Page 8 of Purring for Her Lion (Harmony Glen #5)

LIANA

I know I’m dreaming even before the walls of my farmhouse bedroom melt away, turning soft and golden and unreal.

The sheets under me are wrong, too smooth, too decadent, whispering against my bare skin.

That’s the next clue. I never sleep naked.

Not with Roarke, the world’s grumpiest neighbor, right beside me.

But dream-me? Dream-me sleeps naked and doesn’t even question why the bedroom door is opening, or why my heart is pounding, or why I’m holding my breath, waiting for whoever is coming through.

And of course, it’s Roarke.

He fills the doorway, massive and golden, fur catching the impossible light. He looks nothing like the calm, controlled Roarke I know. He looks flustered, tail lashing, ears flat, energy rolling off him like a storm.

“This,” he growls, raking his hand through his mane, “is exactly what I was afraid of.”

Great. Even in my dreams, he’s grumpy.

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “What are you talking about?”

His golden eyes flash, pupils slitting. “This. You. Being with you.”

The words should sting, but they don’t. Not with the way his voice sounds. There’s a hunger in it, rough and raw, that contradicts every complaint.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not sure if I mean it or even know what I’m apologizing for.

He stalks closer, every step deliberate, predatory. The floor doesn’t even creak under his weight. Dream logic.

“I’m not,” he says, voice dropping, deep and thunderous.

I blink. “You’re not, what?”

“Sorry.” He’s at the bed now, looming over me, eyes glowing in the dimness. “I’m not sorry.”

Before I can ask another question, he scoops me up, sheet and all, like I weigh nothing. One big hand cradles my head, tilting my face up.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you chasing chickens in your pajamas,” he growls, and then his mouth is on mine.

His kiss erases thought. His lips are firm, but soft, and the rasp of his fur is electric. He tastes wild, like pine and spice and something dangerous. His tongue is rough, textured, and when it slides against mine, I make a sound I’ve never made before, half gasp, half moan.

He breaks the kiss, leaving me dazed. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He’s smiling down at me, slow and satisfied. Gods, he’s beautiful like this. Unfair.

“So that’s how to make you stop talking,” he murmurs. “Good to know.”

I try to protest that I can talk just fine, but he’s kissing me again, deeper, hungrier. The sheet is suddenly the enemy. I want it gone. I want to feel his fur on my skin. I want?—

“Not that I mind. You can talk all you want,” he says, lips brushing mine, reading my mind. He lowers me to the mattress, positioning me exactly how he wants. “I’m perfectly fine with it.” He nuzzles my jaw, breath hot. “In fact, keep talking, sweetheart.”

His mouth trails down my neck, and I tilt my head back, giving him more. “I—I don’t know what to say,” I stammer as his teeth graze my pulse.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs, lips at my throat. “Just make noise. I like your noises.”

He nips at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I gasp.

“Like that,” he approves, voice a deep purr. He pulls back, eyes locking with mine. “Whenever you want me to stop, you’ll let me know.”

I shake my head, clutching his shoulders. “There’s no reason for you to stop,” I say, breathless. “I’ve been lusting after you for days.”

He chuckles, dark and pleased. “Good to know.” His hands settle on my waist, big enough to span it easily. “Now spread your legs for me.”

The command shoots heat through my core. I’m independent, stubborn, no one’s to boss around, but his voice, his authority, undoes me.

I part my legs, sheet slipping away. Cool air kisses my skin, or maybe it’s the way his gaze devours me, hungry and intense.

“Beautiful,” he says, and it sounds like worship.

He moves down, hands guiding my thighs wider. I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but all I feel is anticipation.

“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m begging for.

He lowers his head and licks a slow stripe up my center.

My toes curl. My back arches. His tongue is nothing like I’ve ever felt before, rough and broad and devastating. He circles my clit with the tip, then flattens his tongue against it, dragging delicious friction over every nerve.

“Oh god,” I gasp, hands flying to his head, fingers tangling in his mane.

He growls against me, the vibration making me shudder. Then he’s feasting, mouth hot and greedy, tongue plunging into me, then back to my clit, relentless and perfect.

And then, gods, he slides a finger inside me, thick and callused, stretching me open. I moan, loud and unguarded, as he adds another finger, curling them to hit that spot that makes my vision spark.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my thigh. “Let me hear you.”

His fingers work inside me, his tongue on my clit, and I’m babbling, please and yes and don’t stop and his name, over and over.

“You need to come for me,” he commands, and my body obeys. “Come now, so you can take me well.”

He scrapes his teeth, just barely, against my clit, and I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, wild and overwhelming, making me cry out, my body clenching around his fingers, pleasure burning through every nerve.

Before I’ve even finished, he’s moving up my body, settling between my shaking thighs. I feel his cock, hot and hard, pressing at my entrance.

“Look at me,” he orders, and I do, meeting his golden eyes.

He pushes in, just the tip, and I gasp at the stretch. It’s been too long, and he’s huge, so big I wonder for a second if it will even work.

“Breathe,” he says, gentling his voice even as his body tenses. “Relax for me.”

I inhale, force myself to melt. He pushes in deeper, inch by inch, slow and patient until he’s fully seated inside me, filling me completely. He waits, letting me adjust, never looking away.

“Okay?” he asks, soft.

I nod, speechless. I’m so full, and every ridge and bump on his cock presses inside me, perfect and overwhelming.

He starts to move, slow and deep, and I cling to him, nails digging into his fur. Every thrust sends pleasure sparking through me.

“Again,” he growls, as I climb toward release. “Come for me again.”

And I do, my body obeying, pulsing around him as another orgasm crashes through me. He doesn’t stop. Instead, he hooks my leg over his arm, driving even deeper.

“Again,” he demands, pace building, thrusts harder and deeper.

It should be impossible, but my body doesn’t care. I’m climbing again, pleasure building unbearably.

This time, when I come, I scream his name, body convulsing. He growls, primal and wild.

“One more time,” he urges, rhythm faltering, close to the edge. “Come with me, Liana.”

I shake my head, not sure I can survive another. “I can’t—it’s too much?—”

“You can,” he insists, hand finding my clit, thumb circling with ruthless precision. “One more. With me.”

I’m writhing, lost, and then he’s got me again, tension snapping. “Now,” he commands, and I feel him swell, cock expanding as he slams into me, one last time.

We come together, my body clenching around him as he fills me, the sensation so intense it’s almost too much. I’m floating, shattering, dissolving in pleasure.

He covers me as I come down, weight warm and heavy, lips pressing my temple, gentle.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, voice thick. “My perfect mate.”

The word “mate” echoes in me, deep and right.

But before I can answer, the dream fades, edges blurring, Roarke’s weight turning to nothing. I try to hold on, but he’s gone, slipping away.

The last thing I feel is his hand on my cheek, so gentle it aches, and then?—

Darkness. Soft, deep, peaceful.

And somewhere in that darkness, the truth I don’t want to face: when I wake, I’ll have to look him in the eye, knowing what I dreamed, knowing exactly what I want.

Knowing that reality is never as perfect as dreams.