by MI
Maybe he was cold.
His blue eyes were almost glowing—and full of laughter. “I’m afraid to guess, but I know I didn’t invite them in. Let’s stop talking about them in case they hear us. Did you enjoy your tattoo experience this time? I hear you had musical accompaniment.”
She blushed, thinking of how she’d gotten over her fears. “I did. I think a part of me was terrified there would be too many similarities to the last time, but it was completely different. Sorry about panicking on you earlier.”
Manny shrugged it off. “That’s why I’m here. Speaking of the last time—not that I usually speak ill of the dead, since they are my people—but you have to know that he didn’t deserve you. And not everyone is like him, Henrietta.”
Etta frowned. How did they go from sharks and tattoos to this? And what did he mean the dead were his people? “You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m not the one seeing sharks around every corner.”
“And I’m not the one running in a trench coat and combat boots, which should have been my first clue that I was dreaming.” She stopped with her hands on her hips. “This is about the Christie kiss, isn’t it? Because of the way I reacted.”
He paused beside her and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Of course it is. It pushed your buttons. That last part was too familiar, and not in a good way. Christie wants you, you can see that, right? He has no desire to embarrass you. That was real passion, not some teenage point-scoring game.”
Her husband hadn’t cared if she was embarrassed. The first time they had sex had been in the back of his truck, and afterward his friends had all come up laughing with drinks in their hands, as if they’d been watching the whole time. As if it were a show. He’d laughed too, bragging about his conquest. Doing nothing to reassure her that she meant more than that to him.
She should have ended it then. She’d never have seen him again if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. If both their families hadn’t demanded they get married.
It was all downhill from there.
“I know he wants me.”
Manny crossed his arms. “In your head, sure, but not in your heart. Not entirely. You think the tattoos are all that’s left of your scars? That his memory doesn’t affect the way you look at other men? Do you think how you feel about what you went through doesn’t hold you back in every relationship?”
“Why do you care?” Etta was pissed. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Look, I’ve been to therapy. I did the work. I’ve let go and moved on. I’m a different person now and I’ll never let anyone hurt me again.”
“You are different,” he agreed easily. “And I don’t think you’ll let anyone hurt you again, Henrietta Santos. Not like that. The real question is, will you give someone a chance to prove they won’t? You’re going to have to answer that soon. Just like you have to ask yourself if you really want him. We know how he feels about you, but do you want to be with him enough to push beyond your fears?”
“Christie?” Yes, of course she did. “God, this is a weird dream. Why are you even here?”
He stuck his hands in his trench coat pockets and rocked on his booted heels. “Because all that running in daylight was getting us nowhere and time is not on my side.”
“Are you rushing me? We’ve only been out once.”
He stared at her stubbornly. “I’m talking about desire, Etta. The rest will follow. Tell me. This is a dream, so you don’t have to lie. Do you want him enough?”
“Yes.”
“Then show him.”
As soon as he said the words he disappeared as if he’d never been there, and Etta realized she was standing in front of Midnight Ink. Why? She looked across the street and saw Christie sitting alone on a wrought iron bench, a confused expression on his handsome face as he stared at the empty space beside him.
She would show him, damn it. He looked over at her then as if he’d heard her thoughts and his expression changed from confusion to desire. He stood, and both of them walked swiftly across the street to meet in the middle.
“You’re here. I think it’s safe to say this dream just took a turn for the better,” he muttered.
Etta laughed. “I was thinking the same thing. Manny was really starting to get on my nerves. And did you see those sharks?”
His lips quirked. “I must have missed them. I was too busy being lectured and beating myself up for scaring you away.”
“I’m not scared.” Etta reached for the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, heedless of the passing cars. “I want you, Christie Ryder, and I’m not scared.”
“Funny,” he mused, staring down at her bare breasts with pure lust in his eyes. “I want you so much that I am.”
He reached for her and the scene around them changed. No longer standing in the middle of Canal Street, they were in a large bedroom with a king-sized mattress on the floor and one small, beaten-up dresser in the corner. Other than a few cardboard boxes, there was nothing else in the room.
Etta frowned. “Where are we?”
“My place. Maybe I should have imagined us in a hotel suite instead of my bedroom. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Did you just move in? Never mind, this is perfect.” She honestly didn’t care where they were. She wanted him to touch her. Wanted him with a need that was new to her and completely overwhelming. “Kiss me again, Christie. And this time don’t stop.”
“Are you sure this is what you want? That you won’t be wishing I was him?”
She frowned and shook her head, knowing he was talking about her late husband but not sure why. “I would hate it if you were. How can you be in my dream and not know that? Now you have to decide if you’re going to kiss me and help me forget you just said that or ruin this fantasy with stupid questions.”
He kissed her.
They caught fire instantly, reaching for each other’s clothes with passionate, clumsy hands. It felt so real. His breath on her skin as he lowered her to the rumpled sheets of his bed, the smell of him—spice and man—surrounding her. Her fantasies had never been this good. This detailed. She could feel the muscles of his back under her hands, hear his hiss when she dug her nails into his shoulders.
