Page 2 of Breeding Justice

I tried to tell him to stop, I tried to move, but my voice died in my throat and my body wasn't listening to me.

A nightmare. I was caught in the throes of a nightmare. I knew it, my conscious self aware of the disconnection from reality. But that change of knowledge didn't make it any easier to bear. Jez's voice was an echo of the past, the phantom pain that had clawed into my soul so long ago.

I wanted to turn around to tell him to stop, but when I finally managed to look behind my shoulder, it wasn't him there.

It was Bash, who looked...kind. Tired. Alive. Aroused. "Do you want me to stop?" Bash asked, his voice low.

Jez had never once asked me if I wanted him to stop.

I shook my head, unable to form words in my dry throat. But Bash seemed to understand. He loosened his hold, his gaze tender. Then the scene shifted and we were no longer in that suffocating room, but in an open field, under a clear sky with Bash still by my side.

"I can keep going," he said, his voice breathy against the shell of my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine. "You like how it feels, right?"

I nodded, my mouth so dry I was almost certain I was never going to be able to speak again. Bash's hand slowly moved below my waist, toward my growing arousal. His touch was expert; he knew exactly how to make me squirm with pleasure. A sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it, and Bash laughed.

"Just relax, Hassan," he whispered into my ear. He was warm against my back, his body pressuring mine, demanding a response. "Let me take care of you."

How did I tell him I didn't want to like this? How did I pry my gaze away from him at that moment, when he looked so much like his brother?

In this twilight realm of dreams, logic fled and reason held no sway. I could hear Jez laughing in the background - a toxic whisper that was an undercurrent to Bash's soothing words. I reached down, covering Bash's hand with my own, intending to pull it away from me.

"Do you want me to go faster? Harder? Tell me what you want."

I couldn't tell him what I wanted. Even though this was a dream, and I was sure it was a dream, I couldn't tell him anything.

I could not form the words. I did not have the strength to shatter this temporary peace, to break this moment of illusionary respite. Bash was warm, comforting, but nothing about this felt right.

"You're so hard," he said. "I love how your cock feels in my hand."

His touch got more insistent and my pleasure grew, despite my thoughts swirling, despite the changing scenery around us.

Suddenly, we were on a rooftop, gazing out over the city lights. I could feel the wind ruffling my hair and the rough texture of the concrete beneath me. But Bash was still there, his hand still on me, his touch like silver fire against my skin.

"Tell me what you want," he repeated. "Anything."

But all I could do was moan and writhe under his touch, the pleasure consuming me, tearing through my resistance. His hand shifted, moving in a rhythm that promised release.

"Let go," he whispered into my ear. "It's alright."

And so I did. Waves of pleasure swept over me as I found release in his grasp, my body arching and shaking from the intensity of it. Bash held me tightly throughout the storm, his arms strong and secure around me.

When I finally settled, panting heavily and drenched in sweat, Bash kissed my shoulder lightly and pulled away from me. A sense of loss washed over me when he did. Everything had turned dreamy, pastel, almost gentle.

Then Bash bit my shoulder, this time hard, and when he looked at me, he had a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes. "Jez was right about you. You're delicious."

My heart dropped to my stomach.

I awoke with a gasp, my body covered in an icy sheen of sweat, and shivering from the aftereffects of the dream. The darkened room tilted dangerously around me for several long moments before it snapped back into harsh focus. My heart pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal. I blinked away tears, the remnants of my nightmare fading like fog in the early morning light.

Zane stirred next to me, concern written all over his face. "Hey," he said. "What happened?"

"Nightmare," I rasped out, my voice choked with my strained composure. My knotted muscles refused to relax, still on edge in the afterglow of the dream. The room felt too chilly, my sweat-soaked shirt sticking to the skin of my back.

"Wait," he protested, lifting himself to an elbow as I reached for my boots. "Hassan, talk to me."

"I'm okay," I lied, my voice barely more than a whisper. He reached out for me, but I shrugged him off. Not trusting myself to look into his eyes. Zane...he was recovering from a gunshot wound. It wasn't fair that he should be the one to look after me.

"You're shaking," he said, his voice heavy with sleep and concern. I didn’t respond. "Don't shut me out. Talk."

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