Wickedly Yours

Part 64

In the depths of Severus's sleep, the dream began with a familiar warmth, a sensation that he had longed for but denied himself for months. The weight of you beneath him, the feel of your soft skin against his own, it all came rushing back like a flood he couldn't resist.

In his dream, it was as if nothing had changed, as if the complexities of life and the turmoil between you had never existed. It was just you and him, tangled together, bodies pressed close, as though time had rewound itself.

He could feel your breath on his neck, the way your fingers gripped his shoulders as he held himself over you, his hips moving slowly, deliberately, savoring every moment. Your skin was soft, warm, and the way you responded to him—your body arching beneath him, your legs wrapped around his waist—brought back memories that were so vivid they felt like reality.

The dream was intoxicating, more real than he would ever admit. The rhythm of your bodies moving together was seamless, natural, as if no time had passed. He could feel every inch of you, the way your hands slid down his back, pulling him closer, urging him on. His own hands gripped the sheets beside you, his movements becoming more insistent, more desperate, as he lost himself in the sensation of you.

The weight of you beneath him, the sound of your soft moans in his ear, the heat of your body against his—it was overwhelming. His hips pressed harder against yours, his breath coming faster as he moved inside you, the connection between you undeniable, inescapable. Every thrust, every movement, felt like an answer to the ache he had been carrying for so long, the ache of wanting you, needing you, but knowing he couldn't have you.

He could feel the tension building inside him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, his body responding to the way you moved beneath him, the way you whispered his name in the dark. 

His heart raced, his hands clutching the sheets as he pressed deeper, faster, the sensation of you wrapping around him, consuming him. It was too much—too real, too vivid—and yet, he didn't want it to end.

But then, something shifted. The dream started to blur at the edges, the clarity slipping away as the sensation of you began to fade. And in that moment, as he thrust harder against the mattress beneath him, the weight of reality came crashing back. His eyes snapped open, the room dark and cold, and he realized with a jolt that he wasn't with you at all.

Severus lay there, his chest heaving, his body trembling as the remnants of the dream lingered, cruelly vivid. He was still on his stomach, his hips pressed firmly against the bed, his erection straining painfully against the thin fabric of his sleep pants. His muscles were tense, his skin damp with sweat, his body still caught in the haze of pleasure that had been building so intensely in the dream.

It wasn't real. You weren't under him. It was just him, alone in his dark, empty bed, his body aching with need, with desire that had nowhere to go.

Severus let out a soft, frustrated groan, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him as he rolled onto his back, his erection painfully evident, throbbing with the memory of how real it had all felt. He swallowed hard, his chest still rising and falling as he tried to shake off the lingering sensations, the way his body still craved release.

His mind was clouded, the need for you still pulsing through him even as reality settled in. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the memory of the dream away, but it clung to him, every detail still vivid—the feel of your skin, the sound of your breath, the way your body had moved with his.

For a moment, he hesitated, his body tense, his hand hovering just above his waistband. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you. No matter how much he wished to let it go. But now, after that dream, the need was unbearable.