Chapter 53 Elena Heart- POV
He was solid and real beneath my hands, warm and alive, and I needed more, needed him closer, needed to feel every inch of him pressed against me.
He shifted his weight, pressing me back into the makeshift bed, and I went willingly, my legs parting to make room for him between them.
The mattress creaked beneath us, a soft sound that seemed loud in the dream's stillness. Xavier braced himself above me, his blue eyes dark with desire, his chest heaving with each breath.
"Tell me you want this," he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me you want me, Elena. Even in a dream, tell me."
"I want you," I breathed, and the words felt like truth, like the most honest thing I'd ever spoken. "I want you, Xavier. I need you—please—"
He groaned, a sound of pure need, and lowered his mouth to mine again. His kisses became deeper, more desperate, his tongue sweeping through my mouth with a hunger that made me dizzy.
His hands moved to my hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he rolled his own hips against mine, the hard length of him pressing against me through the layers of our clothes.
"Xavier," I moaned into his mouth, the sound rising and breaking as he rocked against me again, finding a rhythm that made sparks of pleasure burst behind my closed eyes. "Ah—yes—don't stop—"
His lips left mine to trail down my throat, his teeth grazing the tendon there with just enough pressure to make me gasp. He licked and sucked at my skin, marking me, claiming me, and I tilted my head back to give him better access, my hands fisting in the sheets beneath me.
"I can taste you," he murmured against my collarbone, his breath hot and damp against my fevered skin. "Even in dreams, you taste like mine. Like belonging."
His hands moved to the fastening of my trousers, fingers deft despite the tremor I could feel in them. He unfastened the ties slowly, deliberately, his knuckles brushing against my stomach with each movement.
I lifted my hips to help him, my breath coming in shallow pants, my body aching with need so intense it bordered on pain.
"Please," I whispered, and I didn't know what I was begging for, his touch, his mouth, the fullness of him inside me. All of it. Everything. "Xavier, please—"
He pushed the fabric down my hips, his hands following the path of the discarded clothes, tracing patterns on my bare thighs that made me shiver. Then his fingers found me, sliding through slick heat with a confidence that made my back arch off the bed.
"You're so wet," he breathed, wondering and hunger warring in his voice. "So ready for me, Elena. Even in dreams, your body knows me. Knows what it needs."
His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, pressing just where I needed him, building pleasure in waves that threatened to drown me. I moaned his name, over and over, my hips rocking against his hand, seeking more, seeking everything.
"Xavier," I gasped, and my voice broke on the word, pleasure coiling tight in my belly. "I need you, inside, I need—"
He shifted above me, his free hand working at his own trousers, pushing them down to free himself. I caught a glimpse of him, hard and thick and perfect, before he settled between my thighs, the head of him pressing against where his fingers had prepared me.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough with restraint. "Elena, look at me. I want to see your eyes when I take you. Even in dreams, I want to watch you come apart for me."
I met his gaze, those blue eyes dark with desire and something deeper, love, devotion, a promise that transcended the boundaries of dream and waking.
And then he pushed into me, slow and steady, filling me inch by inch until I was gasping, my nails digging into his shoulders, my head falling back as pleasure overwhelmed me.
"Ah, Xavier…" I moaned, the sound drawn out, broken, desperate. "You're so, deep, ah—"
He began to move, pulling out and pushing back in with a rhythm that made the world dissolve around us. The makeshift bed creaked beneath us, the sound joining our ragged breathing, our moans, the wet slap of skin against skin.
His mouth found mine again, swallowing my cries, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips.
"I've got you," he panted against my lips, his movements growing harder, faster, driving me toward the edge with relentless precision. "Let go, Elena. Let me feel you. Come for me—"
His hand slid between us, finding that sensitive spot again, pressing and circling in time with his thrusts. The pleasure built to unbearable heights, coiling tight in my belly, my thighs trembling, my breath coming in desperate gasps.
"Xavier—ah! I'm—I'm going to…" I couldn't finish, the words lost in a cry of pure release as pleasure crashed over me, wave after wave, my body clenching around him, my back arching off the bed.
He groaned, a sound of raw satisfaction, and his movements became erratic, desperate, chasing his own release. "Elena…" he gasped, my name a prayer and a curse, and then he was coming too, spilling inside me with a final, shuddering thrust, his body collapsing over mine, his face buried in my neck.
We lay there for long moments, breathing hard, our bodies still joined, the dream world holding us in its gentle grip. His lips found my shoulder, pressing soft kisses to my sweat-dampened skin.
"Find me," he whispered, the words barely audible, already beginning to fray at the edges of the dream. "Remember, Elena. Remember…"
But the dream was dissolving, the small hut fading, his weight lifting from me like morning mist burning off in sunlight. I reached for him, my fingers closing on empty air, his name on my lips—
I woke to gray morning light filtering through the hut's single window, my hand still outstretched, fingers curled around nothing.
The wool blanket had twisted around my legs, and my shift was damp with sweat, my heart hammering against my ribs as if I'd truly been running, truly been loved, truly been claimed.
For a long moment, I lay still, breathing in the ordinary scents of the hut, woodsmoke from last night's fire, dried herbs, the faint mustiness of straw. No smoke and cedar. No presence burning at the edge of my perception.
But my body remembered. The phantom pressure of him inside me, the ache of muscles that had never truly clenched, the lingering warmth between my thighs that had nothing to do with sweat and everything to do with desire given form in dream.
I pressed my palm flat against my stomach, feeling the frantic flutter there, and whispered into the empty air: "I remember."
The words felt like a vow. Like the first chapter of something I would write in blood and fire if necessary.