Chapter 2 | A Sinful Dream

Maya

His name came out small, trembling, almost a question. Like if I said it too loud he might vanish. But he didn’t. He was there. Still.  This couldn’t be real.

I blinked once. Twice. Three times. My lashes fluttered hard, like I could force the hallucination to shatter. But he didn’t disappear.

Tristan was still there, standing at the edge in those low-slung grey sweatpants and that loose black shirt clinging to every carved line of his chest. Wet hair slicked back. Jaw tight. Eyes so dark and dangerous, they looked like midnight pools, pulling me under.

My heart slammed against my ribs and a ticklish feeling ran down my spine. The room tilted again, alcohol still swam thick in my veins, but the ache between my legs was sharper than ever. Realer than anything.

“Tristan…” I whispered his name. It came out like a prayer and my voice cracked.

My heart thumped as he took one slow step closer. Then another.

My teeth sank into my lower lip so hard I tasted the faint metallic tang of blood. My breathings turned heavier and my heart slammed against my ribcage hard. He stopped just two steps away- close enough that I could smell him. The scent of clean rain, dark soap, spicy and something dangerously male and addictive.

His gaze raked over me, heavy and unreadable, while I stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes, even though my vision was blurred, drunk and dizzy but so painfully turned on.

“I-is this a dream?” The words came out slurred, whimpering, pathetic.

My hands moved before I could stop them. I cupped my breasts through the thin lace of my bra, squeezing softly while my thumbs brushed over my aching nipples. A broken moan slipped out of my throat.

 My thighs rubbed together frantically, slick skin sliding and the throbbing between them was turning unbearable. Itchy. Empty. Needy.

I let out a few soft, whimpering moans while my eyes fluttered as I looked back up at him. My gaze dragged down his body, devouring him so hungrily and shamelessly.  My eyes gazed over the hard planes of his chest, the shadowed ridges of his abs visible through the open shirt, then lower… to the thick, unmistakable outline pressing against the front of his sweatpants.

Heat flooded my cheeks. My core clenched hard as a lump formed in my throat.  “You’re so hot… even in my dreams,” I mumbled, lips curling into a small, innocent smile despite the tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.

He shifted- like he was about to turn away and Panic sliced through me. I couldn’t let him leave, not in my dreams though. “No-!”

I lunged forward faster than I thought my drunk body could move. My finger hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging sharply. He froze instantly, every muscle locking.

“Don’t go,” I whimpered. My voice cracked. Tears finally spilled over, hot and fast down my cheeks. “Please… don’t leave me. Not even in my dreams. It hurts- it hurts so bad…”

I tugged again, softer this time, pleading. 

I felt his gaze back on me and he stepped closer without resistance. Slowly, I leaned back against the couch cushions, but I refused to let go of that waistband. My finger stayed curled there like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. Or fantasy. Whatever this was.

“Am I… not beautiful?” My voice was small, trembling. I looked up at him through glassy green eyes, lashes wet with tears.

“I want to feel the pleasure too,” I whispered. “No one else can do it. Nothing works. Nothing… but you.”

I bit my lip again, hard and slowly, deliberately spreading my legs. Then I drew my knees up onto the couch. I kept my gaze on him as I spread my thighs, exposing everything to him. 

My glistening inner thighs slick with my arousal, the soaked black lace of my thong clinging transparently to my swollen, dripping pussy. A soft, needy whimper escaped me.

My finger tugged his waistband down just a fraction- enough to reveal more of that sharp V-line, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the fabric. I lifted my gaze back to his, innocent and desperate, and slowly licked my lips.

“Even if this is just a dream…” My voice shook. “I want you. I need to feel your hands on me. I need to know what pleasure feels like… with you.”

I tugged him forward, harder this time. He lost balance and fell. His body came down over mine in a controlled crash, knees between my spread legs, palms slamming into the couch on either side of my head to catch his weight.

His face hovered an inch from mine and I felt his hot breath fanned across my lips, my cheeks, my neck. My body trembled slightly. I could feel him—thick, hard, pulsing— pressed right against my soaked panties. The heat of his cock seared through the thin fabric, right up against my aching clit and a long, broken moan tore out of me.

“Tristan~”

My hips arched up instinctively, grinding against him in shameless little circles. My breathing came in ragged pants against his mouth.

He didn’t move. His fists clenched white-knuckled into the leather on either side of me and I watched veins standing out in his forearms, jaw so tight I thought it might crack.

Then, he growled my name. Low, rough, almost painful.

“Fuck, Maya…”