Laughing, he pulled her down alongside him until her face was next to his. “Taste how good you are.” His tongue traced her lips until they opened and her tongue darted out to lick at his lips and face. Driving his tongue into her mouth, he captured hers and claimed it as his.
She belonged to him. All of her. Body and soul.
Not breaking the kiss, he sat up with her in his arms. Pushing the sheet down his body, he bared himself to her. Tasting her lips for one last time, he whispered against them. “Taste me.” Then he lay back down in the shadows and left her sitting there above him.
His cock was hard and thick as it extended upward from his body. Parting her lush lips, she went down on him. Circling the top of his shaft with her tongue, she laughed with delight when a pearly drop of fluid seeped to the tip. Licking it up with her tongue, she held it there suspended for a moment before swallowing it. His hands fisted in the sheets.
When her wet mouth descended upon his cock again, he almost shot off the bed. Nibbling her way down his length and then back up again, she teased him mercilessly before finally taking the tip in her mouth. Rolling her tongue around the bulbous tip, she sucked it like a candy as she swirled it in her mouth.
Taking him deep into her mouth, she allowed his length to slide against her teeth. Her tongue traced the protruding vein as she slid his cock in and out of her mouth in an almost hypnotic rhythm. He thrust his hips, wanting her to take more, and she instantly complied, taking him deeper than he thought possible. His fingers entangled in her hair, holding him to her.
Enthusiastically, she licked and sucked as she straddled his thigh. Spreading her legs wider, she rubbed her mound against his hair-roughened leg. Her sweat-covered skin slid easily against him. She moaned as she pleasured herself, almost causing him to come with the vibrations of her own gratification.
Her fingers were never still as they shaped and cupped his testicles. Her nails teased the bottom of his shaft as her teeth and tongue played with the rest of his cock. He could feel his balls tightening and knew that his own release was close.
He was torn between wanting to be inside her and wanting to let her suck him to completion. “I want to come inside you,” he said in a hoarse groan.
Suddenly, he wanted— no, needed— to say her name. “Tell me your name.” Until he knew it, he knew he couldn’t possess her totally. “What’s your name?” His voice shook with rising anger at her refusal to tell him.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she doubled her efforts, continuing to pleasure him until her name no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but the pleasure she was giving him. He could feel his orgasm rising within him like a living beast. From deep inside him, it rose with such power that he thought it would go on forever. The hot seed erupted from him, spreading across his stomach and chest.
“No.” He awoke on a cry of anguish, sitting straight up in bed before falling back against the pillows on a groan of despair. The wetness on his stomach made him feel like a twelve-year-old boy again, helpless and weak. He loathed the feeling.
Throwing his arm over his face, he took a deep breath trying to calm his erratic breathing. His lungs were working like a bellows, his body was covered in sweat, and his long hair was plastered to his skull and neck. He shivered slightly as he lay there trying to recover.
His lovely nymph, who had been haunting his dreams of late, was gone.
Disgusted with himself, he threw back his plain cotton sheets and dragged himself out of bed. He gave a snort of laughter as he remembered the satin sheets in the dream. That should have been a dead giveaway that it was only a dream. He might have money, but he still wasn’t a satin sheet kind of guy. Big and rough, he needed belongings that would hold up to hard use.
He padded into the adjoining bathroom, not bothering with the lights, and turned the shower on cold. Ducking beneath the cold spray, he soaped himself from head to toe and then rinsed off. Two minutes later he flipped off the water and snagged a towel. Rubbing it over his still sensitive body was almost an act of torture. Swearing, he flung the towel away and stalked naked out the door, through the bedroom, and down the hall to his office.
The carpet muffled the sound of his feet as he all but stomped to the corner of the room. He knew it was there. Waiting.
The click of the light as he turned it on was as loud as a gunshot against the quiet of the night. The light, though dim, forced him to blink several times before he could focus on the picture. On her. His hands clenched into fists as he stepped back from the painting.
Pulled by equal but conflicting desires, he sank down into a leather chair, his gaze never leaving the painting. While half of him wanted to fling the object against the wall and destroy it, the other half burned with the desire to possess the woman portrayed in it.
The sound of toenails clicking on the hardwood floor broke the silence. A moment later his wolfhound, Gabriel, thrust his head onto his lap. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he murmured. He absently rubbed the dog’s head and neck. Gabriel whimpered in doggy ecstasy, turning his head this way and that, making sure every spot received attention.
Eventually, Gabriel flopped on the floor next to him, content and ready to sleep again. The sound of their breathing was the only sound except for the occasional rumble of traffic. The night ticked on towards the dawn.
Staring at the painting, he waited. Eventually, his hands relaxed and he sank back into the comfort of the large chair and tilted his head back. With his eyes closed, he shook his head in disgust. He could no more destroy the painting than harm a hair on her head, this beautiful woman who now haunted his dreams with her tousled brown hair, expressive blue eyes, and incredibly sexy body. He could feel his dick stirring to life again. Just thinking about her made him hard.
From the moment he’d first laid eyes on the painting in the window of a little coffee shop, he’d had to own it. The beauty of the artist’s work had caught his eye, but it was the subject that had captured his imagination. Now that he possessed the picture, he was filled with a yearning— no, a compulsion— to meet her. He felt connected to her somehow. There was a bond between them that he couldn’t explain, but he had to find out what it was.
He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. Maybe he’d just been working too damn hard lately, and that made him more susceptible to his dreams. He really didn’t know and didn’t care. Regardless, he didn’t think the dreams would stop until he discovered what it was about her that fascinated him so. That meant he had to meet her.
Realistically, he expected the dreams to disappear the moment he met her. After all, she was just an ordinary woman, albeit a beautiful one, probably living a completely mundane life. The sexy goddess from his dreams was the perfect creation of his overworked mind. In his experience, people rarely lived up to his expectations.
Better to deal with it head-on so he could put it behind him, especially if he wanted another uninterrupted night’s sleep. He was disturbed with how easily this unknown woman had slipped, uninvited, into his dreams. Being out of control was not a feeling he enjoyed.
With his usual take-charge style, he’d already set the wheels in motion and had begun the first step in the hunt. Find the artist and he’d find the woman in the painting.
The shadows were a light gray when he finally arose from the chair. Cold and stiff, he stretched for a moment to work the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. Gabriel raised his furry head for a moment, but seeing nothing wrong, returned to his doggy dreams.