Chapter 2: A Dream I Can't Shake Off

Iris's POV

"I'm going to f*ck you so hard you forget your own name and when you come, you're going to scream mine."

His hands shoved my skirt up my thighs, rough and impatient, like he'd been holding back for years. His fingers found me soaking wet, and he groaned when he realized how much I wanted him.

He'd pinned my wrists above my head, his body pressing mine into the mattress. I could feel the pressure of his mouth on mine, the way his tongue had demanded entrance, the way his teeth caught my lower lip, just hard enough to make me gasp and I arched into him and his name was rising, rising...

I woke up gasping.

My eyes flew open and I stared at the ceiling, chest pounding, my thighs clamped together. I felt the ache, a deep, throbbing pulse between my legs.

I lay there for a long moment, my fingers curled into the sheets, my body slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the summer heat.

I was twenty years old, but I felt like a teenager again, waking up from a dream so vivid it is left me shaking.

I swallowed, my throat was dry.

I sat up slowly, the sheets pooling at my waist, and glanced down at my arms, half-expecting to see bruises,fingerprints, some proof that it hasn't just been my own pathetic brain torturing me. But there was nothing, just my own flushed skin, my nipples hard under the thin fabric of my tank top, my thighs still pressed together like I could somehow hold the feeling inside if I just squeezed hard enough.

I exhaled and ran a hand through my curly hair, which was an absolute disaster from tossing and turning.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I was Iris Grimwald. I was smart, in control. I didn't dream about my best friend's father like some horny, desperate teenager. I didn't wake up wet and aching because of a man who was eighteen years older than me, who allowed me to stay in his home because I needed a place away from my stepmom bullshit.

His voice came up again, low and dirty in my memory and before I could stop myself my hand had dropped between my legs and I was soaking wet, my panties damp.

I yanked it back like I'd touched a hot stove.

"Goddess," I whispered to the empty room.

I pressed my palms hard into my eyes. This wasn't new. I'd been having these dreams since I was sixteen, since the first time I stayed in this house. Back then, the dreams had been I innocent, but as I'd gotten older, they'd changed, they'd gotten darker, filthier, and now they felt real.

I shoved out of bed, my legs wobbled and gripped the edge of the mattress. I checked the clock.

7:15 AM.

Which meant Rafael was already awake. He was always up before the sun, always already dressed and put together by the time any reasonable person's alarm went off, and right now he was probably in the kitchen, his grey eyes sharp, jaw shadowed with short beard because it didn't matter how often he shaved, his hands wrapped around a mug.

I needed a cold shower, I needed to wash this off, I needed to stop thinking about him.

I walked to the bathroom and turned the shower to cold.

It didn't help. The water was freezing, but my skin burned where I imagined his hands had been. I scrubbed myself roughly, like I could wash the desire off, but it didn't work.

By the time I stepped out, my teeth were chattering, and my nipples were hard from the cold, but my mind was still filled with him.

I toweled off roughly, my skin pink from the cold, my hair damp and heavy down my back. I avoided the mirror as I dressed, pulled on a grey sweater and a pair of dark jeans. I didn't bother with a bra, the fabric was thick enough to hide the way my nipples still peaked against it, but it still made me feel exposed.

Chloe was already texting me from the bottom of the stairs.

Be outside by 10, don't make me late again.

Right we had class. Today was a real day with real activities and I needed to pull my head out of whatever fever dream I had and function.

I grabbed my bag from the chair and headed to the door.

The kitchen was at the end of the hall. I could smell the coffee from here. I could hear him moving around, the clink of a mug against the counter.

My pulse kicked up.

He's just a man.

The thought was a lie and I knew it.

I forced myself to walk, kept my eyes down, my face blank and my breathing steady. He was at the counter, his back to me, already dressed for work. I crossed to the kettle without looking directly at him.

"Good morning," My voice came out surprisingly normal.

He turned. His grey eyes met mine, and for a second, I was back in the dream. His hands on my wrists, pining me down, his mouth on mine, hot and demanding, his body covering mine.

I looked away, my eyes fixed on the mug.

"You look tired," he said, his voice low. "Bad night?"

My stomach twisted.

Does he know? Can he see it on my face? The thought was ridiculous, but I had it anyways.

"Just a lot on my mind," I lied.

He studied me. His gaze moved across my face, and I gripped my mug and stared at the wall.

"Exam stress?" He asked, his voice softer

"Something like that," I said.

He looked at for a moment, then he stepped back and reached for his jacket from the chair and said. "I'll be home late tonight."

I nodded, I didn't trust my voice to speak.

I waited until I heard the front door close, then I let out a breath so long it made my ribs ached. I set my mug down, and pressed both palms flat against the cold counter and just stood there.

My phone buzzed, it was a text from Chloe.

I can't believe my dad came out before you. Where are you?!

I picked up my bag keys, walked to the front door and I thought about the dream, the pool, the way he'd pressed his thumb against my pulse point last night.

I stepped outside into the warm morning air, and Chloe was already pulling up at the curb, waving at me through the window.

I fixed my face into something normal and walked to the car.

Today was going to be a rough day.