𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒

XXII

Out of the corners of half-lidded eyes, she could see them.

Hands. Hers. Twisting at the sheets at her sides, the silky material rendered a rag by her fists. Clutching tightly, arms tensing, then relaxing, then tensing once more as she felt her back arch of its own accord, as if she were straining to leave her own body-

Her lower lip practically raw from her gnawing at it with anticipation as the sensation rattled her, washing over her in an increasingly burning wave. Beginning somewhere around the apex of her thighs and spreading throughout, sparks catching onto one another until she was inflamed. Fully and well, skin raw and reborn.

Needing.

Wanting.

Fulfillment.

Release.

Then-

Hands. His. Cool. Pale. Long fingers. Soft palms gliding smoothly along her sides, rounded nails brushing against her skin, leaving ripples of gooseflesh in their wake. Caressing her waist, her hips. Fingers dipping below cotton. A moan ripping itself from her throat as she lifted her hips to let him tug the material down her legs.

Then his hands again. Now spreading her thighs. Slowly. Reverently. Thumbs pressing into the tender flesh almost urgently. As if he could not wait any longer, either.

The game had gone on long enough.

Her breathing labored. Thick. Coming from deep within her chest, then squeezed mercilessly into a vise and escaping from between parted lips as the softest, most delicate of gasps.

"Please..."

His breathing rough. Low. His lips on the inside of her knee. Then the other. Moving upwards at an impossibly slow clip. Disregarding her half-burbled, half-wailed pleas to hurry up, please...

His eyes glinting, dark. Voice a husky, teasing drawl, vibrating against her flesh:

"Let me show you how it's done, Roséanne..."

Rosé's eyes shot open, heart skittering wildly in her chest, as her entire body shuddered itself awake. Entirely. Blessedly.

She curled up into a ball in the large bed reflexively, her spine practically screaming from the sudden shift in position. Eyes wide, blinking furiously, darting around the room urgently, as if she had given something away-a terrible secret-and had to go on the defensive-prepare for escape-for battle-to fly or to fight-?

His side of the bed was empty.

As was the room.

Her breathing slowly evened out as she rolled onto her back, her hands dropping to cover her eyes as a long, protracted groan ripped through her throat.

Of all the dreams to have-

-the one night here I manage to dream at all-

She turned her head and peeked through her fingers. Her dress from the previous night still in a puddle on the carpet.

His jacket and tie and shoes gone.

Had they even been there to begin with?

Did I dream that as well?

After over a week of dull, dreamless slumber, suddenly-

That.

The confirmation, so to speak, of that ineffable sensation that had begun to flutter through her the more exposure to him she managed to gain. The more time spent with him-