Chapter 29 Soaked Before Sunrise
Soaked Before Sunrise
~REVERIE~
Heat.
Everywhere heat—hands sliding across my skin like liquid fire, lips trailing paths that make me arch and gasp and reach for more.
I'm drowning in sensation, in the weight of bodies pressing close, in mouths that taste like sin and promise.
My dreams have never felt this real, this visceral, this overwhelming in their intensity.
I'm muttering something—words that don't form properly, that dissolve on my tongue before they can take shape. My body moves of its own accord, turning, seeking, pressing into phantom touches that feel impossibly solid.
A moan escapes my parted lips as warmth pools low in my belly, building and building until I'm trembling with need.
Lips everywhere.
Sucking, kissing, claiming.
One mouth closes around my nipple and I cry out, back arching off the mattress.
Another claims my lips in a kiss that steals my breath and replaces it with pure want.
And then there's a mouth between my thighs, licking and sucking until I'm coming apart, until I'm shattering into a thousand pieces of pure pleasure.
The alarm shatters the dream like glass.
My eyes shoot open, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it actually hurts.
The room is dark—still deep night despite the numbers glowing accusingly on my phone screen. 4:00 AM. Four in the goddamn morning and I'm awake and aroused and completely mortified.
I groan, pressing both hands to my overheated face.
The dream clings to me like a second skin, refusing to fade the way normal dreams do. I can still feel phantom touches on my skin, can still taste kisses I never actually received, can still hear the sounds I was making in my sleep.
Please tell me I wasn't actually moaning out loud…surely the walls in this lodge are thick enough that nobody heard me having a sex dream about all three of them.
All three.
Nash, Grayson, and Theo.
Together. In my dream.
Doing things that make my face burn just thinking about them now that I'm awake and mortified and acutely aware of reality.
"Damn," I mutter into the darkness of my room, my voice rough with sleep and lingering arousal. "Haven't even gone on a date with each of them and already horny as fuck."
The absurdity of it would be funny if I wasn't currently lying in a puddle of my own slick, my thighs sticky and my body still throbbing with unsatisfied need. The dream brought me right to the edge but didn't let me fall, leaving me suspended in this aching, desperate state that sleep won't fix.
I huff out a frustrated breath and toss the blanket away from my overheated body.
The December cold should feel good against my flushed skin, should help cool me down, but instead it just makes me more aware of how hot I am, how much I'm burning up from the inside out.
The slick between my legs is undeniable. I can feel it, warm and slippery, evidence of exactly how much that dream affected me. My body responded like I was actually there, actually experiencing those touches and kisses and oh god I need to stop thinking about it or I'm going to combust.
Sleep isn't happening.
Not when every time I close my eyes I see flashes of the dream, when my body is screaming for relief I can't give myself without feeling even more pathetic than I already do.
Theo.
The thought comes suddenly, hopefully. Theo's usually awake early for his workouts and training routines.
He mentioned something yesterday about doing pilates at dawn, about maintaining flexibility for his firefighter work.
Maybe…he's already awake. I could see if he wants to start early, give myself something to focus on besides this aching need.
A distraction is better than potentially fucking myself with my own fingers out of desperation.
The idea of physical activity actually sounds perfect right now.
Stretching, movement, something to burn off this restless energy coiled tight in my muscles.
And if Theo's still asleep, well, I'll just come back to my room and suffer in silence like a normal person dealing with inappropriate attraction to her temporary pack.
I slide out of bed, my legs slightly shaky, and pad quietly across the hardwood floor.
My oversized sweater falls to mid-thigh, the soft cashmere we bought yesterday at that boutique in Millbrook. It's cream-colored and cozy and was probably way too expensive even though Nash insisted the credit card was for exactly this kind of purchase.
I didn't put on anything underneath when I collapsed into bed last night, too exhausted from the day's adventures to bother with pajama pants or underwear. Just the sweater and my exhaustion which apparently made my subconscious decide to torture me with the most vivid sex dream of my entire life.
The lodge is silent as I slip into the hallway, my bare feet making almost no sound against the cool wood.
Pre-dawn darkness fills every corner, broken only by the faint moonlight filtering through windows.
