Page 44 of Taming His Vampire Mate

Oh.

I swallowed hard.

Well, shit.

He advanced on me, his expression oddly intent. “And since this is a dream, it doesn’t mean anything. I might as well enjoy myself…”

He let it trail off, but I was pretty sure I knew what was on the other side of that dot-dot-dot.

I took a step back, hands up.

“No, Thierry, you don’t understand,” I told him, as he placed his hands on my chest. His palms were oddly warm. The touchfelt so good my eyes slid halfway closed, but I forced myself to keep speaking. “This does mean something, because weareboth here.”

He slipped his arms around my waist and tilted his head up, his too-blue eyes intent on mine.

“You’re so handsome,” he breathed, his whole expression soft and lit with something akin to longing. “Destiny got one thing right. You’re exactly my type. Physically, at least. I just wish…”

He let it trail off, swallowing.

I felt dismayed at the ragged look on his face. Even here, in the dreamscape—though he thought I wasn’t real—he still couldn’t let his guard down enough to admit his wants and needs. His scent wrapped around me, clean and fresh and bright, like the forest after rain. And his body felt perfect against mine. Solid and warm and real. I began growing hard.

I had made love to him once before. Why not again? Why not now?

The wolf within me stirred. Our mate was here. What were we waiting for? Why weren’t we claiming him?

“Thierry, stop.” I stepped back, my inner wolf whining. It wanted him—wanted to taste him, to feel him beneath us, to make him writhe in ecstasy. It wanted him to belong to us and only us.

But I couldn’t allow that. Not until Thierry understood the reality of the situation. It had to be his choice, not mine.

His gaze dropped to my groin, and a wicked grin spread across his lips. “Why are we stopping? You’re already there, aren’t you? Why not enjoy the moment?”

Thierry pulled me down so my lips brushed his. The wolf inside me whined again at how good it felt. How simple and right.

Thierry pulled back, eyes searching mine with strange intensity. “The first time with you—the real you—was wonderful,” he murmured. “I suppose, if this isn’t really happening, there’s no shame in admitting that, is there? It was one of the best sexual encounters of my life.”

“Me too,” I agreed, my cock aching to repeat it.

“My subconscious painted you as nicer and gentler than the real thing, didn’t it?”

But his words were softened by the way he stroked my cheek with his thumb, his other arm looped around my waist, his body pressed to mine. I could feel he was hard too.

Sounding thoughtful, he added, “Even if you are a sadistic bastard, that doesn’t change anything about the experience. Fate is a mangy twat with a terrible sense of humor.”

The warmth between us popped like a soap bubble.

I pulled away. “Thierry, I need you to stop. This is not a regular dream.”

He paused, brows knitting in confusion. “No offense, but my sex dreams tend to be a bit sexier. Usually less backtalk and more—”

“Because thisisn’ta sex dream,” I cut in, exasperated. “You and I are both really here. We’re both lucid and aware, sharing the same dream, at the same time.”

Horror dawned on his face. He stepped back like I’d caught fire.

“That’s impossible!” he sputtered. Then he shot me an accusing look. “Wait, did you cast a spell on me?”

“How the hell would I do that?” I snapped, irritation ripping through me. “I’m a wolf, not a warlock!”

“Then you made someone do it for you!”