Page 23 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

“Kyle, wake up,” I say. “You’re having a nightmare.”

He frowns and tosses, but he doesn’t wake up.

I lean down even closer and give him a shake. “Kyle!”

“No!” he screams. He sits up, then grabs my shoulders and flips us. I let out a little shriek of my own as my back hits the floor and Kyle falls on top of me.

“I can’t,” he moans. He’s still struggling with the dream. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can.

“Please, wake up,” I whisper against his cheek. “Kyle, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I feel a shudder run through him, and he tenses up on top of me. He groans softly, putting his hands on the floor to lift himself off me.

“Leslie?” he mutters.

“Yes, it’s me. You were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. How did we get on the floor?”

“I was trying to wake you. You sat up a bit and fell off the couch, and I got stuck under you.”

“Oh,” he says again, sounding confused.

I’m suddenly very aware of his half-naked body on top of me. And the throbbing inside me that came back to life just a few hours ago when he kissed me.

The heat starts to grow, igniting my core and starting a hot, slow throbbing between my legs. My nipples harden against the soft fabric of my nightshirt, and my breathing speeds up a little.

Kyle’s lips are right above mine. He’s gone very still, and I’m sure he can sense my arousal. It takes every ounce of strength in me to stay still, when all I want to do is wrap my legs and arms around him and never let go.

My hips shift a little, I can’t help it. That’s when I feel the hardness of him pressed up against me. I almost moan with need.

I want this. I want it so bad!

The deep sadness inside me has not abated, though. My chest aches with the pain of his rejection, and I struggle against my base urges, determined not to get hurt again.

Kyle leans down, close enough that our lips are practically touching. It would take almost nothing to join us together.

The tension between us increases, and I can feel his need.

Does he really need me, or is he just horny? Maybe he wants to forget his nightmare.

A different kind of pain stabs me in the chest, then. I do feel bad for him, that he’s living with trauma so awful that it stays locked in his subconscious. No matter what else is between us, no one should have to suffer like that, and I want to help him in any way I can.

But I can’t let it destroy me. There are many ways to help him.

“Kyle?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“I feel pretty okay, yeah.”

He moves against me, just a little, and I can tell he’s testing me. If I respond in any way, he’s going to kiss me, and then I’ll never be able to hold myself back.

The vivid image of us tearing off our clothes to roll across the floor in wild passion almost consumes me, but my pain holds me back. I’m also tempered by the knowledge that he is masking his pain, not facing it, and this will only get worse if he doesn’t do something about it.

“Kyle, what were you dreaming about?”

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