The heating system hums quietly, keeping the December cold at bay, but there's still a chill in the air that makes me shiver.
Or maybe that's just residual arousal. Hard to tell at this point.
I navigate the familiar path to Theo's room—down the hall, past the bathroom we all share, around the corner to where his door sits slightly ajar. Closed enough for propriety, open enough that he can hear if something's wrong.
My hand hesitates on his doorknob. This is probably a terrible idea. Showing up at his door at four in the morning, still flushed from a sex dream about him and his pack mates, reeking of arousal and slick and desperation.
What am I even thinking?
But I'm already here.
Already committed.
And honestly, what's the worst that could happen?
He says no and I slink back to my room to die of embarrassment?
I've survived worse.
I push the door open slowly, careful not to let it creak, and step inside.
Theo's scent hits me immediately—that intoxicating blend of winter smoke, midnight fire, embers, and warm wool that I've come to associate with safety and strength. It's stronger here in his personal space, concentrated and undiluted by other scents.
The room smells like him, like Alpha, like everything my Omega hindbrain wants to roll around in until I'm covered in it.
I close the door behind me with a soft click, letting my eyes adjust to the even deeper darkness of his room. The curtains are drawn tight against the windows, blocking out what little moonlight exists at this hour. But I can see his shape in the bed—large and solid and peacefully still.
"Theo?" I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
Nothing.
Just the sound of his slow, steady breathing. Deep and even and completely relaxed in a way I rarely see him during waking hours. He's not snoring exactly, but there's a soft quality to each exhale that speaks of genuine rest.
He looks different asleep.
The hard edges soften, the perpetual alertness melts away, leaving behind something almost vulnerable.
His dark hair is mussed against the pillow, one arm thrown over his head, the other resting on his bare chest. The blanket has slipped down to his waist, revealing the defined muscles of his torso, the ink of his tattoos dark against his skin even in the low light.
Beautiful. He's absolutely beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
I shouldn't be here.
Definitely not be thinking about sliding into bed with him.
This is crossing so many lines, violating so many boundaries, potentially ruining everything we're building.
But my feet are already moving, carrying me toward the bed like they have a mind of their own.
Like my body knows what it wants even if my brain is screaming warnings.
I can just lie down for a minute.
Just rest beside him until he wakes up naturally, until it's a more reasonable hour to ask about pilates. That's totally normal behavior, right? Pack members sharing sleeping space?
Who am I kidding? Nothing about this is normal.
But I'm already lifting the edge of his blanket, already sliding onto the mattress beside him, already letting out a soft sigh of relief as I sink into the warmth his body has created in the bed.
The sheets smell like him, like smoke and fir and Alpha, and I can't help pressing closer, seeking more of that scent, more of that warmth.
His breathing doesn't change. He doesn't wake.
Just continues that steady rhythm that's oddly soothing, that makes my own racing heartbeat begin to slow and match his pace.
I'll just rest here for a moment. Just close my eyes and breathe and try to calm down. Then I'll wake him up properly and ask about pilates and pretend I didn't show up at his door at four in the morning smelling like arousal and bad decisions.
Just a moment.
I listen to him breathe—in and out, steady and sure—and feel my own breathing synchronize with his. The dream's intensity begins to fade at the edges, replaced by this peaceful warmth, this sense of safety I haven't felt in years.
My eyelids grow heavy. My body begins to relax despite the lingering arousal. The scent of him surrounds me like a blanket, warm and protecting and exactly what I didn't know I needed.
Just a moment, I tell myself again as sleep pulls at me.
Time ticks and tocks, the stillness only encouraging me to get lost in this comforting blanket of peace.
I wonder if I’m dreaming when arms wrap around me, pulling me close into an embrace that makes me sigh and snuggle deeper into the warmth.
Strong, solid arms that make me feel that I belong in this bed and not some outcast like how I felt with Kael.
Their chest presses against my back, their breath warming the top of my head, and I'm drifting again, suspended somewhere between waking and dreaming where everything feels soft and safe and right.
A voice rumbles against my hair, sleep-rough and low.
"Are you awake?"