“You ever dream?” I ask as I get up and wander over. She wiggles up, a perplexed look on her face. I push her back down, handing her the flute. “Stay down. We’re not finished here yet.” She smirks and shuffles over, fiddling with the flowers in her hair as she gives me room to lie on the bed next to her. “So, do you?”
“I think I stopped dreaming a long time ago.”
“Yeah, why?”
“Dreams aren’t real, are they? I don’t have time for anything that’s not real.” She frowns a little and slips a hand under her head, a small sip of champagne following. “My life doesn’t have room for dreams. They’re silly and foolhardy.”
The last of it’s so quiet I barely hear it, but it resonates so deeply in me I barely stop myself from telling her I know how she feels. I stare and sip instead, words tumbling around my mind that I don’t know how to say as I watch her gaze back.
“How about you?”
“Too processed to dream. Life is calculated for me.”
“There’s nothing processed about you. You’re …” She takes another slow draw of her drink, tongue running over her lips when she’s finished. “Raw.”
“Raw? Like meat?”
She giggles quietly and runs her leg closer to mine, a sadness lingering in her smile that shouldn’t be here. “No,” she muses. “Like spur of the moment raw. You’ve got mood swings going on all the time. And then there’s the fruit thing.” She snickers again, fingering her flute. “There’s definitely nothing processed about that.”
I chuckle a little, but I’m not laughing inside, and nor is she. She’s quiet now, thoughtful, and I’m reeling with emotion, all of it channelling up through me hoping to explode into her rather than keep this light and breezy any longer. It makes me reach for her face, the laughter ebbing away, and pull her to me without care for the consequences.
“You feel like dreaming now?” I ask, brushing my lips across hers. She hovers in my hand, the hesitation proving something both of us know. “’Cause I’m thinking there’s more than nothing between us here.” She looks at my lips moving, cautiously navigating her own odds. “One night of dreams, Gabby. One night.” Her hand moves to my chest, trickling its way over my skin until she lays it gently at my jaw and frowns a little. That sadness sweeps her face again, consuming me with the same thoughts.
Our time is nearly up.
“One night,” she whispers.
My mouth turns into her hand, lips pressing into it as I roll her onto her back and settle between her legs. She’s so damn soft under me, so in tune, her fingers already threading into my hair before we’ve fully balanced. Her legs wrap around me as she gazes, a serious expression boring more damn emotion into me by the second, but we’re having our one night of living a dream rather than calculating its impossibility. We are, both of us. Just one, and then we’ll move on like we should.
“Nate I…”
I swallow the words, not caring for whatever thought is trying to stop this as my mouth smothers hers. Nothing is stopping me taking my dream any more, and the hitch of her leg, forceful pressure pushing her into place, proves my point. She gasps under me, arms tightening around my neck as I nudge at her pussy and put my full weight into her.
“Oh god,” she mouths, tipping her head back as she moans around my movement.
I watch that, more interested in her face and reactions than the feel of her around my dick. She pants as I rock in and out, fingers digging into my scalp to pull me down to her. Screw that. I shake my head and knock her hands away, bracing them out by the side of her head so I can keep watching. My hips grind, deepening the fucking into something that’s so far from where we should be it’s incomprehensible. But she’s so damn perfect. She’s everything, and this need to deepen makes me slow everything down until there’s nothing else but the two of us.
One of my arms wraps around her back, lifting her slightly so I can tease a nipple into my mouth, but still I watch her face as I link my fingers with hers. Time seems static as I hear the moans coming and I keep forging in, gazing at the way her mouth moves and willing this to never end. She clenches around me, bruising my hand as she chases the orgasm I’m building for her.
“Oh god. I’m coming, Nate.”
She doesn’t need to say it. I can feel it. It’s in my fucking heart somehow, towing me along with her to a point I don’t want to reach. I’m not ready yet, not ready for this dream to finish, but the pressure in me won’t give up. It’s churning, rallying all kinds of images and thoughts along with it as I shunt her further up the bed, trying to lessen the need to come.
“Show me you give a damn,” I mutter into her neck, sliding her down onto me again and not giving one fuck for any outcome. There’s love here. I know it and so does she.
I want it.
“Nate, I…”
I stare so damn intently it has her closing her mouth before she finishes. No more. No more lying. No more pretending. This happens now. Here.
“Show me. Dream with me.”
Whatever changes in her mind in the next five seconds has us both grappling for each other, passion making us cling on as if the end of the damn world is coming to get us. Sweat pours. Lips mingle. Hands grab and link, smothering us in the one feeling I’ve never given anyone before. It’s fucking divine.
And it’s mine for one night.
It’s everything it should be and more.
It’s love.
