream.
‘Why have you got so many clothes on?’ My voice is a rasp in the dark, my fingers plucking at the layers between us.
‘Shush,’ comes her response as she turns in my arms, her hips lifting and wanting, rewarded by the warmth and weight of my body resting against hers. Her legs fall open easily. She rocks into me, her hands seeking, needing, pulling the T-shirt from my head.
‘Your skin is so hot,’ she whispers huskily.
You should feel my cock, I’m pretty sure I onlythink, not say, as my mouth finds a patch of skin at the base of her neck. She tastes like rain and soap and hot girl. I want her so badly.
‘Fuck yeah,’ I groan. And maybe I didn’t onlythinkthe invitation as her fingers curl around my stiffness.
‘So hot and so big.’ Her breath blows across my cheek as I push up onto my arms, rocking into her centre, her hand falling away, her body moving in a rhythm with mine.
‘Yeah. You want some of this.’
‘Yes, yes! There, rightthere . . .’
And I feel it, too. Want it just as desperately. I want to claw my way into her layers and lay claim to what lies underneath. And while her near breathless moans make me rock fucking hard, I don’t need her directions, not as her fingers pinch my nipple, the piercingly erotic sensation bringing me abruptly...awake.
I go stiff—all over. Not just in the one place.
‘Don’t stop,’ comes her ragged plea beneath me, her legs wrapping around my waist. ‘Don’t stop, please. I want to .. . ’
You and me both, darlin’.
But I’m frozen, stock-still, not sure if she’s awake or asleep. This is all kinds of wrong—all kinds of fucked up—despite what my leaking cock thinks.
Sleepy sex is one thing, but this has the potential to be a whole other something.
Beside me, Isobel, my uninvited guest grumbles incoherently. The bed bounces a little as she sighs, throwing herself to face the opposite way.
‘Can’t hear the rain,’ I think she mumbles before releasing a tiny snore.
Was she pretending?
Asleep?
Dreaming?
