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At her breathless whisper, he grunted. “Least you know who I am now.”
Now? She always knew who he was, but this was the first time she’d been intimately up close with him. Holding his hand was about as far as she dared go. Heat surged into her cheeks as she ordered her traitorous body to stop riding his denim-clad thigh. “Ah…”
“Don’t remember a damn thing, do you?”
Was that a rhetorical question? Olivia frowned. She’d been upset, her life crashing down around her ears one brick at a time, and he’d come into the house like a thief. Picked her up, making her feel safe. After she curled up on the backseat of his truck, she was pretty blank in the memories department. “Am I supposed to?”
Zeke sighed heavily but made no move to change their proximity. “No. It’s fine.”
She wiggled, realizing that while he wore jeans, his chest was delightfully bare. Her fingers wandered lightly, finding several raised ridges over his belly and chest. Normally, she wouldn’t dare to be presumptuous, but this whole scenario was too farfetched to be reality, so she’d take advantage of five minutes in heaven before she was rudely roused from her new favorite dream.
There were no circumstances where Zeke liked her enough to climb into bed with her. None. While she’d pined for him from eight hundred miles away, he’d probably been making love to all the women who caught his attention.
He sure as hell wouldn’t be in bed wearing his jeans, for God’s sake, and she wasn’t in the habit of wearing her bra and panties when she slept. She preferred her soft, snuggly pajamas.
Factoring in all that… she was dreaming, end of story.
Olivia smiled and shifted, pressing a kiss to the underside of his nipple. Fascinated by how smooth his skin felt under her lips, she continued across his chest, daring to flick her tongue across the masculine equivalent of her own tight, sensitive buds. It gave her a rush of pride when his hips lifted subtly, the thigh between hers pressing harder against her pussy.
“Olivia, wait.”
Oh, she loved that dark tone. Zeke had a lovely voice anyway; strong, firm, compassionate. She liked the way he spoke, the rhythm of his words melding with an accent she couldn’t quite place.
All her life, she’d learned that an accent didn’t matter. It was fakable, interchangeable. No, a girl didn’t rely on how lyrical a voice was, but the intent behind the words. Her stepfather was a prime example—all the little endearments he liked to croon at her were slick with perverted slime. A sickness that spread onto her skin whenever he touched her with that depraved voice and thick fingers.
Even the brush of them over her arm made her feel nauseous.
Olivia shook her head, banishing the thought. Here in dreams, Jared didn’t belong. This washertime. Seeing as some faction of her brain was treating her to an all-she-could-lick Zeke buffet, she was going to indulge herself.
Hand sliding down his belly with a confidence she’d never possess while awake, she eased her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. The button and zipper were undone, his belt buckle already loose, as though he’d needed to be comfortable but still partly dressed before falling asleep.
A warning flickered in the back of her brain, but she was too busy concentrating on the hot column of flesh in her grasp to take note.
He was so soft and silky. Warm velvet over rigid steel. A moan tickled her throat when his cock jerked in her fingers, wetness kissing her palm.
“Damn it, girl, there’s talkin’ to do before you go jumpin’ into—fuck.”
Dream Zeke was very well endowed, she thought with a nip of trepidation. Her brain was insane if it thought anything this size could fit inside her, but what were the chances her fantasy version of him and the real one were the same penis size?
Strong fingers grabbed her wrist, pulling it away from his cock, then she found herself on her back, arms stretched uselessly above her head with one of his hands pinning them to the pillows. Heavy weight pressed on top of her, from his chest against her breasts all the way down to where his hips spread her pelvis wide.
“If we’re doin’ this, we do it right.” Dream Zeke’s eyes were darkening, shade by shade, from sea-mist to emerald. “Atticus has some notion you’re a submissive, but I ain’t seeing it yet. When I give you an order, you obey, ‘less you’ve got a damn good reason not to. That clear?”
Her breath caught. Oh boy, she was in trouble. This was worse than that time she spent twenty minutes chattering to the mailman, wondering why he was being so rude and not replying, only to discover it was a mannequin, dressed up in his uniform, with its makeup so realistic, it looked human.
She swallowed hard and stared up at him. Their noses were almost touching, his breath warm on her skin. The large erection she’d just been clutching in her greedy hand was now lodged firmly against her sex.
Not a dream.
With any luck, her mortification level was going to hit overload at any moment, rendering her unconscious. It was the only way to survive a disaster of this magnitude.
“I asked you a question, Olivia.”
Why did her name sound like that in his voice? Dark amusement, a quick lick of something decadent, and a whole lot of stern reprimand. It sent liquid thrills rushing through places she’d never felt before, even reading her dirty books.
“Cat got your tongue, girl?”
Oh God. No, her tongue was exactly where it was meant to be, but it was limp with shock. In approximately three seconds, she’d choke on her own drool and probably wouldn’t care too much because she was looking into those beautiful eyes.
