Wet Dream

by Jenna Jacob

  Suddenly Brea started to laugh.

  “Oh, god. I’m stuck. I’m fucking stuck. This is not happening.”

  Sawyer inched in closer, ready to grab her by the waist and help her down, but Brea started to wiggle. He bit down on his tongue to keep from groaning. He could see…naked, her on her hands and knees, shaking that sexy ass from side to side as she backed that ass onto his ready cock. Sweat broke out over his brow as he stood like a statue…staring, dreaming, longing, with his dick throbbing like bitch.

  “Ozzie, I hope you’re enjoying the full moon I’m shooting you. But I swear to all that is holy, if you stick your wet, cold nose up my ass, you’ll never get another treat. Are we clear?”

  “What if it’s a dry, warm nose? That’s all the treat I want.” Sawyer’s deep voice rippled as he held back a laugh.

  Brea screamed so loud she nearly punctured his eardrums. As she lurched upward, her arms spun like pinwheels. With a loud thwack, she cracked the back of her head on the windowpane above her and started to slide backward. Sawyer wrapped his hands around her waist while the sound of her blood-curdling scream nearly drowned out the fabric ripping from in front of her.

  Peering over her shoulder, he found a piece of white fabric stuck in the base of the frame. It was at the same time that he realized his hands were burning with the heat of her bare flesh. Though she was still screaming, he closed his eyes and sighed. She was soft like velvet, and he slid his palms up and down her beguiling curves. And that’s when she started kicking and punching for freedom. She’d traded in her screams for curses…curses that might possibly offend a Marine. All the while, Ozzie was playfully barking and running in circles around them. Sawyer nearly laughed at the chaotic uproar.

  “Let me go, you crazy cocksucker!” Brea screamed. “Bite him, Ozzie. Bite his fucking balls off.”

  Her heel connected with Sawyer’s shin, sending an arc of pain to shoot up his leg.

  “Brea! Stop, goddammit!” he thundered as he released her.

  Spinning toward him, her eyes were wide with both shock and terror.

  “You! What are… Are you stalking me?” she breathlessly demanded.

  She was oblivious to the fact that her shirt had ripped in two or that her cock-stiffening breasts were exposed. But Sawyer wasn’t. The lightly welted scratches down her stomach didn’t distract from her dusky-pink nipples drawn up tight and hard. Like sweet, ripe cherries, those tempting twins were all but begging to be sucked, licked, nibbled, and pinched.

  Following his gaze, she looked down at her chest. With a feral screech, she gathered the edges of her shirt and fisted them closed. The movement lifted the fabric and revealed a pretty red, frilly lace thong that barely covered her pussy…the pussy he was ready to devour right there among Barbara’s cabbage, green bean, and tomato plants.

  Swallowing tightly, he dragged his gaze to Brea’s face. Her cheeks were stained crimson. She looked disheveled, wild, and so temptingly fuckable. He probably would have tried taking here there in the backyard if humiliation weren’t swimming in her caramel-colored eyes. Trying to temper his overzealous lust, he gently brushed back a strand of silky dark hair from her face. An insane arc of electricity careened up his arm.

  Sliding two fingers under her chin, he tipped her head back and delved deep into her turbulent eyes. The nighttime sounds of crickets and bullfrogs fell silent as he studied the contours of her beautiful face. Her feminine nectar, now sweetening the air with a tart, spicy scent, called to him on an animalistic level while wreaking havoc in his brain. The air between them grew thick. The sexual tension hummed. He watched her rapid pulse throb at that sweet spot along the base of her neck. God, he wanted to lay his flat tongue against that fluttering spot and lave his way all down to that enticing scrap of cloth between her thighs.

  When, not if, he finally got Brea beneath him, they’d burn the fucking house down.

  “Why are you stalking me?” she spat.

  “I’m not stalking you.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Brea demanded.

  “I live next door.”

  “Liar! Neville Grayson lives next door.”

  He wanted to grin but clenched his jaw and pinned her with a steady stare. “I’m Neville Sawyer Grayson.”

  “Oh, god.” Her face flamed a brighter shade of red.

