Page 28

O akley lay quietly in my arms, breathing slow and steady.

My wife. Those two words thundered through my bloodstream like a drug, an obsession, a fixation that coiled tighter and tighter in my chest until I could barely breathe. The weight of her whispered fantasy—that single conversation when she'd blushed and stammered about wanting me to take her while she slept—hung between us like a vow deeper than marriage. It was the only permission I needed. The only permission I'd ever need for anything I wanted from her.

Moonlight sliced through the curtains, bathing Oakley's sleeping form in ethereal silver, highlighting every detail I'd committed to memory—the delicate slope of her nose, the vulnerable flutter of her lashes against her cheeks, the softly parted lips begging for my mouth.

Careful not to wake her, my fingers slipped beneath the edge of the mask, easing it quietly from my face. With her eyes closed, there was no need for barriers between us.

My gaze tracked down to the gold band glinting provocatively on her finger, the physical symbol of my devotion.

Mine. Fucking mine alone.

My arm slid beneath the warm curve of her neck, pulling her back until every soft inch of her pressed against the hard planes of my chest, the contrast between us intoxicating.

The silken strands of her hair brushed against my jaw, releasing that lavender scent that hit me, flooding my senses until I could taste it at the back of my throat.

Eyes drifting shut, I inhaled deeply, drawing that sweetness into my lungs, staking my possession as thoroughly as I'd branded her body the day before. The memory flooded back with vivid clarity—how she'd writhed beneath me, back arching off the mattress, thighs trembling violently around my waist, her honeyed warmth coating my length with each desperate thrust. The way she'd pleaded in that broken voice, eyes glazed with pleasure beyond coherent thought, her throat raw from screaming my name over and over like a desperate prayer while her nails carved possession into my back.

Oakley stirred, the deliberate shift of her hips pressing back against my instantly hardening cock.

The friction of her lush curves grinding against my hardness ignited electricity along my spine, stealing the air from my lungs.

My entire body went rigid, blood rushing south with enough force to make me dizzy.

Slowly, I let my fingertips glide through her hair, a deceptively innocent touch meant to keep her dreaming—even as every muscle in my body screamed for her to wake and meet the hunger that clawed at my insides, demanding satisfaction.

Another soft murmur escaped her, a breathy sigh that might have been my name in the darkness.

I froze, heartbeat pounding violently against my chest with enough force to bruise.

Had those heavy-lidded eyes opened? No, not yet—but anticipation spiked hot through my veins at the thought of those drowsy eyes meeting mine, recognizing the raw, animal need I couldn't disguise if I tried.

The memory of how those eyes darkened with desire whenever I touched her made my cock throb painfully against the confines of my boxers.

She shifted again, hips moving with deliberate, unconscious invitation, her thighs parting slightly as if even in sleep she craved my touch.

Unable to resist, my palm slid beneath the thin barrier of her shirt, fingertips reading the silken terrain of her stomach like braille, memorizing every dip and curve. Her stammered words from that night echoed in my mind—"I want to be woken up... with you... inside me"—the hushed confession she'd hidden behind her hands, mortification radiating from her as she'd told me her deepest fantasy. I didn't need more. I'd take that single fragment and build her everything she was too afraid to ask for. She'd see how perfectly I understood her needs—better than she did. All she had to do was whisper her desire once, and I would fulfill it forever.

The smoothness of her skin contrasted with the rough calluses of my hands, heightening every sensation as I traced upward with excruciating slowness until my hand claimed the perfect weight of her breast, heavy and warm against my palm.

Her nipple pebbled instantly beneath my thumb, drawing tight under my touch, eliciting another breathy sigh from those parted lips.

I rolled the sensitive peak between my fingers, feeling it harden further as her breathing quickened unconsciously.

Heat surged through me, culminating in the painful throbbing of my cock as it strained against my boxers, the head already wet with anticipation soaking through the soft material.

I could feel my heartbeat in every engorged inch, demanding release.

The need to sink into her welcoming heat, to imprint every curve she gave me access to, became a physical ache that bordered on torture, a craving more than blood, more than vengeance—this hunger I couldn't outlive.

Surrendering to temptation, I gently turned her face toward mine, watching silver moonlight trace the damp fullness of her lips.

Mouth on mouth, slow as a lie, coaxing it open without force. The softness of her lips yielded to the demanding pressure of mine, parting like petals under the morning sun.

