Page 33 of Beneath the Quiet

“Liar.”

“Fine, you win,” I murmur. Then I look pointedly at the bulge straining against his jeans. “Yes, I’m wet. Are you going to do something about it?”

He doesn’t grace me with an answer. Instead, he leans closer, covering my body with his. He places his arms next to my head, caging me in. He settles between my aching core, and I can’t hide a gasp of surprise when his length rubs on my pussy.

“I always win, Detective.”

His face is so close. I’d only have to raise my head a fraction to feel his lips on mine.

Will they be soft? Hard? Slow? Urgent?

How I wish I knew what he tastes like.

I keep our eyes locked, not giving in so easily. “I never lose.”

He lifts a hand, removes his glasses, and sets them on my nightstand.

“Good girl.” The soft praise sends another wave of yearning through me.

Feeling bold, I raise my arms and knees, binding him to me in a tight embrace. I wrap my legs around his back, trapping him against me, needing to get as close to him as I can. His eyes turn molten, and wetness gathers in my pussy. I can’t resist rubbing myself against his cock. I don’t even mind that he can see that he’s turned me into such a wanton creature. I’m so close to begging for him to fuck me.

“Are you going to make a mess of my clothes?” he asks.

I smirk. “I hope so.”

He groans, long and hard, and I bite my lip as the vibration hits my chest. The sound is primal, vivid in its need, and my clit pulses.

“Fuck…”

Then, as if he can’t contain himself, he slants his head, his lips hovering over mine. He closes a hand around my right breast, and the tight pinch on the hardened nub sends a shiver through me. His breathing turns ragged, the puffs of air filling the silence. The throbbing between my legs is almost painful.

Finally, he lowers his head.

His lips find mine.

…

My alarm wakes me up.

I shoot up in bed, legs tangled in my duvet, arms flailing wildly. I search for my mobile and swipe the screen to silence it. My cheeks burn, and there’s an incessant throbbing between my legs.

“A dream.” I laugh, disbelief clear as glass. “Only a dream.”

I try to ignore my neediness and frame my burning cheeks between my cold hands. I need to settle down. It must be all the spicy romance novels I’ve been reading lately that set my body on fire like this. It most certainly can’t be the real Aidan worming his way into my dreams.

Where did that come from? I don’t know, but it felt so real. I can’t recall ever having such vivid wet dreams before, if ever. But my body doesn’t lie. My hard nipples rub against my soft nightgown, and I moan softly as the touch sends friction straight between my legs that’s impossible to ignore.

But what’s more important: I don’t want to ignore it.

I glance at the time and make quick work of tossing my nightgown off over my head. Then I reach for my nightstand, my hands fumbling blindly for my bullet. Once I find it, I scramble for the bathroom. Even though I’m alone, I don’t feel comfortable seeing to my needs anywhere else but behind a closed bathroom door. I flip the lock and step towards the mirror, my whole body on display. I raise my leg and rest it on the low stool underneath the sink, baring myself before me. I’m flushed, the freckles on my body almost hidden from sight, and my moss-green eyes are glazed with want. I push my panties to the side and then turn on the bullet. When the soft vibration hits my clit, I gasp loudly.

Here, behind the locked door, I have no shame. I don’t hide. I fantasise about my unbelievably gorgeous farmer as I work myself closer to relief. But it’s the farmer from my dream. The commanding and bossy one. The one I secretly long to know but will never admit out loud.

Somehow, I already know I don’t want the friendly, sweet farmer to make love to me.

I need the rough and sinful one, the one who teased me in my dream. The man who wants to take control of my pleasure. The one who will make sure I come first before he sees to his own needs.

I pinch my clit and whimper loudly. A surge of wetness gathers between my legs, and I jerk my hips in a steady rhythm as I work my bullet over my heated flesh. My breaths quicken, turning shallow and louder. The orgasm tears through me, powerful, despite how short-lived it is, and I remove the vibrating bullet from my sensitive skin when I can’t take it anymore. I rest my arms on the vanity in front of me. As I steady my breathing, I can’t help but wonder if the friendly farmer could ever be the commanding one.