Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“You used to love telling me about your dreams,” Jace said, which was true. I liked telling him if I had a strange dream so that I could get his take on what it might mean. For instance, if I dreamt about going to the supermarket and suddenly finding myself naked in the dairy aisle. Or if I was being chased by something scary and forgot how to use my legs.
This morning’s dream was not something I was interested in getting Jace’s take on.
My cheeks heated just remembering it. The way he’d—
“You seem embarrassed.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why is your face my favourite shade of scarlet?”
He was getting on my last nerve, and his smirking expression told me he was enjoying himself far too much. So, I made the impulsive decision to tell him the truth. Turn the tables and see if he were the one to go scarlet.
“Fine. I tried to avoid it, but you’re obviously not going to give up until I tell you, so here it is. I was having a sex dream,” I said, whispering the last two words in case Zara overheard them.
Jace’s expression shuttered, like his brain was short circuiting. Heat flashed in his eyes followed by keen interest.
“What kind of sex dream?” he whispered back.
“I’m not detailing it for you, Jace.” I focused on buttering Zara’s toast.
“Why not? There could be some interesting Freudian stuff in there.”
I scoffed. “Doubt it.”
Done with Zara’s toast, I went to the fridge to grab the apple juice when Jace said, “Wait … was I in it?” His voice was quiet, smooth, deliberate, not amused like before.
I turned towards him but didn’t answer, and that told him everything.
His eyes roamed me slowly, taking in the way I held myself, how I avoided his gaze. He leaned just a fraction closer, shoulders relaxed, hands tucked casually in his pockets, but there was a tautness in the line of his jaw, a tension in the way he shifted his weight. Playful, yes, but every movement screamed that he was more on edge than he wanted to admit.
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “So, I’m the star of your dreams, huh? You don’t have to resort to creative fantasies to get your fix of me, Shannon. I’m happy to make those a reality anytime you want.”
I felt my stomach knot with warmth as his gaze lingered, that low hum of amusement threading through his intensity, making it impossible to look away.
“I do not need …” Realising I’d almost shouted, I lowered my voice and continued, “It’s your fault I dreamt about you in the first place. Making me dinner last night, then cleaning up afterwards. You might as well have strutted around the house with no shirt on.”
“That can be arranged.”
I opened the juice and began pouring it into a glass when I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Wearing only my robe with my sleep shirt and knickers underneath, I felt almost naked, especially with the heat that was suddenly radiating off him. He reached past me, taking the juice carton from my hand and setting it down. Then his mouth lowered a hair’s breadth from my ear when he whispered silkily, “What was I doing to you?”
I swear I almost came from the low, breathy way he asked the question.
“Jace, don’t.”
“Do you know what I was thinking when I saw you in your bed this morning?” I shook my head, words suddenly failing me. I felt him smile where his lips met the shell of my ear. “I thought about how much I wanted to crawl under the blankets and fuck you until you screamed my name.” A pause as his deft hands loosened the tie of my housecoat, his fingertips sweeping it aside and exposing the skin at my hip. “So, tell me.”
“Tell you …”
His hand went to my hip, softly stroking. “Tell me what I was doing. In your dream.”
“You … you were … you put your mouth on me.” My breaths came fast and sharp, a knot of need coiling tight in my belly. This was madness, but I was defenceless against him.
“Where?” His hand left my hip to caress my cheek. “Here?” I shook my head. Those guitar-callused fingers went to the corner of my mouth. “Here?” Again, I shook my head, and he turned us so I was facing him, his eyes blazing bright as he gazed down at me. I saw his desire burning just as hot as mine as he battled to look away from me and failed. Then, my breath caught when he lowered to his knees, the fabric of my housecoat parting with the movement before he stared up at me with the most devastatingly sinful expression. He tilted his head. “Was I down here, Shannon?”
My throat ran dry as I nodded, and he let out a guttural, “Fuck,” before pressing his face between my thighs.