She moved like memory—hips twitching, muscles fluttering, heat pulling me in like I belonged there. My tongue pushed between her lips, claiming the sweetness within.

Oakley sighed into my mouth, she slackened against me, warmth seeping through skin and cloth alike, trusting me completely even in unconsciousness.

My hand continued its hungry exploration, fingers rolling her sensitive nipple between thumb and forefinger, feeling the hardened peak respond eagerly to my touch.

She reacted in half-sleep, like a song I'd played a thousand times—every note exactly where I'd left it. Her pulse quickened beneath my fingertips, blood rushing to the surface of her skin, flushing it with heat and need.

The way her breath caught with each twist of my fingers told me exactly how to play her, how to build her pleasure even in unconsciousness.

Her breathing quickened, punctuated by those faint, desperate sounds that never failed to drive me fucking wild—half-formed pleas for more that she wasn't even conscious of making, tiny whimpers that shot straight to my cock. Every sound made my cock twitch. I could come just from this—just from the sound of her wanting me without knowing it.

With deliberate restraint that made my muscles tremble with effort, I slid my hand lower, past the delicate ridges of her ribs, over the soft dip of her navel, marking my territory with possessive touches.

I reached the delicate lace between her thighs, finding the fabric completely saturated with her desire, clinging to her most intimate flesh like a second skin. The slick dampness against my fingers sent a primal surge of satisfaction through me—tangible proof of her desire, even in sleep. Just like that night when she'd confessed how wet the thought made her, unable to disguise it even as shame colored her cheeks. Her thighs had clenched together—a confession her words tried to hide. That night, she'd given me this gift—asked me to wake her with pleasure, to take her before consciousness. Her body was already responding exactly as she'd said it would. I inhaled deeply, catching the intoxicating musk of her arousal—that unique perfume that triggered something ancient and possessive in my brain chemistry.

Two fingers slipped beneath the soaked lace, welcomed by her warmth. I found her swollen and slick, already responsive to my touch. She gripped me like she was trying to draw me in, the wet pull of her clenching down until my knuckles ached. I watched her face carefully for any sign of discomfort, finding only the gentle parting of her lips that told me she was receptive even in sleep.

I curled my fingers with practiced expertise, finding that spot that made her walls clench and spasm, that hidden bundle of nerves that could make her come undone in seconds. She was slick and pulsing, clenching like she couldn't tell if she wanted more or couldn't take it.

Her hips rose instinctively, meeting every stroke like she'd been waiting for it even in dreams.

The wet, decadent sounds of her need filled the quiet room as I worked her slowly, deliberately, building her pleasure with each calculated stroke. My fingers glistened with her wetness each time I withdrew them, only to push back in deeper than before.

I teased her clit in slow pulses—pressure building, retreating, building again. The swollen bud throbbed against my touch, growing firmer with each deliberate pass.

Her breathing fractured into quiet, helpless gasps, features twisting, lashes fluttering like the high point of a dream. The flush of desire spread across her chest, rising to her cheeks as her head tipped back unconsciously.

Every muscle coiled with urgency, I positioned myself behind her, freeing my aching length, desperate for her velvet heat.

The cool air against my heated flesh made me hiss between clenched teeth, the contrast almost painful after being confined for so long. My length stood proud and ready, veins bulging along the shaft, the head swollen and glistening with need.

This was how I prayed now. Between her thighs. Inside her heat. With no one watching but God—and I didn't think He looked away.

She gave me this. Said the words. Asked me to fuck her awake. So now she would take what she asked for—whether she was ready or not.

Spread open and silent, she was everything I couldn't pray for out loud. Her skin glowed pale in the moonlight, laid out before me like an offering on an altar.

I eased her legs apart, watching her body yield to me, slow and willing. My fingers traced her lush entrance, revealing the glistening pink heat that awaited me. Her body opened exactly as I promised myself that night when her fantasy spilled from trembling lips—"I want... I want to be woken up... with you... inside me." I'd told her I'd position her perfectly. That I'd make sure she never knew when it was coming. That I'd collect.

She'd said she wanted to wake up with me inside her. I'd give her more than that. I'd give her the dream before the waking. This was the fantasy she'd confided in me, and I would deliver it exactly as she'd described—the perfect surprise upon waking, the warmth and fullness she'd told me she craved.

