Chapter Twenty-Six Inana
Chapter Twenty-Six
Inana
My heart races while I gather my bearings.
Several things dawn on me at once…and all of them are about Dominic.
He’s naked.
His warm chest is pressed against my back.
His mouth is nestled in the crook of my neck.
His hand is cupped around my breast.
And he’s awake.
I can tell by how still he holds, how soundless his breaths are, how stiff his arms are…as well as certain other things.
Then there’s me.
Also naked.
My arm is extended behind me, my hand tangled in Dominic’s hair.
My back is arched, my hips frozen mid-roll against Dominic’s cock.
My thighs are slick with the same arousal I felt in the dream.
And I just moaned Dominic’s name out loud.
Neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to be the first to break the silence, the awkwardness, the…strangeness of whatever just happened.
Yet I can’t deny the heat that still burns at my core. Waking up hasn’t lessened it, only caught me in the middle of sating my need. No wonder I couldn’t find the friction I yearned for in my dream.
Visions of my sex-filled imaginings flood me, amplified by the reminder of where Dominic’s hand is. He’s cupping my breast, my nipple pebbled beneath his fingers, just like in the dream. It was his tongue grazing it, of course, but—
Oh, gods. The reminder of how dream-Dominic looked up at me when he teased me, told me to beg, sends another shock of warmth through me.
My mind is still hazy. I don’t quite know where we are or why we’re here or how the hell we got into this situation, but for the briefest second, I consider being the first to break the moment. Not to end it, but to…
I don’t know, maybe to finish what we started, for the sake of easing this tension.
This burning heat that’s so strong it’s almost painful.
From how hard Dominic is behind me, his cock pressed against my ass, I imagine it might do him some good too.
We’re already here. I’m already on the brink of an orgasm, and I sure as hell don’t mind him finishing it for me.
So what if I shifted slightly, parted my knees like I did in my dream, a subtle invitation that he can take or leave?
I gather in a shaky breath…
Dominic leaps up at once.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, running a hand over his face and taking several strides away.
I push up from…wherever I was lying. A makeshift bed?
It’s hardly more than a faded piece of canvas over several layers of something slightly squishy.
Pine branches, maybe, based on the scent.
I push back the blanket—which turns out to be my damp cloak—and look around us.
We’re in a cave. Daylight brightens the opening, but all I see is white outside it.
Inside the cave, roots and branches climb over the walls in twining patterns.
There’s a roaring fire at the center of the cave floor and not much else.
Just me and Dominic.
Who’s still naked.
“What the hell kind of dream was that?” he mutters under his breath.
He runs his hand over his face one more time, then shakes his head.
I watch him, brow furrowed, as he tugs his trousers from one of the roots overhead and pulls them on.
I get an eyeful of his still very erect—and rather impressive, if I’m being honest—cock.
Snatches of the dream flood my mind again, but I force them away, force my eyes away from the low rise of Dominic’s trousers, the wide expanse of his scarred chest, minimally obscured by the bandages I wrapped around his wound.
I need to clear my head enough to consider what the hell we’re doing here.
As I come down from the high of my dream, my arousal abates, and my rational mind makes its first appearance. It’s about fucking time.
It all comes back to me. The bridge. The river. Dominic lifting me in his arms.
That’s the last thing I recall, but…why are we here? Where are the others?
Why were we naked?
I must say the last part out loud, because Dominic blurts out, “I couldn’t leave you in your icy clothes. Here.” He tugs another article of clothing from the vines and throws it at me without looking. I realize it’s my chemise. Embarrassment dawns in slow, mortifying waves.
I look from my naked chest to my chemise. Then at all the other pieces of clothing hanging to dry. I pull the chemise over my head and scramble to my feet. “You fucking undressed me?”
He rolls his eyes, still not looking at me as he pulls on his boots. “You’re welcome.”
The slickness between my thighs remains, and my embarrassment grows. Oh, my gods. I was grinding against him. It felt right during the dream. It even felt right afterward, when we first woke. But now…
“You…you got in bed with me? Naked?”
He plants his hands on his hips, jaw tight. “It wasn’t like that,” he says through his teeth. “You were fucking shivering. You needed heat. I gave you mine.”
“By wrapping your arms around me and feeling me up?”
Finally, he looks at me with a seething glare. “I would never touch you like that”—
I scoff. Never say never, because he fucking did.
—“without your consent.” His expression softens and his tone turns gentle. “I’m sorry, Inana. I wasn’t aware of what I was doing…what we were doing. I was…dreaming.”
The sincerity of his apology strikes me like a blow to the chest. I know I should yield. Give in to my mortification and admit I’m the one who was grinding against his cock. I’m the one who was dreaming about him—
Wait.
“What do you mean you were dreaming?” I ask.
I may have been dreaming about him, but who was he dreaming about?
And why does the thought of him touching me while dreaming about someone else—even a nonexistent dream-stranger—make me so enraged?
“What kind of perverted dream were you having that had you groping me in your sleep?”
His expression darkens all over again. “I could ask you the same, sinner.”
“I never said I was dreaming.”
“Oh?” He takes a step closer, lips lifting in a taunting smirk. “Were you awake, then, rolling your hips against my cock of your own accord? Did you cry out my name because you wanted me inside you? Because you wanted my touch?”
Fuck. He heard me shouting his name. This can’t get any more humiliating. My cheeks blaze as I fold my arms and feign nonchalance. “You think I’d ever want that kind of touch from you?”
He stalks closer now, and I take a step back. “Yes, I think you do. I think, the next time you want my touch, you’re going to beg me for it, and you’re going to do it out loud, not in a dream.”
The blood leaves my face. Why does it seem like he knows what happened in my dream?
“You want to know what else I think?” he says. He holds my gaze as he takes another article of clothing hanging from the roots, then another, closing the distance between us with each step. “I think I wasn’t alone in that dream. And I think you liked it just as much as I did.”
“That’s not possible,” I say, huffing a shaky laugh. “How could we have the same dream?”
“It was your dream, and you should be grateful we shared yours and not mine. Because I don’t dream; I have nightmares.
Again, you’re welcome for saving your damn life.
” He steps into my space, leaving only inches between us.
I suddenly feel naked all over again, with his chest still bare and mine covered only in my thin chemise.
His shirt and jerkin are draped over one arm, but he’s made no move to don them.
Meanwhile, my clothing remains hanging near the fire.
I smother the piece of me that wants to shy away and instead lift my chin, my chest, and step into his space. I bat my lashes. “Maybe you should be the one thanking me, then. We both know which one of us liked that dream more.”
My attention drifts down his chest until it lands on his waistband. It takes all my effort to shift my features into a sneer, to pretend I wasn’t impressed by what I saw.
As I return my gaze to his, I expect to see anger in his eyes. For his jaw to tighten. For him to be the one to make the first move to break the tension and walk away, just like he did when we awoke.
But he doesn’t.
His eyes glitter with some blend of mirth and malice, and he bares his canines in a seductive grin.
Then, before I can react, he takes my chin between his fingers, tilts my face to his, and lowers his head.
He stops with his mouth an inch away from mine, and my breath catches, my lips parting involuntarily.
My heart speeds, and my nipples harden against the fabric of my chemise.
Just like that, slick heat returns to my core.
“Yeah, Inana,” he whispers over my mouth, his breath skating over my lips. “You’re right. We both know which one of us liked it more.”
With that, he releases me and storms out the mouth of the cave.