That same look. That half-smile. The flash of that sharp canine.
I can’t move as she crosses the room, climbs onto me, settles over my hips.
I groan. Even through denim, I feel her.
I should stop this. Push her away. Tell her to leave.
She’s a guest. This is wrong.
My body doesn’t care.
My hand finds her waist as she moves against me again. I hold her there—but I don’t stop her.
My breathing turns rough.
Just hold still.
She doesn’t.
She leans down, hair brushing my face, warm and soft.
“You want me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
It comes out before I can stop it.
Her hand moves between us, wrapping around me, pulling a groan from my throat. Then her mouth is on mine.
It feels real. Almost real.
Not enough.
I grab her hair, pull her closer, kiss her harder.
She moves against me, slow and deliberate, and I lose what little control I had left.
I want more.
My body won’t cooperate. Heavy. Sluggish. I can barely move beneath her.
But in my head?—
I flip her. Strip her. Taste her.
I imagine it so vividly it almost feels real.
Her breath. Her voice.
Then—
My hand tightens.
My body jerks.
I come hard?—
And wake up.