  “What’s your full name, gorgeous?”

  “Lacking.”

  Sawyer blinked. “Lacking?”

  “Yes. Lacking dignity.”

  A low, wicked laugh rumbled up from deep in his chest before he flashed a feral smile. “Trust me, Lacking. The things I want to do to you don’t have an ounce of dignity in them.”

  A lazy smile slid across his face. Brea prayed the earth would just open up and swallow her whole. A combustible mixture of embarrassment, need, and desire swirled and suffused in her blood. Her cheeks were on fire. She didn’t know whether to kick him in the balls or slam her mouth over his and kiss his lips off. His hungry stare that promised hours and hours of carnal splendor wasn’t making the decision easy for her. Lord, he was eating her up with his eyes. But Brea wanted a whole lot more than his gaze…she wanted his capable calloused hands touching every aching, throbbing place on her body. Imagining the feel of his fingers probing deep sent her stomach tumbling in crazy little somersaults.

  No. No. No.

  She couldn’t succumb to her cravings. Sex equaled need. Need warped into reliance. Relying on a man to give her love only led to heartache and pain…every fucking time! She didn’t want or need to take another emotional nosedive. Honestly, how many more relationships had to crash and burn before she grew a pair and broke this vicious cycle? She had to fight her driving desire to rip off his clothes and ride him like a banshee. But the only way she’d win the battle of her rebellious lust was with sarcasm and anger.

  Taking a step back, she raised her chin and pinned him with a brittle smile. “I’m sure the single women of Haven know all about the undignified things you’re capable of. Sorry to burst your bubble, Romeo, but I’m not interested. So either help me through the window or go home and let me do it myself.”

  “So you’re locked out huh?”

  “No. I have latent circus performer tendencies. Here’s your sign,” she drawled in her best Bill Engvall imitation. “Yes, I’m locked out, Einstein! Why else would I be standing here in my pajamas trying to climb through a freakin’ window?”

  “Those are your pajamas?” Sawyer’s eyes grew wide and his lips twitched as if holding in a laugh.

  “Who are you, the pajama police? What do you sleep in, mister?”

  A wicked flame danced in his eyes. “Nothing. Not. A. Single. Fucking. Stitch.”

  She instantly wished she were his sheets. All the air sucked from her lungs—no doubt the molecules of oxygen were busy fanning the flames now incinerating her libido. Sawyer was definitely not what she needed right now, but dammit if she didn’t want him with every needy cell in her body.

  As she corralled her sexual distress, her smile turned caustic. “Well, if your house catches fire, I’ll be sure to bring a blanket with a warning sticker that small objects are enclosed.”

  Sawyer laughed. “Darlin’, you’re going to need one labeled choking hazard.” He leaned in, still wearing that erotic grin. “You need to be taken over my knee so I can spank the sass out of you.”

  Brea sucked in a startled gasp, but instead of being appalled at his humiliating comment, a shudder of arousal ricocheted down her spine, and heat pooled beneath her clit. Her overwhelming attraction to Sawyer had quickly convinced Brea that she needed mass quantities of psychotherapeutic drugs and a high-dollar shrink. But even that combo probably wouldn’t save her from skipping down the familiar road to disaster.

  She had to try and put the brakes on her out-of-control cravings. Thrusting out her chin, she strained for the most intimidating glare she could muster. “You try…you die. Go home, Sawyer. I can take care of this myself.”

 
“I’m sure you can, but why scrape up all that pretty, soft skin when you can use this…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. “I have a spare.”

  The dangling saw-toothed collection, clanging in front of her face, only mocked her predicament. Anger spiked. She clenched her jaw so hard her teeth throbbed. “Why didn’t you offer to unlock the door in the first place?”

  He shrugged. “I thought maybe you might make it through the window. But after your first attempt didn’t go so well, I decided to come over and help.”

  First attempt? He’d been watching her? For shits and giggles, no doubt. What a prick!

  Brea wanted to scream. “So, exactly how long had you been observing me, Neville?”

  “Don’t call me that. Call me Sawyer. I hate my given name.”

