by Lacey Savage
"Unless, of course, you're seeing someone."
Silvana swallowed past the lump of confusion in her throat. Seeing someone? Sure. In her deluded dreams. Did that count? She shook her head. “No. No one."
The smooth bridge of Paul's nose puckered in disbelief. “Gorgeous girl like you? I don't believe it."
A snort slid from her mouth before she could stop it. “You're kidding, right?"
"Okay, so you're not seeing anyone. Are you in love with someone?"
"In ... love?” Her heart did a flip-flop along with her belly. A moment later, her pussy clenched, following suit. “I'm ... haunted by someone. There. Does that make you happy?"
"A ghost doesn't put a ring on your finger. So what do you say, Sil? I want a good, hard fuck. You want...” He leaned in until his mouth hovered a fraction of an inch away from hers. “What do you want?"
This was her chance to push him away. This was—
A shadow moved on the sidewalk, so swift and fleeting that she might have imagined it. Tension instantly immobilized her muscles, and a feeling deep in her gut told her she hadn't dreamt up the motion. Inching just far enough to the right so she could see past Paul's shoulder, she gazed into the darkness of the street.
Rafael leaned against a lamppost, his arms crossed over his chest. The gesture tugged his black shirt tightly over his strong biceps. Even from this distance, she could make out the magnitude of his muscular legs, his broad shoulders, his firm chest. Although at least twenty feet separated them, his body pulled her like a tangible force.
Their gazes met. Held. He didn't smile, or wave, or do any of a hundred other things that would indicate he was there. Hell, he had to know she was already aware of him.
Though aware was probably the understatement of the century.
Silvana sucked in a sharp breath, feeling more than a little hypnotized by his presence. She had the eerie sensation that the night air itself had changed, shifting to acknowledge the electric charge between them. A frisson of sensation danced down her spine and led to the apex of her thighs, where it caressed her pussy with whisper-soft promise.
Her inner walls gave a sharp shudder of excitement and her nipples hardened. Heat flared in her cheeks. Her lips parted of their own accord.
"Rafael."
The son of a bitch had followed her home! She'd assumed he'd given up on her when she'd seen him walk through Madam Periwinkle's shop and out the other side of the lot. A few glances down the deserted street had assured her she wasn't being tailed when she left the shop, but now she knew better.
She'd underestimated him. And she'd let her attraction to him—this magical magnetic pull or whatever it was—blind her to the darkness Madam Periwinkle had tried to warn her about.
"Ah.” Paul sighed, but a playful twinkle lit up his gaze when he looked at her. “I don't know who that is. But since he's not here, will I do? Use me, abuse me, call me by a different name ... whatever. Just as long as it gets me into your pants."
Despite the turmoil of sensations churning through Silvana, a giggle slid past her lips. Paul looked so absurdly cute standing there, practically begging her to take him upstairs.
Her pussy ached, yearning for more of the sweet ecstasy Rafael delivered in her dreams. So what would it hurt?
Her pulse quickened at the thought. She was horny. Rafael tempted her beyond belief—and satisfied her every desire—in dreams, but none of that was real. What she needed to think straight was a good, old-fashioned fuck.
Hell, with any luck, getting laid would put her to sleep too. A deep, delicious sleep that left no room for uninvited guests.
A small smile played at the corners of her lips. This time when she gazed into Paul's blue eyes, she tried to look beyond the façade that so enthralled her mother and see the bad boy beneath. She didn't need a straight-laced accountant for a long-term commitment. She craved a rough, hard fuck expertly delivered by a wild, sexually fierce lover.
In Paul's arms, she could have an orgasm and reveal her dragon self without worry. Yes, she decided as she twined her arms around his neck and thrust her fingers into the blond hair at the back of his head, a mindless fuck would do her good.
"I'd love it if you'd come.” She skimmed her lips across his and pressed her breasts against his chest. “Maybe even more than once."
