Page 28

28

Piper

The dream comes for me again tonight, but I'm not fighting it anymore.

As consciousness slips away, I feel myself sinking into that familiar warmth, that intoxicating pull. I know who waits for me now. I've stopped pretending otherwise.

Jake.

The setting has changed again. No longer the meadow or the ranch grounds, but a bedroom—his bedroom, I realize. Moonlight spills through half-drawn curtains, casting everything in silver and shadow. The sheets beneath me are cool and soft, smelling faintly of him.

He's already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with those piercing blue eyes. His face is fully visible now, no longer hiding behind the blur of anonymity. He's beautiful in the moonlight—strong jaw shadowed with stubble, lips curved in a gentle smile so different from his usual cocky grin.

"You're not running this time," he says, voice tinged with surprise.

I shake my head, reaching for him. "No more running."

Something shifts in his expression—relief, tenderness, hunger. He moves toward me slowly, like he's afraid I might change my mind. When his hand cups my cheek, I lean into his touch, letting my eyes close.

"What changed?" he asks.

I open my eyes, finding his gaze. "I'm tired of fighting what I feel."

The words hang between us, more intimate than any touch we've shared in these dreams. He studies me for a long moment, thumb brushing across my lower lip.

"And what do you feel, Piper?" His voice is barely a whisper.

Instead of answering, I rise up to meet him, pressing my lips to his. This kiss is different from the others—not desperate or demanding, but slow, deliberate, full of meaning I'm not ready to voice but can no longer deny.

He responds in kind, one hand threading through my hair, the other at the small of my back, drawing me closer. I feel the restraint in his touch, the careful control. He's letting me set the pace, giving me the space to choose him fully.

I deepen the kiss, my tongue meeting his, tasting him, savoring him. My hands move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one until I can push the fabric from his shoulders. He helps me, shrugging it off, then reaches for the hem of my nightgown.

"May I?" he asks, and the simple courtesy makes my heart clench.

I nod, lifting my arms as he pulls the silk over my head, leaving me bare before him. His eyes darken as they roam over me, but there's more than lust in his gaze—there's wonder, appreciation, something that looks dangerously like adoration.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, hands hovering just above my skin, as if waiting for permission to touch.

I take his wrists, guiding his hands to my breasts. "Touch me, Jake."

He does, palms warm against my skin, thumbs circling my nipples with exquisite gentleness. I arch into his touch, sighing his name. He lowers his head, replacing one hand with his mouth, sucking softly, then with more pressure when I gasp my approval.

I lie back, pulling him with me until he's braced above me, his weight supported on his forearms. We're chest to chest, heart to heart, and I can feel him hard against my thigh, still restrained by his jeans.

"These need to go," I say, tugging at his waistband.

He smiles against my neck. "So demanding."

"You like it," I counter, feeling bolder than I ever have in these dreams.

"I do," he admits, standing to remove his jeans and boxers. "I like everything about you, Piper. Even the parts you think no one could love."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. This isn't just about sex anymore. This was never just about sex.

When he returns to me, we're both naked, skin to skin with nothing between us. He settles beside me rather than on top of me, turning me to face him. His hand traces the curve of my waist, my hip, down to my thigh, which he lifts to hook over his hip.

"I want to see you," he explains, his fingers finding me wet and ready. "All of you."

I clutch at his shoulder as he strokes me, his touch knowing exactly how to build me up slowly. One finger slides inside me, then two, curling to find that spot that makes me cry out.

"Jake," I breathe, rocking against his hand. "Please."

"Please what?" he asks, his eyes never leaving mine. "Tell me what you need."

"You," I say simply. "Just you."

Something raw and vulnerable flashes across his face. He withdraws his fingers, positioning himself at my entrance, then pushes forward slowly, filling me inch by inch while maintaining our intimate position, face to face.

We both gasp when he's fully seated within me. It's deeper this way, more intense. I can see every flicker of emotion in his eyes, every clench of his jaw as he fights for control.

"Move with me," he urges, one hand gripping my thigh, guiding me into a rhythm that's unhurried but profound.

We rock together, trading kisses that grow more desperate as the pleasure builds. It's not the frantic coupling of our previous dreams, but something more meaningful—a conversation between our bodies, an exchange of something I'm afraid to name.

"I never thought—" he starts, then breaks off with a groan as I shift my angle, taking him deeper. "Never thought it could be like this."

I know what he means. This feels real in a way nothing else has—not just the physical sensations, but the emotional connection humming between us like a live wire.

His movements become more purposeful, his hand sliding between us to circle my clit. "Let go for me," he murmurs. "I've got you."

And I believe him. For the first time, I truly believe him.

My release builds slowly, then all at once, crashing over me in waves that have me crying out his name. He follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, his arms holding me like he'll never let go.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. I feel boneless, sated in a way that goes beyond physical satisfaction.

"I'm falling in love with you," he says quietly, the words vibrating against my skin.

I freeze, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can feel it.

"You don't have to say it back," he continues. "But I needed you to know."

I pull back enough to see his face, searching for any sign of insincerity, any hint of the game I've been so afraid this is. But all I find is openness, vulnerability, and something that looks terrifyingly like hope.

"Jake, I—"

I wake with tears on my cheeks, my body tingling with phantom pleasure, my heart aching with emotions I've spent years running from.

This time, I don't curse or try to shake off the dream. I lie still, letting the tears fall, acknowledging the truth I can no longer escape.

These dreams aren't just my subconscious playing tricks on me. They're not just about physical attraction or forbidden desire.

They're showing me what I'm most afraid of: that beneath all my cynicism and independence, I want to be loved. That despite every wall I've built, every promise I've made to protect myself, I'm falling for Jake Ice.

And I have absolutely no idea what to do about it.