Page 25 of Scrooged for the Holidays
He chuckles. “A Nephilim. Haven’t heard of us, I’m guessing? It’s okay; most people haven’t.”
I run a hand over my face. “Am I dreaming?”
“I don’t know, are you?”
I stare into his twinkling brown eyes, ones that even now I want to swim in. They’re magnetic, pulling me in and making me feel that insatiable hunger again. I blink before they can completely drag me under and look down at my body.
I run my hands over my pajamas. The material is soft, and I can feel the dips and valleys of my curves beneath my fingers. I feel real.
When I look back up at Kai, he’s watching me carefully. My gaze zeros in on the lips that nearly kissed mine earlier. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m closing the distance between us to see if he’s real.
Kai doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop me. The moment our lips touch, I know it’s a dream. He rejected mebefore. I bet if this was real, he’d push me away. He also wouldn’t be saying he’s Nephilim—whatever the hell that is.
Not to mention, he wouldn’t be here. He’d be with Remi and Sam asleep after the pleasure they wrung from his body. He wouldn’t be here, in my room of all places, unless he came to confront me about watching. But then, he would have knocked. Right?
A small whimper akin to the one I heard from him earlier escapes from his throat, rocketing the hunger in my gut from a snowball to an avalanche. It wipes all further thoughts from my mind, and I fist the lapels of his coat, pulling him into me.
I tease the seam of his lips with my tongue, wondering if Dream Kai tastes as good as Real Kai looks. But before I can, he pulls back slightly. I expect him to step away, but he does the last thing I expect: He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
“No time for that, Princess,” he mutters, the sound of the stupid nickname not sounding so stupid right now. “I told you; we have much to see.”
I raise my brow then shake my head. “But this is my dream—don’t I get to decide what we do?” I bite my lower lip seductively. His gaze watches the movement before he meets my eyes again with a playful smile.
“No. I’m the one in control for tonight.”
The way he says it has such finality it makes my toes curl. Gone is the playful guy I met at the bar, the pliant man I saw in that office doing what was asked of him. In his place is someone who commands attention.
I debate my options. Normally, I like to remain in control, but this is a dream, right? Maybe my mind made him up so I can let go or my subconscious just knows I need a hot sex dream since apparently the only action I can get is either watching an intimate moment between lovers or dreaming it up.
I drop the lapels of his jacket and step backward toward the bed, giving him my best bedroom eyes along with a crook of my finger, silently telling him to “come hither.” With the way hisbreath shortens, I expect him to follow. My fingers skim the soft white comforter, and I bend my knees to sit down.
My heart stops beating, and my stomach drops in a violent motion, the same sensation you get when you’re on one of those giant drop theme park rides. I scream as I fall, only stopping when my butt hits something wet and cold. My eyes are screwed shut, and when I open them, I’m no longer on a white bed but on a mound of fluffy white snow. Winter air that smells like wet concrete, fire, and pine whips across my cheeks, and I exhale with shaky breath.
“What the hell?”
A hand extends into my vision, and I stare at it, knowing it’s Kai’s. Which means he’s still here with me in my dream or coma or whatever the hell this is.
Is it sad I already know what his hands look like? He should be a hand model instead of a bartender. They’re perfectly sized for his tall height and lithe yet muscular build. They have the kind of veins I want to trace with my tongue and watch as they grip my hips and pound into me.
“Greer, take my hand.”
My gaze travels back to his handsome face. The sun is setting behind him, the sky a painting of gray, bright orange, and hot pink. The space around him glows, as if his body has been outlined by a baby-blue halo. I don’t know what kind of tricks my brain is playing on me, but when I blink, it’s gone.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Take my hand, and look around,” he responds.
I don’t know why, but I do what he asks. He pulls me from the snowbank to stand on my feet—I still have the slippers from the inn on. He observes me as I release his hand and run it over my ass. I’m not injured, and while the fabric of my clothes and the slippers on my feet feel slightly damp from the snow, I’m not cold at all. I’d say it’s magic, but it’s obviously just my dream. I’ve always had vivid ones, ever since I was young.
“Do yourecognize where we are?” he asks.
I turn to where he’s looking now and find a house with white siding and a blue door adorned with a simple pine wreath. I squint, familiarity washing over me. When I step closer and see the chipping paint on the door, it clicks. This is where I grew up—my parents’ house, outside of Denver, where they still live.
What’s odd is that I replaced that chipping door many years ago with one of my first paychecks. My parents had protested, saying their door was fine, that it had character, but I wanted their house to look as good as Avery’s parents’ house next door, as all their neighbors. I know we parted on bad terms, but do they really hate me so much that they put the old one back on? And how would they even get it?
I step toward the door to investigate further, snow crunching under my feet. Before I can get far, the sound of a dog barking and kids laughing sends another zip of recognition up my spine. My mouth drops open as a golden retriever flashes by.
“Cooper?” I gape, not quite believing I’m dreaming up my childhood dog right now. All the talk of the past with Avery earlier must be fucking with my head.