* * *
It took Silvana and Paul less than five minutes to reach the third-floor, finally find her keys—which she belatedly remembered tucking into the front pocket of her jeans—and stumble inside the loft. They'd probably have reached it sooner if Paul hadn't insisted on kissing her the entire way up. He barely relinquished her lips even while they ripped off each other's clothes.
She could taste the wine he'd had at dinner, mingled with the sweet remnants of coffee-flavored tiramisu. Beneath it all, that faint flavor of tobacco she'd scented on him lingered. Far from being unpleasant, it added a rich, luxurious layer to Paul's appeal.
His tongue slid across the surface of hers, sending a jolt of arousal deep in her groin. Edgy ripples of sensual awareness rushed through her body, quickening her pulse. Her slick folds pressed against the thin fabric of her panties, throbbing lightly with awakened need.
But although Paul's hands skimmed down her ribcage and slipped across her stomach, and although Paul's mouth trailed soft kisses along the vulnerable skin of her throat before delving inside the valley between her breasts, it was Rafael who occupied her thoughts.
She forced herself to look at Paul, to see him doing these things to her, but it didn't help. She felt Rafael's hands, imagined his strong fingers hooking the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her legs. Paul was clean-shaven, but when he kissed her, she swore she could feel the brush of a softly bristled beard scrape her skin.
A sob escaped her throat before she could catch it. She was going mad.
"Lie down, baby,” Paul said, nudging her toward the bed. He'd obviously mistaken her strangled cry for a whine of discomfort, and she didn't bother to correct his assumption.
Instead, she did as she was told, falling onto her back on the unmade bed. She hadn't expected company tonight, so she hadn't bothered to straighten up her bedroom. The rumpled sheets were still bunched and wrinkled, just as she'd left them. The pillow she'd tossed onto the floor in frustration after being unable to fall asleep, still lay there, halfway between the bed and the window through which streetlights spilled their muted neon glow.
A strong hand touched her bare thigh. She sighed and tried to relax, splaying her legs open. Rafae—damn it!—Paul's palm traced an erotic path up the inside of her thigh. His thumb drew tiny little circles on her flesh as he crept upward, closer and closer to her bare cunt.
She forced her eyes open when she realized they'd drifted closed, and took in the full effect of Paul's body. Like her, he was also naked. He knelt between her parted legs. The light streaming through the window provided just enough illumination for her to see the sleek, starkly defined lines of Paul's body and take in the impressive length of his cock without feeling like every one of her flaws was on display.
Without feeling like she was on display.
Rafael always shared her body with others. He made her face things about herself, about the way she felt regarding her body. Dark, uncomfortable things.
She gritted her teeth and beamed a forced smile at Paul. This was not about Rafael. For all she knew, he was still down on the street. He could be stroking his cock in dismal solitude for all she cared.
That thought brought a lightning-quick image to flash across her mind. Rafael's large cock curved against the muscled ridges of his stomach. His fist gliding up the solid length, fingers coiling, twisting, squeezing. A pearly bead of creamy fluid glistening at its brown tip, looking good enough to eat.
She licked her lips, and quickly darted an involuntary glance at her nightstand. A gasp tore from her throat.
She'd forgotten the chocolate dildo right where she'd left it, sitting in all its massive, erec
t glory on the surface of the nightstand, right beside the lamp and her dog-eared copy of Chicken Soup for the Chef's Soul. Paul let out a burst of masculine laughter. A blush crept all the way up Silvana's face, not settling for her cheeks but edging right up to her hairline.
"Shit.” She bolted upright and made a grab for the dildo. “You weren't supposed to see that."
He reached around her and yanked the toy out of her hands. His erection pressed into her hip, sending a shiver through her body. “I'm not one of those guys who's threatened by a woman's ability to ... entertain herself.” He winked and pressed the tip of the thick dildo to her nipple, then rolled it around the areola.
She exhaled a soft breath of contentment. Pleasure coursed outward from the place Paul touched with the chocolate. Against all odds, she began to genuinely relax as sensual bliss enveloped her senses.