She stretched around me like she was born to hold only this. My name, my shape, my sin. I buried myself in her like a vow and broke on the way in. She gripped me like she'd been waiting for it in her sleep—tight, desperate, perfect. Like her body believed in me more than she did.

Every inch of her felt mapped for me. Like I'd lived there in another life. Her body's subtle movements were exactly as I imagined when she'd confessed her desires, the initial tension melting into a greedy, pulsing welcome that pulled me deeper.

My chest pulled tight. My jaw locked. Nothing else existed but the feel of her taking me in. Inch by agonizing inch, she yielded to my advance, stretching to accommodate my size until I was seated fully within her perfect heat, surrounded by silken walls that clenched and pulsed around me, drawing me deeper. I hoped this was exactly what she meant when she'd whispered her fantasy.

Lips found the shell of her ear. "No one else will ever know you like this," a rough growl against her skin. "Even in your dreams, you know." My teeth found her earlobe, feeling her shiver beneath me. "You always welcome me, don't you? Just like you asked for. Like when you told me you wanted to wake up with me inside you." I watched for any shiver, memorizing every reaction. Others might call this wrong, but they didn't understand the deeper truth between us. "So perfect. My wife."

The sensation of her exquisite warmth enveloping me made my vision blur at the edges, white-hot pleasure racing up my spine.

I established a measured rhythm, each deep thrust connecting us more thoroughly than the last, her body responding with signs that matched the fantasy she'd described—the subtle arch of her back, the quickening of her pulse beneath my fingers. Every reaction aligned perfectly with how she'd told me she would respond, her body's language speaking what her sleeping mind couldn't yet articulate. She gripped around me—heat, resistance, welcomed all at once. Her soft form yielded against mine like she was made for this—for me. Each movement sent waves through her, trembling as I claimed her completely.

"Feel how perfectly we fit," I murmured against her neck, my voice thick with devotion, breath hot against her flushed skin. "The way you asked for this that night, practically begging me to fuck you while you sleep." I rolled my hips with deliberate precision, watching how her inner muscles fluttered and clenched around me. "You're so good for me even asleep, Oakley. Always so fucking good." Not a single doubt crossed my mind—her body's reaction was all the confirmation I needed. "Made for this. Made for us. For no one else. The ring meant nothing. The way you breathe under me—that's the vow you chose when you told me your fantasy." Only I could see her true desires. Only I would deliver them without hesitation or guilt.

The soft, wet sounds of our connection filled the room, mixing with my ragged breathing and her unconscious moans. The intoxicating scent of her arousal filled my nostrils, driving my need higher.

Her clit throbbed beneath my touch, slippery and swollen—so responsive it twitched with every pass like it knew what was coming. Her clit pulsed against my fingers, her walls beginning to flutter—so close, so fucking close.

Her inner walls began to contract around my cock, signaling her impending release.

I angled deeper, grinding into the place that made her pulse twitch and breath stutter, quickening my pace as her breathing became more erratic.

"That's it," I growled against her ear, "give it to me. Let go for me."

I rocked into her slow and deep, hips grinding until she gave that little unconscious gasp I'd memorized—when the head of my cock hit the spot that made her melt. Every push stretched her around me again—tighter, wetter, sweeter with each retreat and return.

If she said no now, I'd stop. I'd hate myself, and I'd stop. But she won't. She's too good. Too fucking honest in her sleep to lie to me now.

The slap of skin against skin grew louder as I increased my pace, driving into her with controlled force.

I covered her mouth with mine, swallowing her gasps as her body began to convulse, my tongue mimicking the rhythm of my cock as it thrust into her welcoming heat.

She gasped when I pressed deeper—she rolled toward me, her instinct chasing the sensation. Her lips parted around my name, a dream-sound I hadn't earned. That's how I knew it was real.

I fucked her like worship, slow and deep, giving her every inch she asked for when she thought I wasn't listening.

Her release came in violent waves, inner muscles milking me like her body couldn't bear to let me go with vise-like intensity as pleasure claimed her.

Her brows twitched, lips parting around a faint gasp, hips stuttering against mine—some part of her stirred—just enough to shatter me, hovering in that perfect space between sleep and conscious sensation. Her body responded exactly as I'd imagined when she'd stammered her confession. The way she'd described it was unfolding before me—her unconscious pleasure leading to the gradual awakening she'd fantasized about. The gift she'd entrusted to me that night was being delivered exactly as promised.

