Page 48 of Savage Assassin

I’m aching, throbbing, so wet that I canfeelit. I gasp as he flicks the button of my jeans open, drawing down the zipper, wiggling them lower down my hips as his lips caress the edge of my collarbone, sending shivers over my skin again and again.

I arch my hips up, wanting more. I want him to touch me in all the places I’ve never been touched before, to give me everything I need. I want to learn how it feels, and I want to learn him too, if he’d just let me–

He’s so close. His fingers brush over my smooth flesh, so close to where I need his touch the most, and I let out a low, soft moan, pleading without words for more.

I can feel how hard he is. How much he wants it, too. His hips grind against my ass, a groan vibrating against my skin, and I don’t know why he won’t give in, why he won’t just–

And then there’s nothing, every sensation is gone, and I hear a helpless moan come from my own lips as I twist around to see–

I jerk awake in the darkness, shivering again, my body throbbing with that same aching need that I’d felt in the dream. I can feel how wet I am, my thighs sticky with it, and my fist closes in the blanket as I twist around to see that Levin is gone, the space next to me empty.

My heart stutters in my chest for a different reason as I sit up, holding the blanket against me as I look around for him. The fire is just embers now in the makeshift pit, and it’s still fully dark, the moon half-hidden behind clouds now. I feel a jolt of fear as I look, my mouth going dry at the sudden reality of being all alone–and then I see his shadow further down the beach, standing with his back to me.

I know I should leave him alone. He got up for a reason, and I know deep down that he did it with the assumption that I’d be asleep and wouldn’t know. But curiosity overtakes me, once again.

I want to know what’s going on in his head. He’s a confusing, mysterious man, and instead of putting me off, it just makes me want him that much more. It feels like an unbearable curiosity, a need to get him to open up, to show me what’s behind all of the walls that he’s so constantly putting up.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the blanket back, getting up and walking barefoot through the sand toward where he’s standing. I try to be as quiet as I can, not wanting him to hear me before I can see what he’s doing. Whatever it is, he’s so engrossed that he doesn’t move, not until I’m almost right behind him and I whisper his name.

“Levin?”

Levin

Iwake from a dream that I know I had no business having. But so close to her, it was impossible not to.

In the dream, she’d been just as willing as she was waking, but in the dream there was no reason for me to stop. When she turned towards me, chin tilted up as if daring me not to kiss her, there was nothing stopping me from grabbing that delicate chin in my fingers, holding her face very still as my lips came down on hers, tasting their sweetness again. I drew that full, soft lower lip between mine, my tongue running over the edge of it, and in my dream, I tasted the champagne on her mouth again.

There was no reason not to keep going. It wasn’t real. I could slide my hand upwards and cup her soft breast in my palm again without guilt, feeling her nipple stiffen under my fingertips, give in to the delicious throb in my cock that urged me forward as I broke the kiss to run my lips down her throat. She was so soft and warm, and I pulled her in closer, grinding against her lower belly as I pushed her shirt up, baring that perfect, tanned flesh under the moonlight.

Her moan was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. In the dream, her clothes were gone in an instant and mine too, leaving her bare and arching underneath me, her thighs parted so that it was effortless to slip between them, my cock brushing against her wet, hot entrance.

I wanted her so fucking badly. I wanted to taste her, feel her, drive her wild with lust until I heard every sweet sound that she could make. I dipped my fingers between her thighs as I dragged my tongue along the hollow of her throat, feeling her clench and tighten around them, wetter than anything I’d ever felt. So wet, so needy, and all for me.

Please, she gasped in the dream.Please, I need you. I want you. Please.

I’m no stranger to women begging for more. I’ve always fancied myself a good lover, always tried hard to please the women I’ve been with. But this felt different. This felt like it mattered.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I shouldn’t. I felt her hips arch upwards, rubbing against my fingers, saw her perfect lips part on another plea for my throbbing cock, and I knew how easy it would be to give her exactly what she wanted. One sharp twist of my hips, and I’d be buried inside of her, in fucking heaven.

It was just a dream, after all. There was no harm in it. Just a dream–

But my guilty fucking conscience woke me up.

I wake up harder than I can remember having been in years, my cock like an iron rod against my thigh, trapped in a tangle of boxers and jeans that’s hellishly uncomfortable. My entire body feels as if it’s too tight, as if I could come out of my skin at a touch. I’m fairly sure I was a few moments away from coming in my sleep—something that Idefinitelyhaven’t done in years.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I need to get some space.

Elena is, blessedly, asleep. I can feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing next to me, her hair fallen a little over her face, her hands bunched up in the blanket in front of her. Asleep, she looks sweet and peaceful, and I don’t want to wake her. Iespeciallydon’t want to wake her in the state I’m in, because my self-control is already hanging by the barest of threads.

So I get up, as slowly and carefully as I can, gently tucking the edge of the blanket in around her to hopefully keep her from getting chilled until I come back.If I wake her up when I come back,I tell myself,I’ll just say I went to relieve myself.

It’s not entirely a lie. Just–a different kind of relief than she’d likely interpret it as.

I make my way a decent distance down the beach, not so far that I can’t still see her shape by the fire or hear her if she shouted for me, but far enough for some privacy. My cock is aching with the need for relief, straining against my fly until I feel certain that it’s possible it might break through.

Hurriedly, I thumb open the button of my jeans, yanking down my zipper. There’s no taking my time with this–it’s a need right now, rather than a pleasurable way to pass a half hour. My cock is barely out before I wrap my fist around it, biting back a groan as I start to stroke, my hand sliding urgently up and down the taut length.

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