“What is wrong with you today?” He scrutinizes me beneath him, his eyes probing. “Are you still mad at me? I told you it couldn’t be helped.”
“No.”
“What is it then? You’ve been giving me hell all morning.”
I gaze up at him for a few seconds before I dart my eyes away. “I might have had a dream.”
“This is about a dream,” he says in the same breath.
“I told you,” I sigh, pushing at his chest to no avail. “I’ve explained this. They’re real for me.”
“But they aren’t real, Cecelia. And you can’t hold a dream against me.”
“Says you, and it felt real.” I can hear the ache in my own voice. “You locked me out of my own bedroom.”
“You had a dream that I locked you out of your bedroom, and you’re mad at me?”
“Yep.”
He narrows his eyes. “There’s more.”
“Nope, that’s the gist of it.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
He reaches between us, gripping my thigh and squeezes.
“S-s-stop. I c-can’t breathe inhaling all of this cinnamon. Get off me. I’m hungry.”
His fingers begin traveling to the hem of my sleep shorts before inching toward the promised land. “I can do this all day,” he assures, unflinching when I pinch his skin. “Tell me, what was I doing in this dream?”
“Non.” No.
“Non?” He leans in, darting his tongue along my bottom lip just as his finger faintly brushes over my clit. I moan, and he captures it, kissing me breathless as he sinks more of his weight onto me, pinning me to the grass.
“Damnit, man, you’re suffocating me.”
“Tell me, and I’ll set you free.”
“No.”
He resumes his touch, suckling my chest and teasing me without reservation.
“You’re a cruel and evil man,” I rasp out, digging my fingers into his scalp.
“Word of the day, soumission.” He muses as my hips buck due to his touch.
“Submission? Dream on, pal.”
“Have you forgotten already? One finger.” He licks a trail from my neck to my ear. “And I’m pretty sure that was a tear I licked off your temple.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He licks his finger in threat.
“Tobias,” I mewl, hearing the husk in my voice. “It was just a dream.”
“Ah, but I’ve been paying for it. At least enlighten me on what I’m guilty of in your land of make-believe.”
“You were mean to me.”
He pins my wrists and leans in as I struggle. “Mean to you?” He rolls his eyes. “That you can handle.”
“Breakfast,” I remind him.
“It can wait,” he retorts.
“You were starving.”
“It can wait.”
“Tobias, damnit, let me up.”
“You’re your own worst enemy right now.”
“Debatable,” I say, lifting to bite his chin, and he dodges me easily. “This is bullshit. You outweigh me by nearly a hundred pounds. I’m utterly helpless.”
“Guess you better find some leverage. Or you can just tell me what I was doing.”
Briefly, I entertain headbutting him and get a smug grin.
“It will hurt you more than it will me.”
“Get out of my head.”
“Gladly, it seems to be a scary place today. But only after you give me what I want.”
“Fine.” I close my eyes. “There may have been lingerie models behind you when you slammed the door in my face.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I peek up at him with one eye open. He stares down at me a second before bursting into laughter.
I push at his chest. “It’s not funny.”
He dips his head and nuzzles me. “Oh, mon bébé, are we jealous? No wonder you rode me this morning like you were trying to tame a horse. Going for the gold, huh?”
“It’s not funny,” I shove at his chest, my heart lurching as I again picture him eyeing me with a slew of half-naked women behind him before he shut me out. Gazing up at him, I feel the stretch of my own reluctant smile as he glitters down on me with affection. It’s this look, the look on his face now that keeps me breathless, a relapsed and happy addict.
“Maybe I’ll get used to cinnamon, for you,” he sips a little of the spiced water on my neck with eager lips before making me painfully aware of the difference between the first time he kissed me and now. Everything has changed.
Everything.
He works his sinful mouth, sliding his flavored tongue against my own, and he kisses me and kisses me while the sun warms our skin. “You think adding cinnamon to breakfast will make up for the horrible things you’ve done?”
He shrugs, “You mean the fiction you’ve made up?”
I shake my head and dodge his next kiss as he chuckles. “I would not do that to you, mon trésor.”
My treasure.
The man just called me his treasure. If it was a slip, he’s not regretting it, nor is he taking it back. In fact, he’s staring right at me without an ounce of second thought. It shouldn’t surprise me, not after the recent events of the weeks we’ve spent together. But every day he sheds more light on parts unknown, and every day I find myself more surprised in the best way.
Words evade me as we stare at the other unspeaking, giving in to our natural gravity, the magnitude far too strong to fight. And now that we’ve acknowledged it, embraced it, fed on it, there’s no turning back.
Because the truth is that I no longer hate Tobias King.
I’m in love with him.
My insatiable need for him flows like lava through my veins spurring the ache, one I know, soul-deep he’s the only one capable of sating. Seconds pass as he recognizes what I’m not saying. I look up at him, imploring him not to exploit my weakness, but what’s mine, he claims is his own.
“It hurt,” I confess.
“Your dream?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “Ce qui te blesse, me blesse.” What hurts you, hurts me.
“Do you mean that?”
He places my hand to his chest to let me feel the truth. His heart hammers against my palm as my own heart toes the ledge, carefully peeking down at the endless stories below and weighing the risk before shaking its head at me.
Not yet.
It’s trust we need, and it’s all backward, but that’s our nature, and if I’m honest, it’s all we lack. Well, that and the thousand other secrets he’s not letting me be privy to. Those matter.
So even if my heart is playing masochistic daredevil, my head is doing its best to keep me above water.
He lifts from me, easing my comfort, and in turn, I cradle him between my legs. We’re filthy, in need of another shower, but I wouldn’t trade a second of this stolen moment, because I can feel the reckoning coming. And we’ve put it off for far too long.
“Ask me anything,” he whispers, pressing his thumb into the corner of my mouth before tracing my lip as his cinnamon coated hair hangs between us. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”