Paul traced a path down her stomach with the head of the dildo. She parted her legs again and glanced down to the soft folds of her tummy. A neat triangle of bright red curls, now matted with the juices of her arousal, covered her mound.
With his thumb and forefinger, Paul splayed open her pussy lips. The pink, creamy center glistened in the soft light.
Silvana's stomach muscles clenched as he circled her clit with the dildo. She fought to keep from wiggling her ass against the mattress or thrust upward and force him to go faster. “Let's see what this bad boy can do, shall we?"
Silvana swallowed hard. Her pussy quivered, desperate to be filled. From this angle, the chocolate cock looked exactly like Rafael's shaft, all dark beauty and strong, manly appeal.
Without waiting for an answer, Paul glided the tip of the toy through Silvana's slick folds and, with one swift thrust, filled her needy cunt. Her inner walls stretched to accommodate the solid intrusion. The muscles gave a soft quiver, then settled with a satisfied squeeze around the toy. A soft cry of surrender caught in her throat. And a split-second later, she was asleep.
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Chapter Six
There was no stage, this time. No restraints. No feelings of shame mingling with overwhelming lust. No multitude of men.
As always, though, there was Rafael.
Silvana sucked in a breath and tried to get her bearings. Shadows shrouded the room, but a silvery moon tossed silver beams over the bed where he lay, apparently in slumber.
What kind of dream was this? Didn't he want to tie her up? To call his friends and do all kinds of naughty, delectable things to her?
She stood in a corner, behind a massive chest of drawers, about six feet away from the bed. From here, she had a perfect view of Rafael. A tousled sheet covered the lower half of his body. His strong chest rose and fell with the rhythmic motion of his breathing. Moonlight played upon the sensual lines of his face, settling in the groove beneath his nose and highlighting his sculpted cheekbones. The dusky smudge of his beard all but hid his luscious lips.
A wave of longing unfurled in her chest. She wanted to go to him, to sit beside him and watch him as he slept, to trail the tips of her fingers over his exotic face and see his mouth turn up in a dreamy smile.
Driven by the powerful desire to be at his side, she took a step forward—only to freeze when she heard an unfamiliar voice.
"You're sure he's the one you want?"
"Yes. I've analyzed his sleep patterns. He sleeps like the dead. He'll do nicely for what we need."
Silvana plastered her back to the chest of drawers and risked a peek around the edge of the massive piece of furniture.
Two men stood at Rafael's bedside. Try as she might, she couldn't pick out any distinguishing features aside from tall, lanky forms and long, flowing hair. At first she blamed her inability to clearly see the men on the darkness of the room, but it didn't take long until Silvana realized they had no real substance.
Inexplicably, they were the shadows. Deeper, denser than the surrounding air, their forms rippled in and out of existence like airy flutters of thickening darkness. Their voices, when they spoke, were labored, as though they struggled to maintain their earthly forms.
"You know what's at stake here. You must be able to draw enough sexual energy through this man to keep our hungers fed. You're certain you can do that?"
Silvana thought it was the man on the right who'd spoken. His undulating form appeared agitated.
"I know my duty, Illian. Trust me. When I possess this man, he'll be powerless to stop my dream invasion. Together, we will intrude upon the sleep of others like him. Men and women sexually starved for attention. Needy, feeble minds desperate for release."
Silvana's pulse roared in her ears. Dizziness swept the edges of her mind. Is that why this had been happening to her? Because she was needy, feeble, and sex starved?
The last part wasn't entirely her fault. As a dragon who couldn't maintain her human form during orgasm, her choices of a partner were limited at best. She was stuck with other dragons—dragons like those her mother set her up with. And she'd never wanted to fuck any of them.
Until Paul. And even then, she knew he was simply a substitute for the man she really wanted. A stand-in. Was that fair to Paul? To Rafael?
To her?
She shook her head, forcing the murky thoughts aside. She needed to pay attention to this dream. Something told her this was no random fantasy anymore, but that she had somehow stumbled upon something that held even more significance. Like a past event, or a memory.
