His hand moved, and she suddenly panicked and grabbed his wrist. “Wait! When—when will you stop?”
“Whenever you want me to.”
She must have looked as dubious as she felt because his expression went completely serious. Despite her death grip on his wrist, he turned his hand over and entangled their fingers.
“You never have to fear that I’ll take things where you don’t want to go, princess. All I want is to please you.”
“Why do you keep calling me princess?”
He looked uncomfortable for a second. Odd for a dream. She’d thought he’d answer that question just as easily as he had the others.
“You said you never lie,” she reminded him.
He hesitated awhile longer. Then said, “I used to read to my sister, Naomi, at bedtime. Her favorite fairy tale was Sleeping Beauty. Remember I said you weren’t living, but waiting? I call you princess because you’re asleep. You don’t know how beautiful you are. How much the world needs you. And I want to be the man who kisses you and wakes you up.”
His words stunned her. Made her melt inside and yearn to be cradled in his arms. Instinctively, she tried to protect herself, shooting back, “So you see yourself as a prince?”
He grew even more somber. That look of need came back, but along with it were hints of things she didn’t want to see. Not from him.
Defeat. Resignation.
“No, I’m no prince.” Releasing her hand, he pulled away. Automatically, she let go, too. He took several steps back, his gaze hardening. “In fact, I’m more devil than anything. You should remember that.”
He turned to go and another feeling of panic hit her, this one far stronger than the first.
“Wait,” she called out. “You promised you’d stop when I wanted you to.”
He paused, and she forced herself to keep speaking so that this odd but lovely dream wouldn’t end yet. God, please don’t let it end yet.
“And I—I don’t want you to stop,” she confessed. “I want you to find where I’m the hottest.”
He walked up to her again. “You going to give me any hints where to start?”
She took his hand and led it to her breast. Swiftly inhaled when he gently cupped her aching flesh.
“Nice,” he said just as his mouth lowered to hers.
She expected him to plunge his tongue inside her mouth, but he kept his lips closed. Gentle. Respectful. He kissed her the way a young boy courting his first girl might, his body vibrating with excitement even as he forced himself to go slow.
No one had ever treated her with such care.
Miguel had loved her, of course. He’d sacrificed much to protect her; she’d ended up hating herself for it, and in some ways hating him. Every time she’d seen him, she’d seen the life that she could never escape. With Ty, she saw the type of life, the kind of man, that she could never have.
Except here … in her dreams. Here, she could enjoy his touch. And because he made her feel safe with his gentleness, she didn’t need it so much.
Opening her mouth, she licked his lips, urging him to give her more. Groaning, he angled his head and rubbed his tongue against hers. The hand that he’d placed on her breast began to move, kneading the small globe. Soon, his thumb rubbed her hardened nipple. The contrast of that firm, confident touch and the warm, increasingly eager but still silky-soft pressure of his mouth made her whimper. The sound was fraught with need, and she instinctively pulled her mouth away from his, ashamed.
One look at Ty made her embarrassment vanish.
If she’d sounded needy, he looked it.
He watched her intently. His cheeks were flushed. His breathing broken. His gaze dropped to his hand, which was still playing with her breast. She inhaled swiftly at the sight of his big hand cupping her and she immediately imagined both his hands on her. On both breasts. All over her body. In her hair. On her hips. Between her thighs.
With his free hand, he grabbed her hip and tugged her slightly closer so his beautiful blue eyes stared into hers. “I want to taste your breasts. Will you let me?”
She hesitated. He was being so good. Asking her permission before taking things further, as if he didn’t want to scare her. In response, she pulled away completely. His face reflected his disappointment.
When she peeled off the tank top she wore to sleep in, he was on her.
His hands on her hips. His mouth on her breasts. His tongue on her nipples. His smell all over her. Inside her.
And somehow, he went straight to the place that mattered most.
Her heart.
After watching Ana sleep for several more minutes, Ty took a shaky breath and turned away from the monitor. He’d already taken several steps when she moaned again. This time, her moan was different. She didn’t sound haunted, as she often did when she dreamed. No, this moan had a distinct tone of arousal to it.
And that caused him to whip around so fast he almost lost his balance.
In all the days he’d watched Ana sleeping, she’d never given any sign of having sexual dreams. Until now.
Another breathy, trembling moan echoed out of the surveillance equipment, but as much as it jacked him up, that wasn’t what held Ty transfixed. No, it was what Ana was doing to herself that rocked his world. She cupped both of her breasts and gently massaged them. At the same time, her hips began to twitch underneath the sheets as she sought some kind of relief from her arousal.
Ty immediately felt his cock lengthen and his mouth start to water. As he watched, her movements grew bolder. More frantic. She pinched her nipples. Caressed her face and thighs. And … Oh, God, there she was, cupping herself and then pushing her panties aside to slide her fingers inside herself. He leaned as close to the monitor as he could, but even though he knew she had to be soaking wet, he couldn’t see the shine of her juices on her fingers. Couldn’t smell her arousal. Couldn’t feel her.
And damn it, he wanted to feel her. Wanted all those things.
Instead, barely able to stop himself from racing to her house and taking what he wanted, he unzipped his pants and began stroking his painfully swollen cock, feeling guilty. He was jerking off to a woman who was asleep and on whom he was spying and he didn’t have enough strength to stop.
He kept his rhythm consistent with hers, imagining that he was inside her. That it was his cock and not her fingers that were pleasuring her. Finally, however, as he neared his release, he closed his eyes, not wanting to lose the fantasy that they were together by seeing her come alone in her bed. With no other visual stimuli to distract him, he let his imagination go wild and slowed things down.
He was no longer inside her, but as much as he mourned that loss, something wonderful had taken its place.
In his mind, he saw them. Interestingly enough, he saw himself as he had been, with the same brown hair he’d had before he was turned. The same blue eyes. For a split second, that outward countenance seemed to be a stranger rather than the original deal, but those details quickly became unimportant.
They touched, but they also talked.
Bantered. Flirted. She trusted him enough to ask whether he’d stop touching her if that’s what she wanted. He trusted her enough to reveal why he called her princess. Both of them were disclosing their fears and revealing bittersweet memories. Soon, however, the time for talking was shoved aside by physical need. By his determination to do all that he’d promised—touch her everywhere until, step-by-step, he discovered where she was hottest.
For a panicked moment, he thought she was going to end it, but instead, she removed her nightshirt, baring her body to him. He sucked on her nipple and the taste of her made him dizzy. Immediately—because this was all in his head, after all—he nipped at her skin, not enough to hurt her but enough that a drop of her blood hit his tongue. It was so good, and by her excited gasp of pleasure, she agreed.