"You taste so good, just like I imagined," he said, his lips brushing across the corners of her mouth, up her jaw, and kissing her earlobe.
Bree shivered, her fingers digging into his
shoulders, mistletoe still bunched and crushed in her left hand. He said that in her dreams. You taste so good.
She had always believed in the power of magick, but this was unbelievable, scary, titillating. It was hard to accept that it was real, and yet it was so very easy to just roll with it, to accept the sensuality of the moment, to know where it was going to lead. They both knew where it was going, because they had both seen it, felt it already.
"Ian, I have a confession to make."
"Yeah?" He was breathing in the scent of her hair while his fingers slipped under her shirt to stroke the small of her back.
"I've been having the same dream."
He pulled back and stared at her. "Are you serious?"
"Yes." She nodded, playing with the collar of his shirt nervously, her fingertips tugging then smoothing. "I didn't know it was you . . . your face is always in shadow. But when you bent over the tree and looked at me, I knew it was you. And you always walk towards me and kiss me."
"While you're holding mistletoe."
"Yes."
"And then we undress each other." Ian's eyes had darkened and his voice had lowered.
Bree swallowed hard. "Yes. Then you pull the quilt off the sofa . . ."
"And lay it down, then you down on it, in front of the fireplace. Then I kiss you from head to toe, and here." His knee touched between her thighs. "And you beg for more."
He did know this dream. "Yes, that's the way it goes."
Ian shook his head. "Amazing. Strange, freakish, weird as hell, incredible . . . and now we're going to live out our dream, aren't we?"
Absolutely. Or she was going to puddle to the floor in a mass of unrequited lust. "Yes."
"Is the dream good for you?" he asked, a small smile on his face.
"Oh yeah."
"Then let's make reality even better."
Chapter 4
Ian was shocked that Bree had been having the same dream, but at the same time it made sense, in its own very strange way. It wasn't even remotely logical, but it was obviously very real, that she knew exactly how his dreams played out, that he didn't even hesitate to take action.
He wanted her, a full year's worth of longing, and in that way he did know her. And she had said it had been good for her asleep, so he sure in hell wanted to live up to that awake. Ian kissed Bree, and this time she opened her mouth for him, so that Ian could take her with his tongue, taste her fully, and appreciate the rush of her excited breath past his ear.
Reality was definitely better than fantasy. He had never been able to fully feel the softness of her lips, the smoothness of her back as he held her, the press of her breasts against his chest. Bree was digging her fingers into his shoulders, and he could smell the evergreen scent as she crushed the mistletoe against him. He stepped back, panting, and marveled at how red her lips were naturally, now shiny and wet from his kisses. He had decimated all of her lip gloss, and yet her mouth was still plump and richly rosy. God, she was just beautiful.
Reaching for her, Ian took her turtleneck by the bottom and pulled it up and over her head. It got caught on her head, and he laughed when she let out an indelicate curse.
"I'm stuck." She sounded more amused than angry as she shook her head back and forth and reached up to grapple with the shirt.
"I'm sorry, I've got it." Ian tugged harder, and the shirt finally popped up and off, leaving her hair plastered all over her face and sticking up with static.
She looked adorable, and Ian smoothed the dark strands back down, cupping her cheeks and kissing her softly.
She unbuttoned his shirt while they kissed, and Ian sucked in his breath as she ran her fingers over his bare flesh.
"You're lean but it's obvious you work out," she said, rushing over the planes of his muscles and down his navel to the button on his jeans, making his body react enthusiastically. "You have definition."
"I should hope so after all the work I put into it."
Ian leaned forward and sucked on the creamy flesh rising from the top of Bree's black satin bra. He loved that contrast of light flesh and dark clothing. It showed off the pureness of her ivory skin.
"I don't work out."
"I don't care." What he had seen looked beautiful to him, not overly thin, not buff, just soft female flesh, with the curves in all the right places. Ian found the zipper on the side of her skirt and yanked it down. A hand inside it, and he managed to knock the clothing off her hips and to the floor. Ian pulled back slightly to just drink her in, standing in front of him in her bra and panties, her hair sliding across her face and down over her shoulders.
"You're absolutely stunning," he said. "I don't have the words to describe your beauty, Bree, I really don't."
Even though her cheeks pinkened, she just said,
"Thank you." Then ripped his shirt down his arms and tossed it to the floor.
