Chapter Eleven
Dreaming of You
Rachel Williams
I wake to the feeling of hands on my body. Strong arms hold me tightly and pull me close.
Bishop?
His hands continue to roam, he speaks softly. Words I can’t hear, too low to make out. Settling over my pussy, he strokes me gently and the thrill that moves through me is electric.
Warmth and tingles throb and spread with every gentle press of his hand, his fingers fighting with my clothing, insistently trying to press in.
I want him inside me; I want him to take me.
I throw myself at him, pushing my leg over his hip and giving him better access as he sucks on my neck. His deep groan reverberates through me, making my skin pebble and my nipples swell and harden.
Thrusting into his motions and pressing closer to get the friction I need, my moans are getting louder.
He slides his fingers in and hisses at how wet I am. Fingering my roughly and growling about how good I am going to taste when he licks-
“Gemma.”
My eyes snap open.
For a second I don’t know where I am, then it all slams back into place.
I am wrapped around him, my arm across his chest. My leg tangled with his. My face pressed against his shoulder like I belong there.
And he’s stiff as a board.
Just… enduring it.
Mortification detonates inside me.
“Rachel.”
Fuck. Just kill me know.
Why, why would I do this to me?
“Rachel.” My name leaves him in a rough whisper.
I jerk back like I’ve been burned. “I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I… I didn’t mean to…”
I scramble away from him, retreating to my side of the bed so fast I nearly fall off it. My face is on fire. My throat tightens. Shame claws up my spine.
I am not going to cry. I refuse to cry.
He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, eyes still fogged with sleep and what looks unmistakably like guilt.
“Rachel,” he says quietly. “It’s fine.”
This is the farthest thing from fine. It’s humiliating.
I wrap my arms around myself, staring at the wall because looking at him feels impossible. “I shouldn’t have…I don’t know why I…”
“You were asleep,” he says. “It wasn’t intentional.”
That makes it worse.
Because it means my body reached for him without permission.
And he didn’t reach back.
He didn’t want me.
Why do I always want the men I can’t have? The ones who never want me back? Why do I keep doing this to myself?
I swallow hard, blinking fast. “It won’t happen again.”
He hesitates. “Rachel…”
“Don’t.” My voice is sharper than I intend. “Please don’t.”
I can’t handle comfort right now. Not from him. Not when he’s already made it clear he doesn’t want me here.
I force myself to breathe, slow and steady, even though my chest feels tight.
He watches me, I can feel it, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.
I stand, grabbing my jacket with shaking hands. “I’m going to get coffee.”
“Rachel…”
But I can’t do this right now. “I said don’t.”
I leave the cabin before he can say anything else, before he can apologize, before he can explain, before he can make it worse.
The cold night air hits me like a slap, but it’s better than the heat of humiliation burning under my skin.
I walk fast, head down, trying to breathe past the ache in my chest.
I’m furious and hurt. I have no right to feel any of it and I know it.
I hate that I wanted him to hold me back.
Is it so wrong? We are both adults. I am not a child.
The cafeteria feels hollow; empty chairs, humming lights, wide windows reflecting nothing but my own pathetic outline. I sit there trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to fall apart.
I don’t want coffee. I don’t want to face Bishop.
I just want the ache in my chest to stop.
My hands won’t stop shaking. I tuck them under my arms, but it doesn’t help. The windows stare back at me. Blank and empty which is exactly how I feel.
It feels like being gutted. I can’t make myself go back to that room. Getting pregnant young and having your whole family disown you and the boy you thought loved you turn you away is enough to make you terrified of feeling anything for anyone.
But losing the baby to an ectopic pregnancy and finding out that you cant have more, then still being turned away by your loved ones has made me harder, but not impenetrable.
Is it so wrong for me to want him? Would it be so hard for him to want me back?
I bury my face in my hands, pressing my palms hard against my eyes until stars burst behind them. Anything to drown out the humiliation and the memory of saying his name, of clinging to him.
Why would Bishop be any different?
He’s brilliant. Impossible. Infuriating.
And so far out of my league it’s laughable.
He’s everything I shouldn’t want and everything I can’t have. And now he’s going to try to let me down gently. I can already hear it.
‘Rachel, this can’t happen.’ ‘Rachel, it was a mistake.’ ‘Rachel, you misinterpreted things.’
I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing hard.
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to face him. I don’t want to sit across from him while he dismantles me piece by piece.
The cafeteria door opens.
I flinch so hard my chair creaks.
But it’s not Bishop.
It’s David.
Relief hits me so fast my knees almost buckle.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says quietly.
I stare straight ahead. “I know.”
He walks toward me, slow and careful, stopping a few feet away; close enough to feel his presence, far enough to give me space.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, concern softening his voice.
I don’t know how to answer that. I’m not physically injured. But emotionally? I’m bleeding out.
I can’t tell him that.
He studies me for a moment, then nods to himself. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
It’s tempting. Anything to distract me. Anything to pull me out of this spiral.
He offers his hand.
I stare at it.
David is interested. He’s not subtle. He’s not controlled or rigid or impossible. He’s safe.
He would want me openly and without complications.
Maybe it’s time I look at what’s right in front of me instead of chasing something I can’t have. I wish I could want him. I have nothing else to lose.
I take his hand.
He pulls me up with a genuine smile. “You shouldn’t be alone,” he tells me.
“I’m not alone now,” I say softly.
His smile ratchets up a notch, warm, and hopeful.
The door opens again and my stomach drops. Bishop, seeing us together, stills. His face hard.
“Can I speak to you?” He asks stiffly.
Without waiting for an answer, he takes my other hand and pulls me away from David.
Now Im seething. He doesn’t want me but won’t leave me alone? He’s angry with me, but Im not the one sending mixed signals.
Dragging me back to the scene of the crime, I follow along because I don’t know what else to do. I feel like Im about to be scolded, and he makes me feel like a child.
“I get it,” I tell him through clenched teeth. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to make excuses. You don’t have to pretend.”
He flinches. Actually flinches like the words hit him.
“I’m not pretending,” he says quietly.
“Then what are you doing?” I demand, voice cracking. “Because I feel like an idiot. Either leave me alone or…”
“Don't you understand?” he demanded, his voice strained.
“It isn't because I don't want you. Of course, I want you. It’s all I can think about. The things I want to do things to you....” he stopped, seeming to get control of himself.
But I know better. His white knuckles tell me everything I need to know. Because he isn’t rejecting me. He’s resisting me.
That changes everything.
“I want.” I purred, walking slowly toward him. “You to show me.”
This time its him who takes a shallow breath. His hands clench and unclenching at his sides.
He’s a controlling and overbearing asshole that drives me insane.
I desire him carnally.
“Can you just behave?” He asks. The hitch in his voice tells me that isn’t what he wants.
Stopping just shy of touching him, Im breathing heavily, because I know the break is coming.
The only thing Im unsure of is if he will push me away or pull me closer.
Im equally terrified and turned on.
Desire wins and he grabs me around the waist, lifting me up and into him. His lips find mine again and we start where we left off; desperately trying to get closer.
His hands wander down to my ass and thighs, holding me in place as he grinds against me with fervor.