Chapter 3: Wet Dreams & Wetter Waking
Sofia woke with a gasp, her hips grinding against Leo's thigh as the tail end of her orgasm still pulsed between her legs. His rough hands already kneading her tits through the soaked lace of her chemise, his teeth scraping her earlobe as he murmured, "Fuck, baby, you been dreaming about me? Felt your pussy twitching against my thigh like a fucking heartbeat."
Reality slammed into her, blurred at the edges by sleep and the lingering phantom of the dream. It had been so vivid—his hands, his mouth, his weight. And now here he was, awake, his body a hot line against her back in the dark, his voice a gravelly vibration against her skin. The promise from last night, that single word—tomorrow—had arrived with the brutal urgency of dawn.
“Leo,” she breathed, the word half-gasp, half-confession.
“Tell me,” he growled, his palm sliding down from her breast, over the dip of her waist, his fingers splaying across her stomach. He pressed her back harder against him, and she could feel the rigid length of his erection straining against his boxers, a thick heat against the curve of her ass. “Tell me what you dreamed.”
She was melting, liquid and pliant. The last vestiges of hesitation burned away by the sheer need in his touch. “You,” she managed, arching into his hand as it traveled lower. “I dreamed of you. Of this.”
His fingers hooked into the lace of her panties, pulling them down just enough. His touch, when it came, was not gentle. It was direct, a calloused fingertip sliding through her slick folds, finding her clit already swollen and sensitive from her sleeping climax. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound lost in the groan of the wind outside.
“So fucking wet for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with awe and desire. He traced her, circled her, learned the rhythm that made her hips jerk. “All these years, Sofia. All this fucking time.”
He turned her then, onto her back. The gray pre-dawn light seeped through the shutters, painting his face in stark relief—the intense focus in his hazel eyes, the tension in his jaw. He looked feral, a side of him she’d only glimpsed in flashes of temper or protectiveness. Now it was wholly directed at her.
He kissed her. It wasn’t the soft, questioning kiss she might have imagined. It was a claim. A devouring. His tongue pushed past her lips, tasting her, and she met him with equal hunger, her hands tangling in his dark, tousled hair. She could taste the night on him, and something fundamentally Leo. It shattered her last pretense.
He broke the kiss, breathing ragged, and yanked the chemise up and over her head. The cool air hit her skin, but his gaze was hotter. He stared at her bare breasts, her nipples pebbled tight, and a sound like a pained groan escaped him. He lowered his head and took one into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the peak. The sensation was electric, spearing straight down to her already-throbbing core.
“Leo, please,” she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for.
He understood. He shifted down the bed, his hands pushing her thighs apart. The first touch of his mouth on her cunt was a shock of pure, undiluted pleasure. He didn’t tease. He ate at her with a desperate, focused intensity, his tongue flattening against her clit before delving deep inside her. His stubble scratched the tender skin of her inner thighs, a delicious, rough counterpoint to the slick softness of his tongue.
“Oh, god!” she sobbed, her back bowing off the mattress. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, the iron bedframe squeaking in a frantic rhythm. He held her hips down, relentless, his nose buried in her, breathing her in. The orgasm built faster than she thought possible, a coil tightening in her belly, sparked by the aftershocks of the first and fueled by the raw, obscene sound of him feasting on her.
“Come in my mouth,” he ordered, his voice muffled against her flesh. “Do it. Now.”
The command, filthy and absolute, tipped her over. She came with a shattered cry, her body convulsing under his grip. He drank her down, his tongue working her through every pulse, until she was whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his head.
He crawled back up her body, his lips glistening. He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue, a deeply intimate violation that made her moan into his mouth.
He knelt between her legs, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. He shoved them down, and his cock sprang free, thick and veined, curving up toward his stomach. He was bigger than she’d imagined, and a flicker of anxious want tightened her throat.
He saw it. He paused, his hand stroking himself slowly. “Look at me,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense.
She dragged her eyes from his cock to his face.
“This changes everything,” he stated, as if reminding them both. “There’s no going back to just friends after I’m inside you.”
Tears, unexpected, pricked her eyes. Not from sadness, but from the sheer magnitude of the truth. She nodded, unable to speak.
He leaned over her, bracing one hand by her head, the other guiding himself to her entrance. The broad head of his cock nudged against her, slick with her arousal and his. He pressed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion.
She gasped at the stretch, the exquisite fullness. He was everywhere, filling a space she hadn’t known was empty. He buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against hers, and stopped, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Christ, Sofia,” he choked out, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel… fuck.”
He began to move. A slow, deep roll of his hips that dragged his cock almost all the way out before sliding back in, a fraction deeper each time. The pace was maddening, worshipful. It gave her time to feel every ridge, every vein. To feel the way her body clasped him, milked him. The squeak of the bedsprings was a lewd soundtrack to their ragged breathing.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into the muscles of his ass, pulling him closer. “Harder,” she whispered against his neck. “Stop being so careful.”
A switch flipped. His control snapped. He swore, a gritty, beautiful obscenity, and drove into her, his thrusts becoming punishing, perfectly angled. Each one jolted her up the bed, slammed a breathless cry from her lungs. The sound of skin slapping skin, wet and urgent, filled the room, louder than the fading storm.
He fucked her like he was trying to fuse them together, one hand fisted in her hair, the other clutching her hip hard enough to bruise. She wanted the bruises. She wanted the marks, the proof.
“Whose is this?” he grunted, his rhythm never faltering. “This sweet, tight pussy. Who does it belong to?”
“You,” she cried, the word torn from her. “You, Leo. Always you.”
The admission unleashed something in him. He shifted, pulling her up onto his lap as he sat back on his heels, her straddling him. The new angle was devastating. She rode him, her nails scraping down his chest, her breasts bouncing with each impact. He watched her, eyes darkened to near black, his hands gripping her ass, guiding her, helping her grind down onto him in a way that made her see stars.
She came again, suddenly, a roaring wave that washed away all thought, all fear. Her inner walls clenched around him in rapid, fierce spasms. The sight of her coming undone, head thrown back, throat exposed, was his undoing.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he warned, his voice raw.
“Inside me,” she demanded, riding him through her own convulsions. “I want to feel it.”
His release was a guttural shout, his body locking tight as he emptied himself deep into her in hot, pulsing jets. She felt every one, a primal satisfaction flooding her as he shuddered beneath her, his face buried between her breasts.
They collapsed sideways onto the soaked sheets, a tangle of limbs and sweat. The only sounds were their heaving breaths and the gentle patter of rain replacing the storm’s fury. Dawn had properly broken, a soft, gray light illuminating the wreckage of the room and the bed.
Leo’s hand found hers on the mattress. His fingers, still trembling slightly, laced through hers. He brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
Outside, a seabird called. The world was still there. But inside this creaking house, perched above the sea, everything had indeed changed. The silence between them now was not charged with uncertainty, but with the profound, terrifying weight of a new and fragile beginning.