“I was going to go slow. I was going to wait.” Christie groaned as if in pain. “You’re beautiful, Etta. It feels too good.”
She wrapped her legs around him, loving the sensation of their bodies pressed together. Skin against skin. His chest hair scratched deliciously against her sensitive nipples and his erection was hard and hot against her stomach.
“It’s my dream. We don’t have to wait.”
He closed his eyes and bit his lip, and Etta couldn’t look away. He was the beautiful one. “I thought this was my dream.”
She lifted her hand from his shoulder and cupped his strong, stubbled jaw. “If you’re right, doesn’t that mean you can stop being such a gentleman and do whatever you want to my body? Make me fulfill your every desire without fear of the consequences?”
His eyes opened, the blue so dark they could have been black as he took in her words. His smile was slow and wicked. “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that?”
Etta cried out and her body arched off the bed when he filled his mouth with her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple. “Oh, Christie.”
He lifted his mouth. “I’ve been waiting for you to say my name exactly like that from the moment I saw you. Imagining you beneath me.” He reached up and pinched her other nipple between his fingers. “Beautiful. I want to explore you, every inch of you, until I know you by heart…but I could spend days doing nothing but this.”
His head lowered again and Etta slid her fingers into his hair, moaning when he sucked her nipple against the roof of his mouth. The sharp, arousing tug of it curled her toes. Made her legs quake and her stomach clench. Every part of her was focused on what he was doing with his teeth, his lips. He wasn’t even inside her yet and she could come from this alone.
&nb
sp; He moved to her other breast, one hand gliding down between their bodies until his fingers were once again slipping through her damp curls the way they had in the car.
Christie growled against her skin and the vibration made her shiver. “Do you know how hard it was for me to stop, Etta?” He thrust one finger inside her once. Then again. Then deeper, making her whimper and call his name again. “After I’d felt this? How damn tight and hot you are? Finding out that underneath the shy smiles and sweet librarian clothes, you were hiding all this fire?”
He pressed another finger inside at the same time he licked the tip of her nipple. Etta was shaking from the dueling sensations, the delicate lap of his tongue and the stretch of his thick fingers inside her. “Oh God. That feels…”
“I know,” he moaned, kissing the underside of her breast as he lowered his body slowly down hers. “I know how it feels. Like it’s everything I’ve ever fucking wanted and barely enough to whet my appetite. I want to savor it but I can’t. I can’t because I need more of you. All of you.”
Etta’s eyelids fluttered and she looked down in shock. “What are you doing?”
Christie’s gaze narrowed in momentary confusion, but then desire seemed to win out and he lowered his head. “Just like you said. Whatever I want. My dream, right?”
Oh God. Oh God. Etta couldn’t stop the scream of shocked delight when his tongue replaced his fingers inside her. Filling her. Tasting her. She’d never…she knew…she’d imagined it but no one had… Oh God.
Part of her was floating over her body watching the woman writhing on the white sheets, her curls wild, her eyes dilated as Christie spread her legs wide with his big hands. His damp fingers dug deliciously into her skin and his head was buried between her thighs. Kissing her there. Tasting her desire.
She could hear the plaintive noises she was making, hear the guttural sounds of pleasure coming from his throat while his tongue thrust deeper. Again and again, as if he were starving and she was his last meal. As if he’d never get enough.
She knew how he felt. It scared her, how desperate she was for him.
Just a dream. Just every fantasy come to life. “Don’t stop. I’m almost—”
And then she was there, her climax hitting her like a train. Like a hurricane. Her body was tossed by it. Shaken. But Christie didn’t stop. He moaned his approval as her muscles clenched around his tongue and pressed that much harder against her.
He wanted more.
She yanked his hair. “Wait. I can’t….wait! Christie.”
His lips were damp when he raised his head, his eyes dark and unfocused. “You told me not to stop. Don’t make me stop, baby. You taste too good. I need more.”
Her body, still reeling with the force of her climax, was shaking for him. “I want you. Now, before whichever one of us is dreaming wakes up.”
“You already have me, Etta. Don’t you know?” He bit the inside of her thigh gently, studying the shudder that moved through her body like a shockwave. “If it’s my dream, you should know. And since you’ve said it is, you’re going to tell me exactly what you want from me. I need to hear that sexy voice of yours. You need to say it.”
Damn it. This was her dream. Why would she tease herself like this? There was only one way to end her suffering. To make the fantasy complete. “I want you, Christie. I want you inside me.”
“My tongue? My fingers?” He licked his lower lip. “My cock?”
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Your cock.”
“You are an angel, aren’t you?” Christie sighed against her leg. “If I had more patience, I’d wait until you could ask for it without blushing. But the truth is it only makes me want you more. Sweet Henrietta in my bed. The bad, bad things I want to do to you. To teach you.”
Before she could scream in frustration for him to stop talking and do them he climbed up her body and his mouth was on hers again. She could taste her arousal on his tongue.
He still held her thighs in his grip and pushed forward until her knees were pressed against her shoulders. His hard erection slid through the wet folds of her sex before slowly, almost hesitantly pushing inside. Only the tip, stretching her wider than both of his fingers.
