Page 172 of The World Undone

It was silly, maybe, since she didn’t feel or smell any different in this world than she did in the waking one, but here, Max was just mine, and any lingering anxieties I had during the daylight hours quieted, at least partially.

I took a deep breath, hugging her to me, then exhaled slowly, like each breath out risked pushing her further away from me.

She shifted in my arms and I froze.

I was too afraid to break the moment, convinced suddenly that this wasn’t our usual dream-walk but just a general, run-of-the-mill dream—one that existed in my head and nowhere else.

This time when I exhaled, she squirmed, as if my breath tickled her, the movement too obvious now to be only in my imagination.

Hesitantly, reluctantly, I pulled my face away from her.

This was the exact room of our dream-walk. I’d carefully arranged all of the usual things on the walls. No regular, run-of-the-mill dream, then. I had agency here.

Max shifted slightly, then turned her face towards mine.

Her lips parted into a soft smile as she stretched, her arms shifting until they wrapped around my neck.

I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, terrified I’d break the spell.

Slowly, as if she thought the room might be brighter than she was ready for, she fluttered her eyelids open, her smile widening as her eyes found mine. “Wade.”

My name was raspy and warm on her tongue.

I stared at her, lost for words.

Her brows pinched and she laughed. The sound, soft and cracking with sleep, stole the breath from my lungs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

My fingers tightened around her, pulling her closer to me, like they too needed confirmation that I hadn’t.

Still, I couldn’t say anything.

Her hand slid to my cheek, where I knew there was more stubble than she was used to seeing on me, her thumb stroking in soft, slow circles that skimmed the corner of my lips.

Her touch was featherlight and I groaned at the sensation, like my body had forgotten how good it felt to be under her touch, how desperately perfect she was.

“New look?” she asked, brow arching as she studied me for a long, drawn moment. “I like it. Suits you.” She pressed her thumb into the furrow of my brows, gently rubbing it out. “Though a bit serious.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and a flare of panic flooded me—that I’d imagined it all, that she was asleep again, that the last few seconds had been nothing but the ruminations of a desperate man clawing onto the last vestiges of his sanity.

But then she opened them again, and when she did, the comfortable cotton pajama set she’d been wearing was replaced with my favorite black silk shorts and bra.

“Better?” She asked, eyes sparkling with a teasing glow. As if this were just a simple game, one of our usual dream-walks.

We’d often spend the first few minutes of these dreams crafting new scenes, new clothes, each trying to outlast the other in the budding tension that became impossible to resist whenever we were together here.

I opened my mouth, fighting to find words, but none came.

Unconcerned, she pressed her lips to mine and kissed me, her leg sliding between mine until we were tangled and close.

My heart beat ragged and hopeful against my chest, desperately trying to get to hers.

Her power flared against me, a hunger and need I hadn’t experienced in months pumping through my veins, hot and impatient.

She slid her tongue between my lips, and I was hard the moment it touched mine, deepening the kiss.

I pressed her to me, a satisfied groan building in my chest when she gasped, her hips rolling so that she could feel the already-rigid outline of my dick.

Heat flooded me as she dug her nails into my back, riding against me.

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