Whoa. That was fucking hot. Ian had thought that was only his fantasy in the dreams, but apparently it was Bree's as well, because her eyes were burning brightly with desire. "Can you tear my jeans off like that, too?" he asked.
"I can try."
That was all a man could ask for.
The pants weren't as easy as the shirt, but Bree did manage to get them down to his ankles so he could step out of them. She also managed to grope across his erection along the way, and if the sly smile on her face was any indication, she damn well had done it on purpose.
"Does it meet your standards?" he asked.
"Mmm-hmm." Bree licked her bottom lip.
Ian groaned and reached back and yanked the quilt off the sofa. He dropped it on the floor in front of the fireplace and paused. He looked at Bree. "Is there a fire burning in your dreams?"
Her eyes widened. "Yes. But like I said, we can't use the fireplace. I don't even have any wood."
"Weird." Ian also didn't remember them using a condom in his dreams, but he retrieved one from his wallet and tossed it down on the quilt. This was real.
Better. "It doesn't matter."
He stood in front of her for a minute, tracing his fingers down her shoulders, her arms, across her stomach and to the waistband of her panties. The anticipation was exciting, painful. He felt like he had waited, well, a whole year for this. So he kissed her, pulling her down onto the lumpy quilt, catching her head before it hit the floor. Part of him wanted to ask her if she was sure, but he didn't want the answer to be no, so he said nothing and trusted that she would stop him if she changed her mind or had second thoughts.
Ian went on his knees, one on either side of her legs, and kissed Bree, closing his eyes to savor. He kissed her neck, burying his hands in her silky hair, and breathed in her scent. She smelled exotic, like spices you'd find in the pantry, and he licked her shoulder, sucking her clavicle.
Bree made a small sound of surprise, but Ian didn't look up at her face. He cruised down to her breasts, which rose and fell in time with her quickening breathing. Reaching behind her back, Ian undid her bra and slid the straps down, pulling the whole thing to her waist and wrists. Bree was swallowing hard, her body moving restlessly, and he suspected it was nervousness, so Ian only allowed himself a brief glimpse at her rounded, pale breasts before covering a dusky nipple with his mouth.
He felt like he already knew her body in a weird sort of way since he had made love to her over and over in his dreams, so he went on instinct, the familiar tug and suck and pull garnering the same reaction from her in reality that it had so many nights in his sleep. Bree dug her fingernails into his back and made delightful moans of encouragement that spurred him on, and he switched from one breast to the other and back again until her nipples were shiny and taut from his attention. His erection was bumping against her inner thighs, and she moved against him, lifting her hips to grind them together.
Instead of giving her what she was asking for, he pulled back so they were no longer in contact, and he had the pleasure of hearing her disappointed mewl.
But the sound cut off when he took her panties and peeled them down, then spread her legs by pushing her knees apart. He paused a moment then, just to check his control, and to look at her. She had her arms above her head, her eyes half-closed, her full lips open, black hair tumbling over her pale skin. When he bent over and kissed her, right on her clitoris, she jerked a little on the quilt. Glancing up the length of her, Ian moaned himself when he saw she had taken a finger and was biting the tip, the black fingernails of her other fingers splayed across her jaw.
She was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.
"I find you so beautiful," he said, and before she could reply, Ian buried his mouth between her thighs.
He stroked across her warm, moist flesh, and dipped his tongue inside her, the way he knew, just knew she would like.
When he pulled back, she said it just like she did in his dreams, "More. Please. More."
He could do that. He could do this all day and all night, taste her tangy sweetness and listen to her rhythmic cries of pleasure. When her thighs tensed, he pulled back, preventing her from an orgasm. Then he went back, licking and sucking, his body taut with desire, aching with the urge to possess her, but his control holding him back. He wanted to take her there again and again, so that she was insensible with want, then only then would he push inside her body. The floor was hard on his knees, a cool draft wafting over them, raising goose bumps on Bree's dewy skin, but he just pulled the quilt around her sides and kept going.
There was no awkwardness, no holding back, no first-time fumbles or strokes that caused zero reaction.
Everything he did turned Bree on, and every sound, every move she made heightened his own arousal.
They did know each other, they knew the steps to this dance, they knew where they were going and how to get there. Ian didn't stop to think about it, but just felt, just let it go, just focused on her body and its reaction and how to make the most of her acute pleasure.