She suddenly wished she’d had a chance to look at it. To see all of him before she’d asked. He felt enormous. Too big. They both moaned against each other’s mouths as he pressed deeper. Another inch, then another.
Christie pulled away from her lips to look into her eyes. “Jesus, Etta you’re killing me, you know that? Gripping me so tight. I have to—” His hips drew back and then powered forward, filling her until she cried out. So deep. Oh God, he was so deep inside her.
“Yes, Etta. I can feel you getting wetter, baby. You liked that, didn’t you? Liked making me lose control, just a little bit?”
She nodded against the pillow, tears streaming down her cheeks as she spread her arms wide and grabbed two fistfuls of sheet. “Yes. Please. Christie, please…”
Etta wasn’t sure what she was asking for, but he knew. She could feel every ridge and vein of his long, thick shaft as he set a rhythm meant to torture her. Deep, slow strokes.
She followed his gaze where it lingered between their bodies, watching his hard length appear until just the head of it was inside her, then watching it fill her again until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
And the sensations. Her body was open to him completely—he was in control and she loved it. More than she should. More than she dreamed she would. But she was dreaming. She wanted this. Wanted him to give her everything she would never be able to ask for when she was awake. Things she hadn’t even known she wanted. All she knew was that there was more…
“More,” she gasped when her bent legs started trembling again.
Christie’s chest rumbled with his restraint. “Don’t tempt me, Etta. I want this too damn much. I’m not ready for this dream to end. Not ready to wake up before I come inside you.”
But she could tell he wanted it, too. Wanted to let go. She could feel it. She needed it. Needed to push him over the edge along with her.
“Fuck me, Christie.” His head whipped up in shock, and the desperation in his eyes made it easier to repeat the words. “Fuck me.”
She could see the instant the reins broke in his mind—his jaw clenched, a vein pulsed at his temple and his grip on her tightened almost to the point of pain.
“Etta. Etta. Etta.” He was repeating her name like a prayer as he powered his hips against her, his thrusts so strong they pushed her up the bed until she had to press both her hands against the wall.
Christie pulled back, turning her onto her side, lifting one leg over his shoulder and bending the other on the bed before thrusting inside her again.
“Oh my God.” She’d thought he couldn’t go any deeper, but this was different. He was different. Primal. This was fucking. And it was a revelation. “Oh God, Christie.”
“Yes.” His voice was darker now, deeper. “So wet, angel. Are you going to come for me again? I need it. I need you. I love…ahh, I love how tight you are.”
She was. She could feel the electric current up her spine; feel the tingling sparks traveling through her body. His free hand slipped down between her thighs and he pinched her clit—not too hard, but hard enough. “Christie.”
Another hurricane, this one so much stronger than the last. She pressed her forehead to the mattress, crying out again and again as it shook her. He thrust deep once, twice and then he joined her in the storm, shouting her name as his body tensed and shuddered.
When she rolled onto her stomach, he dropped to his side with his arm draped over her shivering body. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “I think I may stay asleep forever, as long as you promise to be my sex slave and never leave my bed.”
Etta’s laugh was a breathless pant, but she didn’t turn her head to look at him. She didn’t have the strength yet. “I bet you say that to all the girls you dream about sleeping with. And they probably al
l fall for it because you’re a sexy songwriter with blue bedroom eyes.”
“Think so?”
She nodded and wiggled closer to his body, needing to stay close while she recovered. “This really is my dream, you know,” she mumbled sleepily. “I just let you think it was yours so I could have my way with you.”
His body went oddly still beside her and the hand that was caressing her hip froze. “I think I might believe you.”
Christie’s voice sounded so strange, she lifted her head to look at him. “Why?”
“Because I would never… The tattoo on your back, Etta. Does that say what I think it does?”
No. She shook her head, scrambling away from him and dragging the sheet with her to cover her skin.
Christie followed, gripping her arms. “Don’t pull away from me. Not now.”
But it was too late, he’d seen it. He knew. She struggled in his grip, unable to face it. Unwilling to tarnish the fantasy. This wasn’t how she wanted the dream to end.
***
Etta gasped and sat up so swiftly her head spun. It took her a moment to realize she was in bed at her aunt’s house. She was soaked in sweat, still quivering from the most intense orgasm of her life. And still disappointed at the direction it had taken afterwards.
Other than the sharks and Manny running in a trench coat, it had all seemed so real. She’d never had such a vivid dream. The details of Christie’s touch, his kiss…it had all been perfect. She’d never known passion like that existed outside of fiction. He was everything she could want in a lover. He made her feel powerful. Sexual. Alive.
But then he’d seen her tattoo. Why did her subconscious have to go and ruin something that life-altering?
Maybe it was telling her she should cancel today’s appointment. Or see if Rosie was willing to do her cover-up inside a locked, private room that the owner didn’t have a key to.
She knew that was her fear talking, but it was making sense. If the real Christie saw it while he was “distracting” her, how would she even begin to explain it?