Chapter 121: 121. Sweet Dreams I
Maisie
They were everywhere.
I knew it was a dream. One of those that had no sensible beginnings or endings. The kind you became aware of smack dab in the middle.
And goddess, was I aware.
I was on my hands and knees and a hand dug against my ass, spreading my cheeks apart, working a shaft into me from behind. Slowly. It was so slow, it made me want to scream. The head of him caught in my rim and I could feel every ridge, every vein etched into his skin as he pushed deeper, too large to bottom out.
Jericho.
Fingers threaded in my hair and I was yanked up. Violet-blue eyes glinted in the dark and Soren pushed inside me.
I gasped. I was drenched, my insides clinging to them. Jericho went slow. Soren went hard. My nails curled into Soren’s skin and I cried myself hoarse.
"That’s it," Jericho’s voice came from somewhere above me, rough as gravel. "Squeeze for us, malyshka."
I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. Something venomous curled on the tip of my tongue. But I didn’t need to fight here. They would never know if I simply enjoyed this here. I could go back to hating them when I awoke.
I pushed back against him, grinding hard, and the sound that came out of me was a husky mewl.
Jericho’s hips smacked against the curve of my ass. Soren’s nails dug into my breasts. I was so full—so impossibly full—and then, there were different hands on me. Mercer’s hand jerked my neck forward and he sank into my mouth with a sharp snarl. And Quinlan was underneath my parted knees, spreading them wider so he could plunge his tongue into my pulsing heat.
The dream shifted without warning.
One moment, I was on all fours, and the next, I was sprawled on silk sheets that stuck to my sweat-slicked skin, staring at a white ceiling.
Alone.
My thighs were clamped tightly together and I moaned softly, clenching around nothing.
"Look at her."
I stiffened, head whipping right at the mockery in Quinlan’s voice.
They were all there, watching me. Mercer leaned back against the door, thick arms crossed over his chest. The heat of his green eyes dragged over my skin.
Quinlan stood by the far wall, half in the shadow, blue eyes catching in the soft light. Jericho was the closest, standing at the foot of the bed, his head tilted like he was thinking hard about something. And Soren had claimed the armchair beside Quinlan, legs spread, chin resting on his fist.
Even in the dark, he was beautiful. His black brow rose. "Don’t stop on our account," he murmured, glancing pointedly at where my fingers had been traveling down my shorts.
"Go away," I moaned, eyes heavy with lust and sleep.
I knew they weren’t really here. I’d had enough of these dreams in the last few weeks that sometimes, they tended to feel so damned real. Now was one of those times, and it only made a spike of heat swim through my belly.
The idea of being watched by them.
"Is that what you want?" Soren asked. "Somehow, I really doubt that."
No, that was, in fact, the last thing my body wanted. Mercer had a direct view of my parted shorts, and my mouth went dry as his gaze fixed on my core.
He said hoarsely, "If we don’t get to touch you, the least you could do is put on a show." A pause. "Touch yourself. Go slow."
I should wake up. I should force myself awake, shake off whatever this was...
My insides pulsed, a sharp throb that made my hips shift against the silk sheets without permission.
I grinded against the fabric of my shorts, cupping myself through my shorts as I ran my fingers up my torso to find the curve of my breasts. The sensation was maddening. I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop.
My head fell back against the pillow on a soft groan. My shorts were constricting, but I glanced down and saw my thighs parting wider, felt the rush of cool air lick up my thighs, saw my hand cupping myself through the thin fabric of my underwear. My panties were already soaked. I could see the damp spot spreading, could smell my own arousal.
"Lose the shirt," Soren ordered. His voice had dropped lower. The amusement was still there, but it was strained now. I glanced at him and saw that his hand ran along the bulge in his pants, and while his face was that cool mask he always wore, his eyes were on fire.
"Say please," I said.
He canted his head to the side, lips curling in displeasure at the command.
My hand inched higher and I cupped my breasts. Without taking my eyes off him, I pinched my nipple and moaned.
His nostrils flared and he jerked in his chair. He dragged his fangs over his lower lip and flashed a sharp smile. "Please, love?"
My fingers worked on the shirt slowly, pushing in the buttons. There were too many. I grabbed the hem and yanked it over my head.
Goosebumps broke across my skin as I sat in my white, lacy bra.
Soren reached up and loosened his tie. "Take that off, too." A pause. "Please."
Something gnawed at my subconscious, but I ignored it, reaching behind me to unclasp my bra.
My nipples drew up tight as the air kissed my skin. I was panting now, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
"Beautiful," Jericho said from the foot of the bed. The word was rough and I clenched around nothing.
He hadn’t moved from his spot, but I saw the outline of his erection straining against his trousers. His jaw was tight. "The shorts. Take them off."
I’d already hooked my thumbs into my waistband and dragged it down my legs, lifting my hips to work them past my thighs, before I realized he had given me an order.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach. Dream Maisie loved Jericho ordering her around.
"The panties," Quinlan groaned, eyes dark. "Rip them."
A claw punched out of my finger and sliced through the fabric in less than a second. And I was bare, my body exposed to them.
Mercer groaned, his tousled hair falling over his forehead as his head tipped forward. "Fuck," he breathed. "Look at her. Look at that tight little pussy."
My face burned. I should’ve be mortified. I was mortified. And dripping wet. My clit was a tight, aching bud peeking from its hood, demanding attention.
"Open yourself up," Jericho said, hand down his pants and I swallowed as he pulled out of his trousers, fisting himself.
He was thick and flushed an angry red. The skin pulled tight, veins thick as his cock bobbed. He stroked once, twice, and there was a bead of pre-cum at his slit that I desperately wanted to lick off. He smeared it over his head with his thumb, and my hips bucked at the obscene motion.
My fingers reached down and found my clit with two fingers, spreading myself wide, and I heard them suck in sharp breaths. I’d never felt so exposed, so utterly on display, and it was making me wild. My hips canted up, offering myself to their gazes.
Soren laughed. "So responsive. You pretend you don’t want this, but your cunt is dripping down the sheets, Adams. You want to share just what the fuck you were dreaming about?"
It was a silly question. He was a figment of my imagination. Shouldn’t he know the answer to that?