"You will make your incubus brothers proud, Fariel,” Illian said. “We will await your first successful dream infiltration."
His companion sighed. “I miss the good old days. It wasn't that long ago when mortals believed in our powers. Do you remember when infiltrating their dreams was simply a matter of knocking on the spiritual door? Back then, they always let us in. Now, we're forced to possess a human spirit, body, and mind, like ordinary parasites. The dream realm is no longer our playground. Mortals are stronger now. More resilient to supernatural manipulation."
"And yet we've found a way to survive. We adapt.” Illian raised his hand, and Silvana thought it was to clap Fariel on his ethereal back. “We always have before."
Fariel straightened his drooping shoulders. “You're right, of course. Tell our brothers to expect me tomorrow night."
Illian gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Is it too much to hope for that we may begin tonight?"
"I'll do my best, but I can make no promises. I need to learn this man's dream landscape first. Figure out his fantasies. If I can draw him to the dreams of those he would naturally find attractive, the sexual energy generated will be that much more powerful."
"And you're sure he'll be unable to dislodge your influence from his mind?"
Fariel laughed, a low, eerie chuckle that made the skin at the back of Silvana's neck pinch into gooseflesh. “Even if he learns of my existence, this man will be unable to take part in the necessary act of sexual purification to expel me."
"You're certain of that?"
"Why do you think I chose him? He's a stockbroker consumed by his work. When he's not at the office, he's either at the gym, or here at home. It's been over twenty-four months since he could claim an encounter with a sexual partner other than his right hand. Do you really believe he'll magically stumble upon a ménage involving a man, a woman, and the sacred ingredient required to concoct an incubus cocktail?"
Illian ran a hand through his hair. “You win, Fariel. He might get lucky and fall into bed with two mortals of his choosing. But what are the odds their sex play will involve chocolate, too?"
Fariel snorted. “More likely he'll be eating chocolate after indulging in a frozen dinner while watching the news. Alone. You have nothing to fear, Illian. Tell our brothers we'll be able to feed for a long, long time."
"You've done well.” With a quick salute of his shadowy hand, Illian disappeared. His vanishing act lessened the aura of menace in the room.
Silvana pressed her fingertips to her mouth and watched as Fariel's d
arkened form lifted off the floor and hovered over the bed. Blurry details scattered in a monochromatic haze, drawing her attention to a thick, erect shaft and the contour of strong hips and thighs.
Rafael slept on, completely oblivious to the threat.
The urge to bolt from the safety of her hiding place and warn him, jolted the muscles of her legs. Before she could move, the fringes of the dream began to fray.
Silvana held her breath. Through a swirl of dream fog, she watched Fariel drop slowly and enter Rafael's body.
Rafael stirred. A groan escaped his lips and his chest heaved. A moment later, he settled back into a fitful sleep.
"Hang on, Rafe,” she whispered. “I'm coming."
"Silvana? Siiiiiiiiil ... vaaaaaaa ... na!"
Consciousness returned in a dazed rush. Silvana bolted upright in bed, clinging to Paul's shoulders. “How long was I out?"
He scrunched his nose in confusion, so she shook him.
"How long?” she repeated.
"Two minutes, maybe? Three?"
She swiveled and lowered her legs over the side of the bed, cringing when a flash of pleasure-pain coursed through her pussy. Glancing down, she saw that the chocolate dildo remained embedded deep in her channel. She pulled it out slowly, shuddering when her empty pussy gave a flutter of discomfort.
"I gotta tell you, Sil, passing out doesn't exactly give a guy an ego boost, y'know?"
She tossed the dildo onto the nightstand. Grabbing for her clothes, she shot a quick smile Paul's way. “I know. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just ... just wait here, okay?"
He scratched a spot behind his ear and frowned. “You're leaving?"
"Just for a minute. I'll be right back.” She wiggled into her jeans while shoving her arms into her shirt. Then, seeing the look of wretched misery etched on Paul's features, she ran to him, stood on tiptoes, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. “Please stay."