Chapter 11 #3
And that was a very dangerous thing.
The sun was out this time, although a brisk wind blew through my hair and rustled the branches of the massive weeping willow that sometimes stood along the banks of the dream river.
I didn’t see Raj at first, my eyes dazzled by the bright sunlight and obscured by the too-long strands of hair that kept getting blown in front of my eyes. He was crouched down at the river’s edge, looking into the water. I stopped where I was, waiting to see what he would do.
“You’re not that quiet,” he called back without bothering to look over his shoulder.
I froze, even though I hadn’t actually been moving very much.
“You don’t have to stay over there,” he said next, and then he did turn to look at me over his shoulder, although he didn’t stand.
I swallowed, feeling both trapped and pulled by his gold-brown gaze. Almost against my own will—which was ridiculous, since this was my dream—I walked towards him, stopping just behind him so that I was looking down at him.
There was a half-smile on his lips as he looked up at me. “I know the sound of your footsteps,” he told me.
“How?” I asked. I knew shifters had better hearing than humans did, but I didn’t understand how my footsteps sounded much different from most people’s. I’d understand if I had a limp or was a particularly heavy walker, but I didn’t think I was.
The smile on Raj’s face grew. “You scuff one foot very slightly,” he replied, finally standing and looking down at me. “Just the littlest bit.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I do?”
“Mmhmm.” His smile was almost sly, a dimple forming on one cheek, but not showing any teeth. “It’s… endearing.”
I don’t think anybody had ever said that anything I’d ever done was ‘endearing,’ and I had no idea what to say to that.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked me.
I shook my head. He’d kissed me, the last time I trespassed on his dream, so I had the feeling he at least thought I was physically attractive. Or attractive enough, anyway. That he didn’t dislike me.
He let out a soft, low growling sound, but it wasn’t threatening. It was a little… thrilling. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, bringing up a finger and tracing it along the bridge of my nose.
I didn’t know what to say to that, either.
“Can’t stop imagining what your skin feels like,” he continued, his finger running along a cheek bone, then down toward my jaw. “What your skin smells like,” he stepped closer, breathing deeply. “What your skin tastes like,” he murmured, even closer.
I shivered.
“Tell me you want me to,” he breathed.
“I do,” I whispered.
He cupped my jaw with his hand, tilting my face up. I looked up at him, desperately wanting him to do what he was clearly about to do.
I shouldn’t let him kiss me again. I’d been wrong to let him do it the last time.
I let him kiss me again.
His lips were soft. Mouth warm. Hands a little rough, but gentle as he held my head in place while his lips teased at mine, encouraging me to open them.
I did.
And then he really kissed me.
Tongue and teeth that scraped—gently—over my bottom lip, his mouth slanting over mine in a way that stole my breath and then gave it back to me as air slipped from his lungs into mine.
I wanted this to be real. To be something he chose to do when he knew I was really there, not just something he did in a dream.
Dream-worlds don’t have consequences—not really.
Even mine. We shared a common experience, but my lips wouldn’t be swollen from his kisses, even if my body would be reacting to it by growing hard.
If I fell and cut my hands, I wouldn’t have cuts when I left the dream-world.
I might have a lingering sensation on my skin, but in a few minutes, it would go away, leaving the skin unbroken as the memory faded.
In dreams, you could do all sorts of things that didn’t follow you into wakefulness, and I knew that’s why he kissed me. Because he could do it without kissing me.
Except that I knew it was me. That I would remember this. Crave it. And I knew he did, too.
Hating that I’d put both of us in this position—even if he didn’t know it—I finally pulled together the courage to push both of us out of the dream, breaking the kiss without having to take his lips off mine.
In the dark, although it wasn’t complete darkness, thanks to the hints of light coming in around the cheap blinds that had come with my windows, I stared up at the ceiling, frustrated, anxiety-ridden, guilty, and flushed with desire.
Disgusted with my lack of self control—the fact that I couldn’t stop visiting Raj’s dreams—and knowing that I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I did something about the sexual frustration churning in my blood, I gave in to the impulse, closing my hand around my erection, letting my eyes close, and remembering what it felt like to have Raj’s lips and tongue tangled with mine.
It didn’t take long before cum coated my fingers as I lay there gasping, my heart pounding.
I had to stop.
And I had no idea whether or not I could.