Why must I trade my liver for a sex dream?
“You rub your pussy along my leg one more time, Blondie, and I won’t be able to stop myself from fuckin’ you.”
“Mmm.” My Adonis’ voice is dark and delicious.
Coming closer to the surface, blood roars in both my ribs and my clit. Sliding against the body I’ve conjured to perfection, I plead my consciousness to leave me alone for just five more minutes.
Five is all I need.
Gripping to the muscled chest beneath me, I experimentally slide my tongue along the saltiness I knew I’d find.
If I’m sweating, then so is my Adonis. “Mmm.”
“Blondie!” A heavy hand slams down on my ass and sends pleasure zinging through my blood. The firm hand doesn’t slow me. The opposite; I grind harder against a muscled leg and absorb every second of pleasure before my dream fades away. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Growling, my Adonis slaps a second time and drags a whimpering almost-orgasm through my body.
The weirdest sensation, pressure on my eyelid makes me frown.Dreams aren’t for frowning.A thumb, calloused and rough, squishes my eyeball for a beat, then slides it up and forces my eye open.
“Stop fucking my leg!” My heart slams in my chest when glittery black eyes glare. “I’m not saying I don’t like it, but I swear to God, you slide your pussy along my leg one more time, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Oh my God.” Pushing up, I tent the covers and look around the unfamiliar room. Looking down, I find my hands splayed across his tattooed chest. My body on his. My legs tangled with his. My core tingling with disgust at analmostorgasm. “Oh my God!” Shooting back, I tear the covers off the bed and wrap them around my almost naked body as I fall into the gap between the mattress and the wall.
I cry out at the tear in my ribs. At the way I roll my already rolled-ankle. At my sweaty hair officially strangling me.
“What did you do to me?”
“Me?” He sits up and pins me with an angry glare. Shirtless, with black boxers that stand obnoxiously tall, he makes my poor little heart whimper with mortification… and need. “I did nothing! You were trying to fuck me without my permission. Let’s discuss those double standards again, shall we?”
“No! Why were you in my bed?”
“This ain’t your bed. It’s mine!
“Why am I in your bed?” Standing, rolling my stupid ankle a third time, I tie the blankets around my body and frantically shoot my eyes around the room in search of my clothes. “Why am I naked?” I open the blankets an inch and peek in, just to make sure. Snapping them back into place, a sob tears up my throat; mortified, shocked, in pain, scared out of my damn brains. “Why am I in your apartment? Why am I naked?” The rough blanket I hold tight around my abdomen painfully catches on my skin. Opening it again when warmth oozes along my ribs, my hands shake at the sight before me. “Why am I bleeding?” I meet his eyes. “I don’t want you to hurt me. It’ll hurt my family the most.”
Sighing, he pats his shorts down and climbs across the bed. Completely naked except the single pair of boxers, he reaches out and tugs the blankets from between my tightly clasped fingers. “Fuckin’ hell, Blondie.” Hooking me around the ribs more intimately than any man should, considering we don’t know each other, he pulls me down onto the bed the way a couple might moments before sending each other toward a blissful orgasm.
But I get nothing of the sort.
Instead, he lays me out beside him and turns me to my side.
Gently, so very slowly, he pulls tape from my tensed side. As though he’s diffusing a delicate bomb, he pulls the red stained bandaging away and hisses his disapproval. “You tugged on your stitches, Jess. It’s already angry. You’re testing the Reaper by not being more careful.”
“My stitches?” Doing a side crunch the way they try to make us do at that godforsaken gym, I’m not even embarrassed at the way my belly skin rolls as I crane my neck to look. “Stitches? You gave me stitches?”
Nodding, his nose almost touches them, that’s how close he inspects. “You gave me permission. I asked a bunch of times. I woke you up. I offered the hospital, but you said–”
“No hospital.” Lying flat, I let out a grunt of exhaustion. “I said no hospital. Because my brother will dob me in for being hurt.”
“Dobyou in?” His dark eyes study mine. “What’sdobmean?”
“Like… snitch?” I shrug. “I don’t want my family to worry.”
“Right, well, I didn’t take you to the hospital, just like you asked. I stitched you up myself, and I did a good job of it. Itshouldbe fine, but you keep hurting yourself.”
“Did I ruin them?”
He goes back to studying my naked ribs, but my throat turns impossibly dry when his large hand rests on my hip and his fingers splay along my mostly naked ass.
This man, this manI don’t know– the man whose reports I’ve been reading for months and images I’ve dreamt of – now has his hand on my ass, my naked body on his bed, and my ribs within half an inch of his nose.