Baby By Accident(6)

She yanked away, ran back into her dream.

His warm hand slid across her belly, to the heat of her—lingering, playing. Precisely as he did in her dreams. The wet cream between her legs wept in need and desire.

Suddenly, her dream lover stilled beside her. His fingers froze in her soft curls.

“Accidenti a te all’inferno e ritorno,” he muttered into her neck, his lips hot on her skin.

An Italian curse. She knew by the way he said the words.

This wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was her dream, damn it. He was supposed to be everything she wanted, not go off-script. Not stop their lovemaking. Not object in his native tongue.

She wanted her dream back.

This is no dream…no dream…no dream…

With a determination borne of desperation, she slid her hand across his flat stomach and grabbed him, tugging his hard length into full erection. Then she smoothed her palm down. Then up.

Her lover gasped. Arched.

She would not let him go and she wouldn’t let this dream go, either. Her hand palmed the softness of his balls then moved to his staff, stoking the fire burning from his skin.

“I want you,” he groaned.

A light film of sweat broke out over his big, hard body. A glossy liquid came from him, filling her hand, making it easier for her to stroke him. He shuddered beside her as her fingers played along his length, plucking at the tip.

“Enough.” He pulled her hand from him and for a moment, she worried he was objecting once more, turning her dream into a nightmare.

But then he lifted himself and slid on top of her.

His heat burned her skin. His hard muscles pressed her down.

Squeezing her eyes even more tightly shut, she let the bliss envelop her. The connection raised her high, far from reason, reality. Every time the passion came like this; a blinding escape into pure glory.

She soared into the ecstasy amidst a joy she never experienced in real life.

Her arms and legs entwined around his. She felt the taut strength of his thighs, the tense fervor of his shoulders, the slick sweat on his neck. She breathed in the scent of him, male and tangy, mixed with the sweetness of almond. Her mouth reached for his, wanting the connection, waiting for the connection.

“Look at me,” he panted above her, his breath hot on her cheeks.

He'd never demanded this in the dream. He’d never said anything. He'd always just taken her, swept her in and over and out.

She frowned.

“Open your eyes, Lise.”

His harsh tone cut through the ecstasy, through the last wisps of a dream she’d known, deep in her heart, could not be merely her imagination.

Her eyes snapped open. To reality.

Her dream lover was no dream. He was real.

Blazing, intense eyes stared into hers. The shadow of hair on his jaw gave him a wild, untamed appearance. His mouth firmed, becoming almost grim.

“Oh,” she whispered.

His hips moved as if he couldn't help himself, bumping his staff on her curls. “I want you,” he rasped. “Do you want me?”

Her brain swam in muddled craziness. Her mind screamed a warning, tried to wrench her totally into this reality, except the noise didn't reach her heart.

None of it overcame what she wanted. “Yes.”

He never broke her gaze. “Beg me, Lise. I need you to beg me.”

Her pride stirred, but he dipped his head and nipped at her chin in an animalistic action she couldn’t deny. She wanted his brute strength inside her, she wanted the smell of him all over her, she wanted to revel in his masculinity, a masculinity that made her feel like a feminine goddess.

“Take me,” she breathed. “I’m begging you.”

His eyes flared in hot need and something else—something primitive and primal. He called to the core of her, pushing her past any reasoning and thought. She shifted her legs wider, opening her woman self to him. The tip of his staff slid through her soft curls to the wet, willing entry into her body.

“Aaah,” he cried, his face grimacing in acute pleasure.

His mouth moved towards hers, yet at the same time, his cock slipped inside, nudging forward into the depths of her. The ache of pure delight zinged along her spine, arching her head back from him, pushing her body into his instead. With one thrust, he pushed all the way in. The heat of him filled her fully. His overwhelming penetration shocked her, yanked her to full awareness. But now she rejoiced in the clear, sweet reality. In knowing this was he, no dream.

Him. Her mate. Her lover.

He surged into her, his pace frantic, pounding. A flurry of mumbled Italian words flowed from his mouth. He groaned, an agonized sound. Her focus stayed on him: the gleaming skin of his chest as he arched over her, the tense line of his shoulders, the bulge of his arm muscles as he moved in and out. His taking of her pushed her, pulled her, ever closer and closer. The need coiled and tightened in the depths of her body. His hard length plunged and plundered.