Her core spasmed around me—quaking, tightening, begging me not to leave.

I watched in fascination as her features tightened beautifully, brows knitting sharply, lips trembling apart in a silent cry of ecstasy.

The exquisite pressure triggered my release, flooding her with the kind of promise no ring could match. I came hard, deep, spilling into her like it meant something more than vows ever could. My vision fractured at the edges, every nerve screaming her name.

"You'll feel me with every step. Every breath. All day," I growled against her neck, my voice breaking with raw emotion. "Just like I promised when you told me your fantasy. When I said I'd collect without warning."

My release spilled into her in thick, endless pulses, each one claimed by her greedy body. I could feel her swallow it—tight, twitching, as if she knew exactly what she was meant for.

Slowly, reluctantly, I withdrew from her warmth, already mourning the loss of contact. I watched it leak out of her, slow and slick—proof of ownership she'd carry until the next time I filled her. Even if she forgot this moment, her body would remember. Her walk, her ache, her pulse would whisper my name all day.

Every muscle in my body seized, pleasure exploding through me, fracturing my vision into shards of white-hot bliss, making me momentarily lose awareness of everything but the molten heat binding us together, the perfect union of flesh that bound us together.

I watched her core clench greedily around me, refusing to let go. I didn't move—didn't dare—not until every drop had spilled deep where it belonged.

"You're entirely my own," I murmured against her damp skin. "Inside and out."

We lay tangled together, her breathing gradually softening back into sleep while aftershocks rippled through her body, tiny contractions that squeezed the last drops of pleasure from both of us.

After carefully rearranging her clothing, smoothing the fabric back over her curves with reverent hands, my fingers found the place where we'd connected—already warm and slick with the proof of us. I traced the sensitive skin gently, imagining this was how she wanted to be touched after fulfilling her fantasy. I pressed my lips to her temple, my voice a devoted whisper against her skin: "Sleep, Oakley. Just like you wanted when you told me to take you before you're even awake. My good girl." The fantasy she'd shared was now reality—the awakening into pleasure she'd described in those hushed, embarrassed tones.

Rising silently despite my muscles' protest, in silence, I made her tea. I made it because she liked it. Not because she asked. Not because I cared. Because I needed her to stay. The cup clinked against the counter. Too soft. Too clean. Like I hadn't just filled her like a grave. I stared down at the gentle swirl of steam, the quiet domesticity a strange counterpoint to the intimate connection we'd just shared, to the way I'd claimed her in her sleep—exactly how I'd promised when she'd blushed and stammered about her fantasy, when I'd told her not to whimper if I collected. Her fantasy was now fulfilled, exactly as she'd described it that night.

The gentle clink of porcelain felt foreign after the feral intimacy moments earlier, yet the simple routine steadied the storm still raging in my veins. The aroma of lavender tea curled through the air—soft, delicate, a stark contradiction to the raw scent of passion lingering on my skin.

Returning with the tray balanced effortlessly in one hand, I paused at the threshold, taking in the vision of her sprawled across our bed.

Her hair fanned out across the pillow, her lips still swollen from my kisses, her skin bearing the faint marks of my possession.

Oakley stirred, those jade eyes slowly opening, immediately dropping to the band encircling her finger as if confirming the night's reality, that she was truly mine. The morning light caught the gold, making it shine with promise.

Her eyes widened, pupils swallowing the gold of her irises as she glanced quickly from the ring to my face. The rapid flicker of emotions she's taught me—shock, recognition—burned beautifully in her sleepy gaze.

The slight wince as she shifted told me she could feel the undeniable proof of my absolute devotion, the pleasant soreness that would remind her with every movement today who she belonged to.

Her voice rasped softly, layered with lingering dreams and the faint huskiness of unconscious moans.

I stepped fully into the slanting morning glow, my body hardening instinctively, craving her again—not just her body, but the sleepy softness in her eyes, the trust she placed blindly in my darkness.

When she spoke, I would already know what she'd say. Because I'd left no part of her untouched. Not even her silence. The fantasy she'd whispered that night had now been fulfilled exactly as she'd described—waking slowly into pleasure, the gradual transition from dream to reality.

"Good morning, wife."