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Lantern's Lure

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Lips brush against the top of her spine.

“Hello sweetheart, I’ve been up waiting for you.”

He gives her a small lick and blows against the wetness, his hands sliding across her bare hips.

“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account,” she replies.

Another of these damn dreams with that damn voice.

She takes in her surroundings, the room coming into view. Wood floors, warm beneath her feet, walls painted red. An ebony nightstand with a lamp burning bright, it’s shadows longer than they should’ve been against the wall. A ridiculously large bed made up with a crimson satin comforter and mountains of white pillows, probably silk.

She’s surprised he hasn’t strewn rose petals leading up to the monstrosity. Thank God for small mercies.

Alas, her underwear choice is not a mercy. Black, lacy, translucent enough to see how she grooms herself.

He slips his finger beneath the waistband, snaps it. “You don’t like it?”

“I would enjoy picking my own clothing.” At least she’s wearing a tank. She seems to be gaining some control of the dream. Reviewing her notes from lucid dreaming seems to have been good for something. Before it, she’d been in teddies with underwire that bit into her.

She turns to face him, but as always, his face is obscured. She can only hope hers is too, but that might be hoping for too much. He’s shirtless, wearing leather pants of all things this time that lace up not zip. Christ, couldn’t she have wound up with someone who was practical?

“Babe, you’re practical enough for the both of us,” he laughs, his fingers tightening against her flesh and pulling her against him. Letting her feel how hard he was already.

The other infuriating thing about the dreams: he always knew what she wanted and used it against her. He’d been single-minded in his desire to “slide into your hot cunt, get you to scream my name as you gush all over my cock.” And the horrible thing was the insufferable dick was good at what he did. He knew just what she liked.

He licks up her neck as his hands slide down her ass. “I’ll be the best kind of bad boy,” he murmurs against her lips. “All you have to do is say yes.”

He seemed to be bound by some set of rules. He always asked her this question and only touched her over her clothes. But even that’s been dangerous. She thinks about how last night, how thoroughly he’d eaten her out over her panties. Just like tonight, it’d been a lacy thong, and he’d licked her to orgasm – he knew just when to use his teeth, and the press of his tongue near her entrance had left her wanting more.

He pushes closer to her, and she steps back, suddenly finding her thighs bumping against the mattress. Damn dream logic. She leans back as his chest pushes into hers.

Nestling his face between her breasts, he takes a deep breathe.

“I want what’s here, but since you won’t even keep that near the front of your mind, I’ll settle for this instead.”

He takes her nipple into his mouth, and sucks slowly, gently. She groans, and fists one hand in the comforter (just as soft as it looked) and the other in his hair, pulling him down harder. But he goes even slower, circling her areola, before licking, not sucking her nipple.

“Damn you,” she hisses, “More.”

She can feel him smile, and he releases her with a pop. “Did you know, those panties are crotchless?”

Her eyes widen. When did he work his hand between her thighs? His fingers press into her channel, and she’s so wet and the pressure is just right –

She sobs as she rocks her hips in time with his thrusts. She can feel her orgasm building, her breath starting to catch.

The fucker removes his mouth and his hand.

He places her hand over his heart. His skin is slick and hot to the touch.

“Why do you keep saying no? Can’t you feel this?” he growls.

And while his heart beats under her palm, matching the throbbing in her pussy, she can feel the pulse of her magic rising and reaching up for his.

Fuck.