Page 98 of In Somnis

Paul is crowding me, his hands framing my face as if I’m something precious he might break if he’s not careful.

The world feels soft around the edges, like someone dipped it in honey and let it drip slowly. I’m in a kitchen… my kitchen? No, it’s bigger, brighter, and with sunlight pouring through windows that stretch forever.

His mouth crashes down on mine, possessive and demanding, claiming every breath I have left. One hand slides to the back of my neck, tilting my head exactly where he wants it, while the other grips my hip hard enough to leave marks I wouldn’t mind.

“Mine,” he growls out against my lips, the word vibrating through me, and making my knees wobble. “Tell me you’re mine, darling.”

He doesn’t even let me answer, deepening the kiss as heat pools low in my belly, his body pinning mine. One hand roams down my side, fingers digging into the curve of my waist, pulling me flush against him until there’s no space left, no air, only him, and I’m owned in the best way.

He pulls back for a breath, and his face shifts. The salt-and-pepper stubble softens to a short blond beard, the deep coffee eyes turn into the soft gray of early morning, and the frame in front of me heightens, familiar in a completely different way. Suddenly, it’s Nevan smiling down at me, that tousled dark blond hair falling over his forehead. His hands on my waist feel different, too, same warmth, but bigger.

I focus on his freckles when he leans down to kiss me.

Wait! Wasn’t I just kissing Paul?

Oh well.

Nevan’s kiss is sweeter, almost playful. He cups my face gently at first, thumbs stroking my cheeks as his lips brush mine teasingly.

“Hey, Lemon,” he murmurs, pulling back to flash that sunshine grin before diving back in. His hands slide down to my thighs, squeezing with the right pressure, but he has to almost fold in half to keep kissing me. As soon as I think that, he lifts me effortlessly onto the counter as if I’m weightless.

He nips at my lower lip, sweet turning hot, his fingers digging in, tracing higher, and making me gasp. Playful nips turn into hungry strokes as the kiss deepens, bodies pressing closer until I’m wrapping my legs around him.

His hands are everywhere, my breath coming in short bursts.

“Ew.”

The word cuts through the heat like cold water down my spine. I freeze mid-kiss, my legs still locked around Nevan’s waist as I look over his shoulder.

Ridge is floating a few feet behind him, cross-legged in midair. He’s sucking on a bright yellow lollipop, nose scrunched in disgust.

“That’s unsanitary.” He drops lightly to the floor and strolls toward us, gaze flicking between Nevan and me with lazy amusement. “I hope that’s not the kitchen you baked my muffins in.”

God, he’s hot too.

I let go of Nevan, slip off the counter, and step toward Ridge, the air around him buzzing faintly, a static under my skin. His lips are shiny from the lollipop, and I can’t help but stare at them.

“What are you doing?”

I’m entranced with how each word moves between his lips. Lips I’d like to taste.

“Don’t look at me that way, Lennon.”

I rise onto my tiptoes with my lips puckered, aiming for his mouth. Before I can make contact, he presses two fingers to my forehead and pushes me back down onto my heels, then flicks my nose.

“Ouch!” I rub at it. “What was that for?”

“How many fingers do you have?”

“What?”

“Indulge me.”

I look down at my fingers, which are breadsticks. “Huh.”

“Good, now question it.”

He’s right. Why do I have edible fingers?