Chapter 12
“Get her zipper.” Colt’s voice sounds far away, but the way each of his words vibrates against my ear makes me think my cheek is pressed against his chest. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are so damn heavy. I only get a glimpse of the inside of my room before they fall back shut.
I try to lift my head, but none of my muscles work. My body is almost paralyzed, trapped in the space between sleep and wakefulness.
Someone unzips the back of my dress, and cool air washes over the skin I usually keep covered up.
An odd sense of freedom overcomes me. My back is exposed, and even the air in my perfectly heated room feels cool and unusual on my back.
This sensation normally fills me with so much anxiety I seldom let it happen in the first place.
Something is different today… today there is no fear, no shame, or embarrassment.
All I feel is warmth.
I’m being put on my bed. The soft fabric feels good on my skin, while the pillow cradles my head perfectly. I try to pry my eyes open once more, just in time to see the outline of someone crawling onto the bed with me. The mattress dips, and a warm body covers me like a weighted blanket.
That same body gently pries my legs apart and settles between my thighs. Only then do I realize I’m completely naked. Something is wrong.
A surge of panic zaps through my body, making me squirm.
“Relax…” A male voice says before placing a soft kiss on my lips. I’m so confused by his actions and the way he tries to calm me that I don’t recognize Colt’s voice right away.
“Colt?” My voice is nothing more than a soft whisper. So low I’m surprised he hears me at all. “Colt, please.”
“Please, what?”
What am I asking again? My head feels like it is stuffed with cotton, and I have to dig each of my thoughts out.
“Please… don’t hurt me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. At least not tonight.”
I don’t know if he’s trying to be funny.
I don’t know what he’s trying to do. I can’t open my eyes all the way, and it’s so frustrating.
I can’t control myself at all. “What are you doing?” I murmur when he doesn’t get up.
I go stiff with a gasp when his lips brush against my cheek, then move down my jaw before brushing against my throat.
“Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
This can’t be happening. It can’t be Colt touching me the way he is, so gentle and sweet. It can’t be Colt kissing my neck until I shiver and goose bumps cover my skin. I have to be dreaming. That’s the only explanation.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers before planting another kiss, this one against my collarbone.
“So perfect.” I would thank him, but my tongue is too thick and heavy.
Besides, what does it matter? This is all a dream, anyway.
You don’t have to thank somebody in a dream, do you?
Even my thoughts aren’t making any more sense than what my body is feeling.
And what it’s feeling is something deeper and more intense than anything I’ve ever known.
There’s wetness pooling between my thighs, and my pussy is aching for attention.
I’ve had some sexy dreams before, but not once did they include Colt, though.
Normally, it’s some stranger, a sweet guy I met at a coffee shop, maybe.
Then there is usually a part where I get frustrated because I can’t get off, not understanding that everything happening is only happening in my head.
Not so this time, when the sensation of Colt’s hand cupping one of my breasts while gently sucking the other is so intense, so real.
“Oh god,” I somehow manage to moan. It doesn’t come out clearly, but I guess that doesn’t matter in a dream, either.
He understands, and he chuckles a little before turning his attention to the other breast, gently sucking on my nipple, rolling his tongue around it in slow, sensual circles that make me lift my hips and grind against him.
“Let’s see if you taste as good as you look.
” The next thing I know, I feel his lips on my inner thigh.
I want to reach down and push him away, but I also want to spread my legs wider because that feels incredible.
Featherlight kisses that make my nerves dance and sizzle, pulling moan after moan from me.
I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the blissful sensations, and why not?
Why fight it? Don’t I deserve to feel good, even if it’s only in a dream?
It’s been so long since I’ve felt good, and never at Colt’s hands, that’s for sure.
I don’t even know why I’m having a dream about him, of all people.
His breath is hot against my sensitive skin. “Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, almost too soft for me to hear, but just that burst of air makes me shudder. It’s like my whole body is tuned into his every move, every touch, every word.
And then something warm touches my bald lips, and I almost lose myself to the intensity of the pleasure rolling through me.
I can’t help but reach down to touch the back of his head and run my fingers through his hair, and he seems to like that because he moans, and the vibrations feel so good.
It’s all so good. Whatever he’s doing or whatever I think he’s doing, there needs to be more of it. Much more.
“Yes… Colt…” It’s so good, and I want to feel good, even if none of it is real. Maybe it’s knowing it isn’t real that lets me let go and focus on the way my body is acting, the way it feels like I’m floating down a river of warm honey, sweet, washing over me with every lap of Colt’s tongue.
“You taste so sweet. Like honey.” Wasn’t I just thinking about honey?
Of course, he’s saying the words I’m thinking.
