Protecting the Dream (A Dream Seeker Novella Book 2)

by Sharp, Michelle

  He slid his hands down to her butt and pressed his erection against her. Her insides liquefied, melted into a hot mess of blinding need. The fact that he could turn her inside out, render her utterly helpless in less time than it took to flip a light switch, drove her mad.

  She wanted to take care of him, to be the one who turned him inside out—just for tonight. The pleasure they found in each other could shatter demons and lighten darkness. He’d done it for her time and again.

  For years she’d kept herself locked under paralyzing, suffocating control. Being able to hand Ty the reins in the bedroom had become the sweetest form of therapy and release and pleasure.

  Tonight, the tables were going to turn, quite possibly with enough force to make his head spin. She wanted to numb his mind, free his body, and let him forget the darkness.

  Already he’d pulled her hair out of its ponytail and fanned his fingers through it. He worked her sweatshirt over her head and slid his fingers toward the clasp of her bra. She decided to help before he snapped it in half, as he was prone to do.

  His mouth came down on her breast. His teeth tightened around her nipple.

  She moaned and her body jerked. It was the perfect degree of pain to send pleasure zinging through her belly.

  She was falling—rapidly, mindlessly, desperately—into familiar heat, ready to wave the white flag and not just let him have his way, but enjoy the hell out of it as he took the lead.

  He’d stripped her top half bare and was getting busy with the button on her jeans. She was behind in the race for control, and her fingers fumbled as she tried to catch up. She couldn’t work fast enough to unbutton his shirt, so she ripped it open. And, okay, maybe she was knocked off her game for one freaking second because—damn—how she loved a man with a great big chest and muscled arms.

  Once the shirt was gone, she gave herself a mental shake and traced her hands down the dark trail of hair from his chest to his stomach and lower. Her fingers brushed against the plump head of his penis straining at the top of his jeans, and the erotic little accident made him groan.

  She recognized his deep breath as a grasp for control. Smiling, she thought, don’t bother tonight, pal. Her fingers rubbed him again, nowhere near an accident this time.

  He cupped her breasts, and his thumbs circled her nipples.

  The teasing sound of his zipper plunging downward punctuated their quick breaths. She pushed his jeans lower and lower until they were well below his hips, then wrapped her fingers around him. While stroking her hand up and down his long length, she traced her tongue up his neck.

  His muscles tensed as though she’d sliced him open.

  Mr. In-Control was wildly out of control. She grinned at the telltale signs.

  His fingers were usually quite skilled and precise against her breasts. She’d been on the receiving end of his calculated moves enough to know reckless and struggling when she felt it. His head fell back and his breath hitched. With every pump of her fist he groaned.

  For once, she had the upper hand, and she rather liked it.

  No, she loved it.

  The need to drive him completely and entirely mad coursed hot and heavy through her veins. She dropped to her knees, pushed his pants to the floor, and took him as deeply into her mouth as she could manage.

  A long grumbled “fuuuuck” erupted from him as he drove into her. His fingers wound into her hair, softly at first, but then they tangled harder, tugging, as he plunged deeper and faster.

  There was a thrill in controlling a strong man like Tyler McGee. And right now she owned him. Relaxing her muscles, she opened up, gave each wild thrust a small vibrating moan when he pushed against the back of her throat.

  He jerked away, grabbed her under the arms and pulled her to standing. “Not a good idea.” He growled the words and didn’t look nearly as happy as a man who was getting a world-class blow job should have looked.

  “A guy can only take so fucking much.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. He unfastened her jeans. “Take them off now. Please. Or I’ll do it for you.”

  ***

  Jordan slapped his hand away and arched a brow. “This is my show, cowboy.”

  He was nowhere near amused. What masochistic part of his heart had fallen for this incredibly complicated woman? “You’re going to be the death of me.” He whispered the words to himself, but she grinned.

