forcing myself to shove aside all the fear and worry. "Do you?" I ask as we head for the stairs. "How very bold. And here I thought you were a gentleman."
"I am," he says. "I will absolutely make sure that you come first."
I burst out laughing, then pause on the stairs to look down at him. "I love you."
"Now who's being bold on a first date?"
"That would be me." I step down one so that I am right beside him. "By the way, Mr. Sykes, I intend to take advantage of you tonight."
"Oh, really?"
"Just fair warning. I'm going to use you. I'm going to take what I want." I smile, imagining all the delicious possibilities. "I just thought I should let you know."
Wrecked
Despite my bold pronouncement to take complete advantage of Dallas, we'd made love slowly and sweetly, then curled up in each other's arms. He never said a word about my apparently unfulfilled promise, and I hadn't mentioned it either.
But I hadn't forgotten.
Now, I lay propped up beside him on an elbow, watching his eyes move behind his lids as he dreams. I'd dozed briefly as he'd slept, but then I'd climbed out of bed to go work a bit on my screenplay, too charged up emotionally to succumb to slumber.
Besides, I had a plan, and that required making sure that I didn't sleep through until morning.
Now, I'm back in bed and my plan is at the forefront of my thoughts.
Gently, I tug the sheet down, exposing all of him. He's semi-erect, and I smile to myself, wondering what he's dreaming and planning to make it so much better.
I stroke my hand over his belly, then watch as his body reacts. His muscles tighten in response to my touch. I'm gentle--I'm not ready for him to wake up just yet--and I'm enjoying watching the pleasure of my touch work its way into his dreams.
He turns his head, his lips parting. And as my hand slides lower--as I press a gentle kiss to his breast and lick his nipple--I feel the movement in his hips and a tightening of the muscles throughout his body. I look down and see that he's harder now. Almost fully erect. And I hope that he's dreaming of me.
Slowly, I work kisses down his abdomen, along the trail of hair, and then I run my tongue along the length of his cock. He groans in his sleep, and I freeze for a moment, because I'm still not ready for him to wake. I told him that I was going to take what I wanted, and I meant it.
Tonight, I want his cock.
I smile as I move to straddle him. We've done this before, and I essentially told him I was going to do it again, so I feel perfectly justified in taking what I want--especially when I know that he wants it, too.
He's hard, so damn hard, and we fit together so perfectly. I sigh with pleasure as he fills me. As I raise and lower myself, taking him. Pumping him.
He feels it, too. I can tell by the incredible sensation of him inside me as well as by the way his body writhes beneath mine. He is close, and I think that if I can just take him all the way--if he will just come inside me even in this dreamland--then it will break the spell. Like the princess kissing the sleeping prince and waking him once more.
I think that I am succeeding. Beneath me, he begins to move more wildly, and just when I think that he is there, he opens his eyes and stares into mine.
I gasp because he is still hard, and for a moment I am overwhelmed with the power of everything that is between us. But that changes in an instant. He moves fast, rolling us over until he is on top of me and no longer inside of me. He yanks me to my feet, his hands clenching painfully tight around my upper arms.
I gasp, trying to read his expression, but he's not with me--I can see that clearly enough now. He's dreaming. He's fifteen. And I'm certain that in his dream he is doing exactly what I told him to do.
He is fighting.
He is fighting me.
With a groan, he slams me against the wall, one hand around my neck, the other between my legs. His expression is hard, his eyes wild, and I gasp, trying to breathe as he roughly spreads my legs and thrusts inside me, wild and untamed.
I'm scared--goddammit, I'm really and truly scared--but not of him. I'm scared of the dream. Of the fact that he doesn't see me. He sees her. The Woman. I know that he wants to hurt her. And right now, I don't know how far he will go.
I whimper as he tosses me back on the bed, as he forces me up on my knees, then tugs my arms behind me so that my shoulders feel ripped out of me and my weight is on my head. He still has me around the neck, and I'm completely unable to move, and he's inside me, thrusting hard. Not his cock, but his fingers, and he's lost in the intensity of the moment, so far gone with pain and fury that I can barely make out the words he mutters: Bitch. Pain. Never again.
I'm light-headed, and though part of me says I need to let him do this--I need to be the stand-in for the object of his rage--I cry out, the sound muffled because I can't draw air and the room is turning gray. A darker, colder fear washes over me and I force my name out, Jane, I cry. I'm Jane. But I don't even know if I've actually made sounds.