Chapter 6 - Cathy

The warmth from his body surrounds me. I wallow in it, burrowing in even deeper. The sense of the planes rippling under my fingertips makes me want to stretch out my fingers so every part is in contact with those ripped brawns. The fragrance of him, earthy and woodsy like burned cinnamon and liberally laced with testosterone pours over me.

I know I am dreaming, yet I can't stop my womb from contracting. Slick flows out from between my legs. I smell the sugary sweet smell of my own arousal. That turns me on even more. "Leader." I raise my look to his face.

A growl rumbles up his chest and twines around me. The depth in the tone snatches at my nerve endings.

My shoulders shudder. Warmth flushes my cheeks.

His brown eyes narrow on me. Silver and so many shades of turquoise burn in their depths. There is lust—so much lust—in his look, and something else, something feral and untamed. He is going to break me, I know that with every molecule in my body.

I shiver.

He clasps his big body balanced on his arms as he hovers over me. "What do you want?"

I want to tell him but find my throat is too dry. He has me pinned by that look like a hawk who has set eyes on his prey.

"Tell me," he leans in close enough for me to make out the silver fires that flare in his eyes. It's as if there's a furnace somewhere inside that has fanned to life. Warmth from his big body slams into me and I gasp.

I want to tell him I want him and yet something inside me stops me from speaking. It's not that I am afraid of him, on the contrary. This leader, he's the one for me, I know it.

Yet something inside me insists that I resist.

I dig my nails into his chest with enough force to break the surface. His shoulder ripples. Another growl pours out of him. The wound stretches my already tense nerve endings. My surface reinforces. A bead of sweat slides down my neck to the valley between my boobs.

His look darts down to follow it.

My nipples pucker and push out against the cloth. He leans down and licks up the moisture. The sense of his tongue on my surface sends goosebumps swirling over my surface.

His baritone ruffles over my surface. The hair on my neck rises. I open my mouth and take his finger all the way in.

A growl bursts from his mouth and spills over me. The sound of his sound sinks into my surface. My blood warms. My nipples reinforce to pinpoints of suffering. I am not aware I am thrusting out my chest. Not until he lowers his chest to brush against my boobs. The weight of him presses down on me; the warmth of him surrounds me. The sense of those rock-hard pecs outlined against my soft swelling fleshing makes me moan.

"Tell me you want me to connect you."

I bite down on the finger inside my mouth, with just enough force to break the surface. The taste of copper slides over my tongue. It's as if his essence is seeping into me and it shouldn’t be hot, it shouldn't. So why does my lower belly clench? Why does more moisture flow out from between my legs? Why does the fragrance of my arousal deepen in the area as if throwing a net of sensuality over us?

His nostrils flare and I am sure he can fragrance me, sense my desperation to get closer to him, for he cups his hand around my cheek. His look narrows. Those brown eyes flare, cobalt and turquoise the colors ebb and flow as if reflecting the emotions flowing inside of him.

"Tell me, Dominion, what do you want?"

You, I want you.

His breath scorches my surface. His teeth graze my clit.

A scream is torn from me.

I push against his hold. Press my toes into the mattress. My knees threaten to rise on their own. He shoves his shoulders between my legs and spreads them apart. Drags his big arms down my thighs to grip my calves and hold me immobile. I sense naked even though I am still wearing clothes.

I sense delicate, compared to the strength of the brawns that coil over me.

Every cell in my body yearns for his connection. His sense. For him.

"Cathy."

The faint sound of hammering breaks through the haze of emotions that swirl around me.

I am still surrounded by this connection, his warmth, the emotions pour over me keeping me captive. I want to move and find that I can't. Not yet. My limbs sense too heavy. My legs are weighed down.

My heart thumps so fast, and I am sure it's going to break out of my rib cage.

The blood pounds at my temples.

"I heard someone scream, are you okay?"

Something in the sound—a connection of desperation?—penetrates the shitual haze I am still caught up in.

"If you don't let me in, I am breaking down this door now." A loud banging crashes through my head and shoves all other thought away.

My eyes snap open. I sweep my look over the dresser in the far corner, my clothes strewn on the ground. To the door. I am still in my couchroom, in my dad the Czar's stronghold, in Moscow.

"Lucia?"

I spring up and out of the couch. My bare legs hit the ground with a thud. I shudder. It's as if his connection from the dream has sensitized me.

The cold of the ground sweeps up through my surface.

I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, then take a step forward. My thighs sense sore, my pussy senses empty. So empty. I smell the sugary spoor of my own slickness and know whoever was in my dream, that leader had made me climax in real life.

Was it a dream?

Reaching the door, I shove it open.

Chloe, my sister, tumbles in. Her hair flows behind her. She grabs my arms and shoves me inside.

Then bangs the door shut behind her.

Dragging me into the room, she collapses on the couch, pulling me down with her.

"They are here, Cathy," her chest heaves.

"Who?" The cloth of my tunic drags at my nipples. My boobs ache. Damn the leader, he made me come once, and it isn't enough. My body wants him again. Wants him to hold me down and thrust his cock into me and shit me and —

“The Vikings. They have taken over Moscow. Dad has negotiated a truce with them." Sweat beads her upper lip.

I curl my fingers into fists and bury my nails into my palm. The suffering slices through my mind, forcing the last remnants of that very explicit dream from my head... but not the sight of those brown eyes which seem to be burned into my brain. "He's the Czar, that's his job isn't it? To protect his people?" I frown.

"You don't understand." She pants. Her shoulders shake. "He is handing us and a few select other dominions over in return for the Vikings sparing the lives of the citizens.”