Chapter 20 Burning
~Sage~
That night, I woke in the dark, my body on fire, Keith's name on my name as I slowly realized that I'd been dreaming about having sex with my husband's son the moment I laid down to sleep.
The dream clung to me like a sharp cologne. I could still vividly remember all that he had done to me in that dream. I could remember his hands on my skin, his mouth at my throat, his glorious weight pressing me into silk sheets. My thighs clenched together, seeking friction and relief from the ache he'd left even in sleep.
"Oh god, Keith," I murmured, my hands going to my breasts, What are you doing to me?"
I squeezed them...hard, in the same way that his tough hands would have done it. But it wasn't the same. My hands were too small compared to his.
"What would you do if you were here?" I whispered, arching my back as I pinched my nipples slightly. "Would you call me a good girl and show me how to please you?"
I whimpered as a little wave of pleasure hit me. My teeth not down on my lower lip, and I released a shaky breath.
This is getting worse, I thought, pressing my palms against my eyes. But that only brought the image back sharper: Keith at dinner last night, those dark eyes devouring me, his hands folded like he was physically stopping himself from reaching across the table.
My skin felt too tight and too hot. Every brush of the sheets against my oversensitive body made me shiver. I could still feel dream-Keith's mouth on mine, could still hear the growl in his voice when he'd said my name in lust.
I shifted restlessly, my hand sliding down without conscious thought, seeking the pressure I desperately needed. Just the lightest touch over my sleep shorts made me gasp.
This is wrong, the rational part of my mind protested. He's the king's son.
But my body didn't care about politics or propriety or morality. My body only knew that Keith had looked at me last night like I was something precious, something worth destroying everything for. That when he'd pressed me against his car, I'd felt how badly he wanted me, I'd felt his hardness on my stomach, and I'd felt his need coursing through his veins.
Unconsciously, I slipped my hand down to my center, feeling the wetness around. My fingers moved in slow circles, and I let myself imagine it was his hand instead. I imagined what would have happened if we hadn't stopped in the car. If he'd slid his hand higher up my thigh, under that dress...
A soft moan escaped before I could stop it. I froze, listening, but the palace was silent. No one would have heard me.
The dream had felt so real. Keith's fingers traced patterns on my inner thigh, his voice rough in my ear telling me how beautiful I looked, how he'd thought about this, about me, every night since I'd arrived. Dream-Keith had known exactly how to touch me, how to make me—
A knock at my door shattered the moment.
I yanked my slippery hand away, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now. Pale dawn light filtered through my curtains. How long had I been...?
"Sage?" Keith's voice called out. "You awake?"
Oh god.
I scrambled out of bed, trying to smooth my hair and calm my breathing. Could he smell it on me? The arousal, the need? My face burned with embarrassment.
"Just – just a minute!"
I grabbed my robe, wrapping it tightly around myself, then flung the door open. Keith stood there with a breakfast tray, looking unfairly good for barely past dawn. His hair was still messy from sleep, and he wore a simple t-shirt that clung to his broad, hard chest in ways that didn't help my current situation.
"I made breakfast," he said, then his eyes sharpened, his nostrils flaring slightly. His pupils dilated. "Sage..."
He could smell it. Of course he could. Every wolf in a mile radius could probably smell how aroused I was.
"I was – I just woke up," I stammered.
His jaw clenched, knuckles white where he gripped the tray. "From a dream?"
The way he said it, rough and knowing, made heat pool low in my belly again.
"Keith—"
"Let me in," he said, and it wasn't quite a request. "Before someone sees me standing in your doorway."
I stepped back, letting him enter. He set the tray on my nightstand with careful precision, then turned to face me. The air between us crackled.
"You were dreaming about me."
It wasn't a question. I couldn't deny it. My scent had already betrayed me.
"It's not fair how you always catch me in the act," I whispered.
"Fair?" He took a step closer, and I backed up until my legs hit the bed. "You think it's fair that I haven't slept in weeks? That I lie awake knowing you're three doors down, in this bed, wearing those little silk things you sleep in?"
"How do you know what I sleep in?"
His smile was dark, predatory. "Your scent changes when you're sleeping. It is softer. Sweeter. And sometimes," he moved closer, close enough that I could feel his body heat, "sometimes I walk by your door at night and I can smell exactly what you're dreaming about."
"Oh god," I breathed. “Keith…”
"Is that what you say in those dreams?" His hand came up, not quite touching my face, just hovering near enough that I could feel the warmth. "Do you say my name? Do you moan my name in that breathless tone like you just did?"
"Keith, we can't—"
"I know." His hand dropped, and he stepped back, the loss of his nearness almost painful. "I know we can't. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to know. It doesn't stop me from going fucking insane thinking about you in this bed, touching yourself, thinking about me."