  He loved her. Loved her so fucking much he’d cut off a hand before getting rough with her, but she appeared to be on a mission to push him to insanity tonight. “Baby, cut me some slack, work with me here. Please. I’m trying to be gentle, but I’m only human.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Who said I wanted gentle all the time?” To prove her words, she shoved his chest. Hard. With his jeans wrapped around his ankles, he stumbled back and fell onto the couch.

  “You don’t want to make love?” he asked. “Guess I got the wrong impression when you sucked my dick into your mouth.” He smiled and tried to keep the words easy, even though his body wanted something far different from easy.

  She bent over him, ran her tongue around the edge of his ear, and whispered, “Oh, we’re going to make love.” She pressed his face into the cleavage of her breasts as she whispered again. “But I’m going to take you in my mouth and make you beg for mercy first.”

  “Maybe later.” He reached for the zipper on her jeans again. “Right now, that’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? I think it’s the best idea I’ve had all day,” she purred.

  “Because right now I want to bend you over the nearest table and fuck you in a very ungentlemanly way.”

  The words, though harsh, were honest and should have given her a reality check concerning exactly how raw every fucking nerve of his was.

  She winked. Fucking winked. “Sounds promising.”

  Her earlier anger on his behalf had gutted him emotionally. And now she was physically slicing him up with a sex kitten routine he hadn’t seen before.

  “You don’t get your way till I get mine. Unless . . .” She backed away and peeled off her jeans, moved her hands to her breasts, pushing them up and together and teasing the hell out of him by running her thumbs around and around the dark red nipples. “Unless you really don’t like oral sex.”

  She dropped to her knees again. “Which I find very hard to believe because of the way you use your mouth on me.” Her hands slid up his thighs, then wrapped around him.

  But instead of putting his dick in her mouth, she pressed her breasts around him and rubbed up and down. On each down stroke, her mouth opened and she sucked with just enough pressure to tease. It was very possibly the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He hardened to painful, searing steel.

  “You’re teasing,” he murmured. “Playing with fire.” He managed to pull the words off mildly, but he was about two seconds from pushing her back, taking her fast, and coming so hard, it’d be a miracle if he didn’t lose consciousness.

  “I like it slow and gentle sometimes,” she said. “But other times I want the fire.” She eased back. “Unless you really don’t like this. I mean, you can tell me if this isn’t your thing. I just always thought most guys—”

  At the end of his fucking rope, Ty grabbed her shoulders and hauled her so close their lips brushed. He wouldn’t call it a kiss so much as a plea for mercy. “You’re right about most guys. When a sexy blonde with big breasts wraps her lips around your dick, most guys won’t resist. Not even with a nuclear bomb ticking down beside them.”

  Then he did kiss her—long, slow, and gentle—so that she’d understand she was everything that mattered in his world. Then he eased back. “You’re not some random blonde I intend to use for rough, sweaty sex. You’re the woman I love, and I’m trying to show some respect, which may not be an option if you put your mouth on me like that again. Do we understand each other?”

  Looking genuinely perplexed, she tilted her head. “Are you saying a guy will have wild and rough oral sex with a stranger—probably beca
use he won’t have to look at her again—but you can’t just say fuck it and go nuts with someone you love? It’s either hot, rough sex with a woman you don’t know or nice, gentle sex with a girlfriend, but not both?”

  Heaven help me. The woman never failed to turn logic on its ear. No, that wasn’t exactly what he meant, but . . .

  She rolled her eyes. “Men are so fucking stupid. No wonder everyone ends up divorced. If you think I’m settling for lazy, boring leftovers because you have some twisted version of a white knight complex, you’ve got another think coming.”

  While trailing a finger down the middle of his chest, she licked her lips. Wickedly. “I suck at everything when it comes to relationships.” Then she smiled. “Except for sex. So sit back, cowboy. And hold the fuck on.” She fluffed her hair and peered at him while batting her lashes. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said in a sugar-sweet voice. “You can call me Candy.”

