18 Slip
Sera
His hand is heavy under the fabric of my dress, fingers digging into the flesh of my ass. The pressure is blunt and possessive, sending a sharp, chemical rush straight to my brain. I’m back in Blackwater. The room is familiar, the air is warm, and Kane is hovering over me like he actually gives a damn. I want this. I want the way he’s looking at me, like he’s struggling to keep his dick in his pants.
He pushes me back. My knees hit the edge of the mattress, and I’m forced to sit, looking up at him. He stands there, tall and dominant, his hands going to his waist. I hear the distinct metallic snick of his belt unbuckling. It’s torture. The sound echoes in the quiet room, and all I want to do is reach out, rip those pants down, and slide my mouth over him. I want to feel him moist under my tongue, to feel the way he quivers when I take him in.
“Fenris,” I breathe.
The name hits the air like a curse. My lungs seize, and I choke on my own saliva. The heat of the memory vanishes, replaced by a sudden, jarring cold.
I snapped my eyes open, gasping for air. I wasn’t in Blackwater. I was in the mountain fortress, lying on a bed piled with furs. Sweat was rolling off my forehead, cooling instantly in the drafty room. My heart was slamming against my ribs, a frantic, heavy rhythm that made my chest ache. I sat up slowly, my head pounding with a dull, throbbing ache that made me want to go back to sleep. I rested my head in my hand, eyes shut tight, trying to figure out how I’d ended up saying that name.
The room smelled of cedar and woodsmoke, but underneath it, there was that heavy, woodsy scent I was beginning to
recognize. My skin prickled.
I brought my head up and nearly jumped out of my skin. A sharp yelp escaped my throat as I scrambled backward, my back hitting the headboard with a dull thud.
Fenris was sitting in a chair directly in front of the bed. He was leaning back, his legs spread wide, one hand resting casually on the armrest while his head leaned against his fist. He was just staring at me. He was wearing a thin, white linen-style shirt with the top buttons left open, giving me a clear view of the thick muscle and hair on his chest.
The orange light from the fireplace flickered across his face, but his eyes stayed cold. They looked like ice, sharp and illuminating in the shadows. The dream was still fresh, and I felt the heat rushing to my cheeks, a deep flush that felt like it was burning through my skin.
Fenris sat up, his movements slow and deliberate, the fabric of his shirt straining across his shoulders. He didn’t look like he’d just arrived. He looked like he’d been sitting there for a long time, watching me sleep.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was that same low, textured rumble that made the bond in my chest hum, and my pussy suddenly pulsing. 1
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