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In the dream, it doesn’t matter that the snap of autumn is in the air. In the dream I move through bars of moonlight over the bed, skin luminous and silvery-pale. My lover is sleeping, his face smooth and careless. His arms and legs are flung out into the softness of the bedclothes like a willing Pagan offering.

In the dream I am a goddess, an angel, a priestess, a demon.

I crawl up his body. I let my nipples trail along his legs; the delicate friction sends a shiver along my spine. His cock twitches, but he doesn’t wake. I press my breasts against his thighs, running my tongue lightly down his length. His eyelashes flutter, a moan rumbles his chest.

I take him in my mouth and suck hard, drawing his cock deep. I feel his body snap to attention; his erection swells against my tongue. I shift myself to straddle his knee, reveling in the pressure against my aching pussy. His eyes are closed in pleasure, lashes fluttering. I rake his nipples lightly and taste the earthy flavor of the orgasm he’ll have.

Without opening his eyes, he slips a finger between us to trace my wetness. I gasp when he presses against my clit. I’m so soaked in my arousal, I can hear his fingers move inside me. I purr around his cock, still moving my lips and tongue over him, and he plunges his finger deep inside me.

It’s not enough, it’s never enough.

I gasp, releasing him with a wet, sucking kiss, and move over his hips.

I lower myself onto his cock. He fills me, stretches me, wordlessly urging me to ride him until we both come, panting and sweating, nerves on fire, skin singing.

When I wake, the morning is peering, red-eyed, through the wooden slat blinds in his bedroom. I am already aching with desire when he skims an idle hand up my arm and whispers warm in my ear.

“I had the hottest dream last night. You…” He reaches between my legs and hums in appreciation. I rock my hips against his questing fingers; I come against his hand while he tells me my own dream.

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