It’s my dream, after all. I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking now when I grind my hips, desperate to get to the finish.
I’m so close, the familiar tension building, growing until it’s ready to consume me. I’m ready to be consumed.
And then he flicks his tongue across my clit over and over, lightning fast, and I explode. My thighs tighten around his head, and I ride it out, wave after wave of bliss rolling over me until my body finally relaxes and goes limp again.
Only it doesn’t stop. I expect to wake up or at least for the dream to end and move into something else, but instead, I feel his lips against my thighs again, then moving up over my stomach, my breasts, and my throat.
“I love making you come,” he whispers in my ear before kissing my cheek, then covering my mouth with his.
I even think I taste some of myself on him as he kisses me over and over, his tongue probing my mouth, exploring.
He’s reigniting my hunger, stirring the fire that was starting to go out, bringing it back to life.
“Let me inside you,” he whispers between kisses, groaning helplessly when our bodies brush and his hard dick rubs against my leg. “I want to be inside your pussy.”
“Yes,” I whisper, spreading my legs wider to make room for him as he settles between them.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
“Yes, Colt…” I don’t know what’s happening anymore. I don’t care. I don’t want it to stop, even if it is all in my head. Not when it feels like my body is like a wire being pulled tight, so tight I’d snap at the slightest touch. I need that release again. I need to feel filled, whole.
The pressure from him nudging against my pussy is intense—but it’s nothing compared to when he pushes himself inside me, stretching my channel so wide that, for a moment, all I can think about is the pain.
I somehow manage to lift my hands to his chest, feeling his skin under my palms. “It hurts,” I whimper, making him stop.
“Shhh, you’re doing good,” he soothes, peppering featherlight kisses across my face. “Just relax, and I promise it won’t hurt after this.”
He moves slowly, the way I need him to, in and out, and that delicious friction makes me moan while he breathes heavy against my neck.
“See. The pain is already over. Now you can enjoy the rest.”
Everything about this—the feel of him, his weight pressing me against the mattress, the heat of his breath, his soft grunts each time he sinks as deep as he can—is all so overwhelming.
Thoughts and sensations overlap, fighting for my attention.
All I know is it feels good, so good I don’t want it to ever end.
I don’t want to ever wake up from this. Not when my body feels so alive, not when I feel so free.
“Leni…” He sounds nothing like the Colt I know, who would never whisper my name so helplessly like he’s just as lost as I am. This is the dream version of Colt, the Colt I wish he was.
“Yes, Colt. Yes.” He starts to move faster, and I want that, too, and I moan my encouragement.
The heat is building again, the tension, and my pussy starts to tighten with every deep, driving thrust. I have no choice but to give myself over to it, to focus every fiber of my being on what’s about to happen.
“Come for me,” he grunts. “Come for me again.” There’s no way not to do what he says because my body is already so close to the edge, a little closer every time he grinds against my clit, and every time he fills me up.
I couldn’t stop if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. Even if it’s only happening in my head.
“I think… I think I’m… oh god!” And then everything explodes, and it’s unreal, the way wave after wave of unbelievable bliss rolls through me, starting at my core and rippling out until my entire body sings with pleasure.
I want to hold him close, but I still can’t make myself move much—not that it matters because, a moment later, he pulls away and comes across my stomach.
Whatever happened to make me dream that, I want it to happen again.
“Wow,” I whisper. I think I hear him chuckling softly but can’t be sure.
I’m already sinking back into the darkness, and I don’t want to.
I want to savor this. I want to ride out the sweet aftershocks for as long as I can. I don’t want it to go away.
My eyes are forced open when I feel something warm on my stomach again.
He’s standing over me, looking peaceful.
Satisfied. Mirroring my own feelings. He’s even smiling a little, his sexy dimples showing as he wipes me with a washcloth.
I lick my parched lips and try to find the words, but I don’t know what to say.
I don’t know how to feel. I have no idea where this is coming from. Why would my mind make this shit up?
“Now you go to sleep,” he whispers, draping a blanket over me, covering me up to my shoulders.
I think I feel him stroking the hair back from my face, but I’m not sure.
That can’t be possible. None of this is possible.
I’m so lonely and so desperate for kindness that I’ve resorted to dreaming about it.
“Why can’t you be this nice to me in real life?” I whisper. My eyelids are so heavy I can’t keep them open anymore.
“Don’t worry about that, love bug. Just sleep.” Something warm and soft brushes against my forehead.
Did he just kiss me? It feels like it, and I could laugh at myself for being so pitiful, so needy. Instead, I give up struggling to make sense of what just happened in favor of allowing myself to let go and drift away.