Chapter 45: Dream Two
- DEX -
I figured the cat would probably get into my room and hide under the bed, staring at me warily with shining cautious eyes until some time went by and she warmed up to her new surroundings. But nope. Moira Rose didn’t fight when I carried her into the house without a cat carrier. She didn’t try to wiggle out of my arms when we walked through all of the rooms to get to mine. She only looked around curiously, her little whiskers twitching while she scented the new place.
And now she’s completely relaxed in my bed, purring with that little happy motor in her chest. This does not seem like a cat that is worried about strangers.
"Do you know me?" I ask, scratching behind one of her ears. She purrs louder.
Well, I was going to try unpacking some of my things, but since I didn’t get any sleep tonight, maybe I’ll just stay here and cuddle with Raya’s cat. It’s much better than being alone in this bed, staring at the ceiling and letting my thoughts run wild with memories of this place and worries about my father.
The purring lulls me to sleep, and pretty soon I’m walking through my parents’ guest house soaked from the storm outside. It appears to be daytime, but storm clouds have obscured the sky, casting it in a gloomy blue-grey that filters in through the windows.
Instead of going to the bathroom to get out of my wet clothes, I’m looking for something. That’s why I’m in the guest house at all... there is something here that I’ve come to find. And when I finally arrive at the doorway of the kitchen, it occurs to me what that is exactly.
Raya is on her tip toes trying to reach for something on one of the high, open shelves, but she’s too short. For some reason, she’s soaked too. Her clothes and hair are clinging to her, and for a moment I just stand there, leaning against the doorframe, watching—appreciating the curves of her body and the way that visual information gets processed by my brain and sent straight to my groin.
She doesn’t seem aware that I’m there—or if she does, she’s not turning to acknowledge me. So I walk in, slower now that I have found what I am looking for. Raya finally turns and smiles before pointing back to the shelf.
"Can you help me?" She laughs. "I can’t reach."
I get to the counter, arriving directly behind her so that her back is against my chest while I reach up and grab the container. She turns to face me and takes the item that has no identity at all to me in this dream, because the only thing that matters is her.
"Thank you," she laughs again—softer this time. And then our eyes meet, and there is no doubt. This woman is Auraya Gray. She is unmistakable.
"It is you," I whisper, bending so that the breath of those words feather against her cheek.
"It is me," she replies in a whisper to match mine.
"Why am I dreaming of you, Raya?"
I want to reach up and brush back the wet hair that is clinging to her face and cheek, but instead I brace myself against the counter, caging her in my arms and waiting for an answer. If anyone can explain it to me, it’s got to be her.
"I don’t know," she shakes her head. "But I have them, too."
One of her hands tugs at the hem of my shirt, pulling it away from where it’s clinging to my skin.
"Maybe we should just enjoy it," she shrugs with the sexiest, shyest grin.
A soft growl rises from my chest—a noise I don’t ever recall making before—and I kiss her, taking her mouth and growling again in possession or approval or something else primal that makes her whimper. And then she’s hoisted onto the counter, legs wrapped around my waist, melting against me like she’s always belonged here. I just want to devour every one of her soft curves that flow so perfectly against my rigid lines.
I don’t even have to roll against her, because she’s arching and flowing against me—already seeking to find that hard ache that is throbbing to be released like we have been here before, like she has already experienced this with me. And my body seems just as familiar with her when I lift her into my arms and carry her to one of the bedrooms down the hall.
- RAYA -
No, how did I end up in a dream like this again? But the thought barely has a chance to exist before Dex is laying me on the bed and stripping his wet shirt off to reveal that beautiful body that has only existed as a dream before he walked into the office. Now this dream has a name. Now this dream has a personality.
"Have we done this before?" He asks gruffly while he’s pulling my shirt over my arms and throwing it aside before working on my bra. "I feel like we’ve done this before."
"So many times," I groan and kiss him, fumbling for his pants as his hands explore my breasts, squeezing each nipple and growling again into my mouth, and I’m not sure it’s ever been quite like this. He is much more... intense somehow. Maybe it’s just that I now have a name for him. Maybe it’s because I know that his sweetness in real life actually rivals his sexiness in my dreams.
"But you’re hurt," he stops, resting his forehead against mine, and his hand descends from my breast to the side where I’m bandaged from the surgery.
"Not here," I shake my head, meaning that I am not hurt in the dream. How would dream Dex even know that?
Instead of dwelling on it, I’m pulling him back down and demanding more—more from his mouth, more from his hands, more from every single perfect, masculine part. Because I know how this works. We’ve done this so many times, and if I have to wake up and write about it, it’s worth it. It’s so fucking worth it.
Dex’s hand glides against the smooth skin over my rib cage, and when he realizes that I’m not actually injured, his kiss deepens and he hikes my leg up, running his hand from my thigh all the way to my knee.
"You are so fucking sexy," he groans and squeezes my thigh when his hand makes its return trip. Without warning, he lifts me from the bed and into his arms, kneeling with my legs wrapped around him so that I won’t slide down. This is new. "Are you ready?"
When I nod, he slowly slides his way in, watching me the whole time as my mouth drops open with the sensation. And then he devours my mouth.