  ***

  “Mmmm . . .” The purr of satisfaction rumbled from deep in Jordan’s chest. She was at one with the universe, had seen it all now. And that was quite an accomplishment, because she’d seen some shit. But Tyler McGee without a shred of control in his mind or body was burned in her retinas.

  Sexiest. Image. Ever.

  Very possibly the moment she’d take to her grave as the most erotic of her life.

  “I’m dead.” Ty sat naked, boneless, looking like a scoop of melted ice cream on a hot, summer sidewalk. “You killed me. It was a hell of a way to go, so can’t say I regret it, still . . .”

  She laughed. “You’re not dead, you big baby. You’re still talking.” She stretched out with her head in his lap.

  “Duh.” He looked down at her. “How would you know? You could hear me either way.”

  She giggled again. Then reached up and twisted his nipple hard.

  “Owww-wee.” He yelped and grabbed his chest.

  “Just proving you’re alive,” she said mildly. “I can’t physically touch a spirit. If you felt that, you’re still kicking.”

  “Huh? That kind of sucks. If you do kill me during sex, I’ll be enjoying the hell out of myself, my heart will stop, and then”—he swiped his hand through the air—“pffft. Nothing. I won’t be able to feel you anymore. I’ll be like what the hell?”

  She sat up, straddled his lap, and trapped his face between her hands. “I always thought I was the mental defect in this relationship, yet you’re worried about croaking during sex. And actually not the croaking part, just that you won’t get to finish.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we’re both twisted.” He wiggled his brows. “But I think I like it.” He pulled her close and kissed her. Soft and tender this time. “Thank you for tonight.”

  “My pleasure.” She wiggled her brows at him. “And by the way, you treat me with more love and respect than anyone ever has. I love that about you, but please don’t treat me like I’m made of glass in the bedroom. It’s just gonna piss me off.”

  “Okay.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and smiled. “But I was thanking you for the other thing tonight. For opening up about stuff. For telling me things about Tara. I know we’ve got a long way to go, but it helps, you know?”

  She put a finger over his lips. “I can feel Tara’s love for you. It’s important that you know that. You should be really proud of how she saved you in Titus.”

  “I think Tara had some help,” he whispered, twirling her hair around his finger.

  “I just followed her lead.”

  “But she couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

  “Well, I’m impressive that way. Defender of justice and all that crap. Just treat me as you would any other god-like superhero.”

  He shook his head and grinned. “Maybe we need to get you tights like Superman. You’d look really hot in a body-hugging hero costume. You might even need a super name. Supermedium or Medium Woman.”

  Wanting to keep his mood light, she narrowed her eyes and played along. “I think something that highlights my other superpower would be better. You know, something like Super Sex-Bomb or Wonder Blow.”

  Ty threw his head back and roared. “No, I got it.” He held up his hands like he was framing a title on a marquee. “Orgasmic.”

  Jordan was the one who threw her head back and laughed, then. God, she loved him. Everything about him. The sex, the security, all that. But this, the fun, the completely in sync humor that was much too warped for the rest of the world to appreciate. She loved that, too.

  He clamped his hands to her hips, tugged her closer until the heat between her thighs nestled comfortably on top of him. His gaze flared with that look of humor and mischief she’d come to realize meant trouble.

  “I’m going to take you upstairs now and make you earn your super name, Ms. Orgasmic. Many, many, many times before this night is over. We’re talking Guinness Book of World Records, here. And if you can still walk tomorrow, then, and only then, will you get to boast about your new name.”

  Chapter 9

  “How did I end up here, Joe?” Ellie murmured to her reflection. Staring into the mirror on her dresser, she gingerly touched the dark shadows under her eyes. “I look like I’ve aged fifteen years in the last six months. I’ve let you down, and I’ve sure let me down.” Tears streaked her hollowed cheeks. “I need you so badly. Why did you leave me?”

  “Talking to someone, Ellie?”

  She jumped as a towering man with a malicious scowl sauntered into her bedroom.

  “Do you think your dead husband is going to save you now? I’m the only one who can save your precious horse ranch. And I’m damn tired of the games.”