  “How long?” Brea barked.

  He arched his brows and cleared this throat. “Only a few minutes. I was sitting outside on my porch when you and Ozzie started chasing that rabbit.”

  “I wasn’t chasing the stupid rabbit. I was chasing the brain-dead dog before he killed the thing,” she corrected.

  Ozzie whimpered.

  “Aw, look. Now, you’ve gone and hurt his feelings.”

  Sawyer’s patronizing tone had her seeing red…vibrant red with flashes of hot white light. “He’s a dog! He’ll get over it. You’re lucky I’m only calling you Neville at the moment and not a whole lot worse,” she growled.

  “Is that so? Just what are you doing here at Barbara’s anyway?”

  “I’m house and dog sitting for a month, Mr. Nosey.”

  “My, my, darlin’. For someone who needs a knight in shining armor with a magic key to unlock your castle, you’re sure not acting like a proper damsel in distress.”

  It took all the control she could manage not to slap the derisive grin off his too-gorgeous face. “First of all, I’m not your darlin’. Secondly, I’m more capable than a stupid damsel in distress.”

  His expression hardened. Heat flared in his golden-emerald eyes. “That may be. All I know right now is that you’re sexy as hell when you’re all riled up.”

  “Argh,” she fumed. “Fuck this. And…and fuck you!”

  Brea spun on her heel and stomped to the window. Bracing her palms on the bottom frame, she was determined to make it through the window this time…come hell or high water.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Stop!” Sawyer gripped her shoulders. When he gently turned her to face him, compassion softened his face. His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Please don’t try that again, Brea. I’ll unlock the door for you. Come on.”

  About fucking time, you asshole!

  “Thank you,” she managed to bite out with a hint of civility.

  Sawyer raked a slow, hungry stare up her body before that lazy smile—the one that made her wish for all the things she couldn’t have—crawled across his face. “Will you invite me in for a cold beer, too?”

  Was this fuck-monkey for real?

  Brea narrowed her eyes. “I don’t have any.”

  “How ’bout a drink of water, then?”

  “The sink’s broken.”

  With a lopsided grin, he shook his head. “Now you’re just lying to me, darlin’. All you had to say was no.”

  His heated breath sent a sensual thrill to clash with her fury. And when he reached up to rub his finger and thumb over the ends of her hair, his compelling stare lifted Brea’s rage toward the stars. She truly wanted to remain pissed at the man, but his easy style of seduction made it an impossible feat.

  Fuck!

  “Mmm, soft as silk. Just like I knew it would be,” he murmured.

  He held her in a foggy haze of desire with his hypnotic stare. And the timbre of his whiskey-smooth voice sent quivers shooting through her limbs.

  Thankfully, Ozzie barked, breaking the spell Sawyer had cast upon her. Swallowing tightly, Brea inched back. The much-needed space she put between them generated a look of rejection to flash across his face. Suddenly solemn, he nodded. Without a word, he walked to the back door and unlocked it.

  Sawyer sent her a weak smile. “Don’t forget to close and lock that window. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re safe and sound over here…alone.”

  His concern about her put another chink in Brea’s armor. The anger had bled from her veins, and in its place, something else was seeping in. Something warm and reassuring. Something highly dangerous that threatened to crush the sense of peace she was struggling to find.

  Brea felt as if she were living on a fault line and sensed a catastrophic earthquake was on the horizon.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  He held her with a delving gaze for several long seconds. Finally, one corner of his mouth lifted, and he gave a nod of resignation, then turned and walked away. As she watched Sawyer’s retreating back, her gaze locked on his fine ass. Teetering on a precipice far more treacherous than a windowsill, Brea ached to call him back…back for far more than just a beer. The lonely, horny woman inside prayed he’d turn around. If he did, it would all be over but the screams of ecstasy.

  Thankfully he kept on walking.

  Grasping how easily he could topple her over into familiar but suicidal territory exposed how truly weak and vulnerable she really was. Clearly, Brea was ill prepared to reinvent herself. Still, she had to find a way to keep from lighting the fuse on that stick of dynamite known as Neville Sawyer Grayson or risk being blown to smithereens.

