The Dream Crafter(61)

“Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come.” His neck was arched, the words forced from his throat, and she redoubled her efforts, wanting to taste him, wanting to bring him into her in every way.

The warm salty liquid hit the back of her throat and she swallowed and kept swallowing, bringing it all in, listening to the groans and deep sighs above her, feeling his hand gentle as she twirled her tongue around the head, taking the last few drops and causing a keening cry.

Every muscle in his body relaxed as she let him go, climbing on top of him and putting her head underneath his chin, resting her ear on his chest to hear the heart beat beneath her.

His hand found her hair and he started petting, the movements jerky enough to suggest he was still coming down from the high. “That was…yeah.”

“Yeah,” she said, half-giggling that she brought the most feared mercenary to this.

“Think this is funny, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I am getting even. Just,” and he stopped, taking in a deep breath, “give me a minute.”

She passed up the opportunity to tease any further, a lightness in her body making her simply curl up tighter. “Maybe tomorrow. Right now I want you to hold me.”

Strong, tattooed arms came around her, tightening her to him. “Still getting you back eventually.”

“I look forward to it.”





Chapter Thirty-Two




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Merc was behind her, his arm slung over her waist and his nose nuzzled into her neck, while Amana looked at the painting in the light of the early morning.

After all the pain he took to keep her awake, now she was doing it herself. Insomnia was an old friend, and she wrapped herself into the familiar weariness.

She couldn’t stay awake forever, but now she had her own reasons to fear sleep. Her doppelganger was waiting for her, waiting for a moment to come out of the shadows and strike. Amana had opened a doorway, and now she was paying the price.

The man behind her stirred, nuzzled into her, and his dick was going from half hard to full attention. “What are you doing?” His voice was raspy, sleep-soaked and rich enough to eat.

“Looking at the painting in the early morning,” she replied, quiet and content here even with the worries on her mind, pretending this was a morning like she had once dreamed of. “You made a nice choice with that one. I like it.”

He shuffled behind her, ducking his head. “I painted that.” His voice was infinitely quieter than it had been a moment ago, though the rasp remained, and the feel of it settled into her bones.

Then her mind caught up to what he said. “You painted it?”

A nod was his response, and awe settled through her at how accomplished he was, that such a rough man could create something so fantastic and delicate. “It’s stunning.”

“It’s not.”

“I’ve seen the ocean at dawn, a blazing sky over endless blue. I’ve seen fields of flowers so vivid they’re still burned into my retinas. I’ve seen the lushest, greenest foliage around falling waterfalls. I know what beauty is, and that picture? Is stunning.”

He snorted, raising his head now, but he said no more about it.

He was fully hard behind her, and she needed more – more than what she had last night, more than what she’d been allowed for such a long time. Turning in his arms, she pushed him to his back and climbed astride. She’d had all night for her fantasies to grow, all night with him pressed against her and the memory of his moans and his taste to keep her on edge, and she needed nothing else to get herself ready for him. Raising up, she reached down and grabbed his cock, rubbing it against her before she lined herself up and sunk down, seating herself fully on him.

His eyes were wide, his breathing hard, and as he filled her balls deep, a groan echoed the room.

She rested her hands on his chest and he wrapped his hands around the outside, keeping her tight to him.

She shifted, getting used to him inside her. He was perfect, filling her full but not uncomfortable. Soon her strokes became longer, pulling up until he was almost free before settling back down on him, long strokes that had him begging, lost little sounds escaping from his lips.

Finally he came, and he was spent. “You didn’t come?” His voice held a vague anger, though nothing showed on his face.

She hadn’t wanted to fake it with him. “I rarely do,” she said, patting his chest.

His eyes were intent, and her heartbeat kicked up, pulsing in her neck. He flipped her on her back, his gaze never breaking from hers.

His thumbs made small circles on her nipples, his eyes never leaving her face. The sparks crashing through her body had her hips jerking to the movements.