  He moved behind her, and his reflection loomed over her much shorter one. He clutched a handful of her hair and twisted her head until she was forced to look up at him. “Joe had a huge insurance policy, Ellie. I know because I helped him pick it out.”

  She pushed away. “You know nothing about our lives.”

  “I know his policy was for three million, not one million. I knew it the second you lied to me. And I know you’ve got the rest of that money stashed somewhere. I want access to it by tomorrow night, or your precious horses are going to start falling mysteriously ill. Starting with Joe’s prized stud.”

  Her face flushed with anger, she lunged at him and slapped him across the cheek. “Get out. Get out now,” she screamed. “You’ll never touch any of my horses again or I’ll call the police.”

  He backhanded her. Watched as she recoiled. “And tell them what? That you want me out? Go right ahead, sweetheart. And I’ll tell them how you got Joe to take out a three-million-dollar insurance policy and a month later he was dead.”

  ***

  Ty felt the bed shift, heard a sound that pulled him out of a deep sleep. He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. “Jordan.”

  She muttered something and rolled from one side to the other, but didn’t answer.

  He reached for the lamp next to the bed. When he turned back, he recognized the sweat-dampened hair and strangled moans.

  She was caught in a dream.

  “It’s okay, you’re okay.” Her hands were white-knuckled and clenched in the sheet. He pried open her fingers and picked up her hand. “It’s Ty. You’re with me, baby.”

  Her sweat-slicked hand jerked out of his grip and she bolted from the bed.

  Definitely caught in a dream. A bad one.

  He eased from the bed, moved toward her, keeping his movements slow.

  Her back was pressed against the bedroom wall.

  “It was just a dream,” he said softly. “Come on, come back to bed with me.”

  She pointed a finger at him. “Stay back. Don’t touch me.”

  He stopped. There was no indication she was still asleep. Usually her eyes stayed closed and she was mostly incoherent. But right now she appeared wide awake and her words were clear.

  He eased about two feet to his left and waved a hand in front of her. When her gaze didn’t follow, he decided she was still tr
apped in a vision. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

  Her hands splayed against the wall. “Oh my God,” she cried. “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  She was looking in his direction now, but he had no idea if she could see or hear him. And her words weren’t making sense. Everything had been fine when they went to bed. More than fine. They’d fallen asleep tangled around one another, so he knew whatever she was saying wasn’t aimed at him.

  Still, what was he supposed to do to bring her out of it? Reason with her? Was it worse to wake her or let her finish out the dream? They really needed a plan for this shit, because he wanted her awake. He wanted that horrified look off her face and her back in bed before she hurt herself.

  Something had to give. He moved closer and cupped her shoulders. “Come back to bed, baby. It’s Ty. Come with me. We’re going to lie down; it’ll be okay.”

  She slapped against his chest. “Let go, or I swear I’ll kill you. I hate you.”

  The shock of her words and the venom in her voice strangled his breath, but he managed to keep hold of her. “Jordan.” He shook her arms lightly. “Time to wake up now. Time to come back to me. It’s Ty, baby. You’ve got to—”

  She twisted out of his grip, backed into the hallway, and stopped just at the top of the stairs.

  “Jordan, goddamn it. Stop!” He lunged toward her, barely caught the material of the tee she was wearing as she fell back. He yanked her against him. But they tumbled down the first few stairs before he was able to stop their momentum.

  ***

  No air, like being underwater.

  Tight, tight lungs.

  Can’t catch a breath.

  Jordan blinked. As her eyes fluttered open, her airway opened up, too. A rush of oxygen made her cough. She felt Ty all around her, heard his panicked voice before her vision cleared.

  “Jordan, are you okay? Talk to me, baby. Say something, please. Anything.”

  It was barely dawn, still dark in the house, but she heard his breath rush in and out. She blinked, tried to look around. Where were they? On the stairs?

  Yep, they were on the stairs, all right, and God, the dream started to roll through her mind.