  Maybe she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. After all, she wasn’t upstairs, ripping off his clothes and feeding on him like a sex-starved piranha. Brea had actually overthrown her hormones. She’d passed her first monumental test with flying colors. So why was her prize a mountain of frustration and not a bright, shiny trophy?

  Ozzie let out a soft woof as he sat at her feet, wearing a cheesy dog grin. The metal gate snicked shut on the far side of the house, and the furry beast whimpered sadly. Brea nearly let out the same pathetic sound.

  “All right. Inside, butt head,” she scolded. “You’ve caused enough ruckus for one night.”

  Brea shut and locked the back door before securing the window in the dining room. After making her way upstairs, she changed her shirt, with Ozzie following behind her like a shadow. Back in the kitchen, she made herself a cup of tea while the dog promptly sprawled out on his bed in the laundry room. With elbows resting on the kitchen table, she laid her chin in her palms and watched the steam rise from the cup.

  “This is going to be a long, mind-fucking month with Neville living next door. Sawyer is Neville… Damn, I didn’t see that one coming.”

  Her epic and embarrassing window escapade spooled through her head like a horror movie. Brea didn’t want to know what Sawyer had thought when he’d happened upon her, hanging out the window in her homeless-hooker attire. With all that bare ass and hail-damage beaming in the moonlight, she’d probably scarred him for life. She easily envisioned him back home right now scrubbing his eyes with bleach.

  “Oh, god. I’ll never be able to face that man again.”

  With a long-suffering moan, Brea dropped her head in her hands. Mooning the fantasy man of her wet dreams was one performance she never wanted to repeat. Her vivid humiliation began to wane as the memory of Sawyer’s raw and hungry stare consumed her. She suspected, by the promise reflected in his eyes, that he was more than capable of making the kind of love that made the ground shake beneath her feet and the flippin’ stars collide. Brea had never experienced something so epic, not with her trail of inept lovers. There wasn’t a solitary thing inept about Sawyer. No, that man would leave her run-of-the-mill orgasms in the dust and easily ruin her for any other man.

  Unfortunately, Brea would never know any of the spine-bending skills he possessed or how thoroughly he could rock her world.

  “A fact equally depressing and regretful.”

  Ozzie softly yipped as if in agreement with her.

  “Don’t rub it in, fuzzy-butt,” she drawled.

>   Lifting the mug to her lips, Brea sipped the warm tea. The heat reminded her of Sawyer’s strong hands and hot, solid body.

  “I need to buy more batteries…lots of them.”

  While her toys could provide sexual relief, they didn’t do squat in offering what she wanted most…love and protection, companionship and trust. Brea longed to find a good man, one who wanted to settle down and raise a family with her. Someone she could grow old with.

  She wanted the fairy tale, dammit!

  But none of the men she’d aligned herself with in the past had been her prince. Watching Weed being hauled off in cuffs had ripped the blinders off her. She finally comprehended how utterly useless the man had been. His pea-sized brain couldn’t remember the combination to the dishwasher; the sink was forever piled high with dirty dishes. He’d never learned the recipe for ice either; the trays sat empty in the freezer all the time. While his fingers worked perfectly on the remote control to his game system, they couldn’t put the toilet seat down…ever. It was a wonder the man could wipe his own ass without Brea’s help.

  She’d been more of a mother than a girlfriend to every man she’d ever lived with.

  Not anymore. She was on her own now. That reality brought every insecurity and vulnerability within to float to the surface.

  Ozzie rose and stood beside her. Brea scrubbed him behind the ears.

  “I’m not totally alone, am I? You’ll protect me from rapists and homicidal maniacs, won’t you, boy?”

  The dog cocked his head and looked at her as if she were crazy.

  Yeah, she probably was.

  Haven was a safe and quiet little town. As long as she didn’t don an ape suit and prowl the streets at night, Brea would be perfectly safe. Poor Emmett. The man was a few dates short of a fruitcake. But she knew most everyone had demons to conquer; she’d simply steer clear of the old man’s shotgun.