The wild manic frenetic pulsing pounding inside me felt real enough, though. The heat and the pooling pressure felt real. Baxter felt real. His touch feltsoreal. And now, god, oh god.
There—I was there, falling over the edge, crying out.
I was dizzy and limp and he was holding me up and my thighs were clenching and my belly was spasming and my whole body was going crazy, twisting and writhing and jackknifing in Baxter’s hold as a crashing tsunami of raw intense pleasure shattered me into a million pieces, and only Baxter was there to hold me together, his arms were all that kept me in place, kept me from floating mindless and weightless to the moon.
I was vaguely aware of my voice, of the whimpers turning to a howl as I came utterly apart. And then Baxter was kissing me. Kissing me. God, the kiss. Like I’d seen his brothers give their women. Intense, possessive, wild. I drowned in it. I continued to shatter through the kiss, and came apart even harder for the kiss, and I was screaming and couldn’t kiss him back because I was unable to function for the wracking bliss shaking me, possessing me.
I floated on the pleasure.
Drifted.
Ached.
Throbbed.
Gradually, I filtered back to awareness, and I was in Baxter’s arms. My pants were around my knees, and my hair was in my face, and his arm was around my waist and his hand was cupping my head.
I blinked up at him. “Did…did I faint?”
His chuckle was an amused, aroused rumble. “Sure did, sweetheart.”
“Oh god, that was incredible.” I sighed, shivering as aftershocks rippled through me. “I like this dream.”
“Dream?” He sounded confused.
“Yes. I’m dreaming, obviously. I’d never do this in real life.” I stood up, and Baxter’s arms held me in place as I wobbled unsteadily, my knees trembling; his hands were gentle as he slid the sweatpants back into place. “I’m still on the jet. I don’t know how my subconscious came up with someone as delicious as you, but I’m glad it did.”
His thumb brushed across my cheek. “Eva, honey. This ain’t a dream. At least, I don’t think it is.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Although, how would I know if I was something you’d dreamed up?”
I straightened, backed out of his reach and caught up against the fence behind me. “No, no-no-no.”
His grin was, complicatedly, somewhere between predatory and comforting. “Yes, yes-yes-yes.” He brought his fingers to his face, inhaled, and then stuck them into his mouth.
Holy…whoa. Did he just do that? Those fingers, they were just in my…and he just…
“I’mdreaming,” I insisted.
He sidled closer to me, pressed his body up against mine. Bracketed my face with both hands, and then clutched my cheeks in his huge rough palms, closing in slowly, and I blinked and blinked and struggled to breathe, and then his lips were brushing mine and I was kissing him.
Iwas kissinghim.
It lasted only a moment. Just his lips, warm and soft on mine.
“That feel real enough for you?” he murmured.
I shook my head. “No. I’d never kiss a complete stranger. Much less…what I just let you do.”
He laughed. “Still in denial. I know I’m a lot to get used to, babe, but you gotta face it. This is real.” He brought his fingers to my nose, and I smelled my own scent on him. “I fingered your pussy, right here on the street. You screamed into my mouth, sweetheart.”
I whimpered. “It’s not real. I’m dreaming. I’m on the jet to Mallorca. I want so badly to not be going on that stupid vacation that I’m dreaming about this adventure as a mental escape.”
My ability to believe myself was fading, and panic was welling up inside me.
He teased the hem of the Seahawks shirt I was wearing with a fingertip. Then he slid that fingertip along my belly, his touch searing my skin. I kept my breathing slow and even, through sheer force of will, as he skated that single fingertip up the centerline of my torso, higher and higher, dragging the front of the shirt up with it, baring more and more and more skin. And then the curves of the bottoms of my breasts were bared, and I was utterly still, staring up at his molten brown gaze, wondering what he was going to do now. What I was going tolethim do now. Because, since I was still clinging to the insistence that this whole business justhadto be a dream, I might as well let myself do daring things. Let this big, brutal, beautiful, rugged, possessive, protective man do dirty and forbidden things to me.
He traced up between my breasts, and now they were almost completely bared. I wasn’t breathing, and I had to remember to suck in a breath because my lungs were burning and I was getting dizzy.
His touch drew slowly across my torso, to the right side of my body, baring the whole of one heavy, aching breast. My nipple was thick, rigid, and hypersensitive, all but begging for his touch. Which…he gave me. Just not as I’d expected it. Instead of cupping the weight of my breast or caressing it or circling the nipple, or even bending to mouth it—all the actions men in love scenes in movies and books always did—he pinched my nipple. Suddenly, andhard.
