Chapter 152 – Dream of a Bow
Jace
It starts with a knock. Not the sharp rap of a patrol report or summons to council, but something softer. Timid, almost.
I’m standing in my doorway before I’ve even registered that I moved. Shirtless and barefoot.
When I open the door, Hazel’s standing there wearing nothing.
Nothing but a blood-red bow, tied at the center of her chest. Wide satin ribbon that wraps beneath her breasts, around her ribs, and crosses over one hip before vanishing between her thighs. The knot rests just over her heart.
She doesn’t speak, but her eyes lock onto mine like she’s daring me to move. Her nipples are dusky pink and puckered sharply in the cold and I want to warm them in the recesses of my mouth. I want to sink my teeth into them while they’re hard and sensitive and hear the sound she makes for me.
And just like that, something inside me snaps, sweeping away every ounce of my carefully cultivated self-control. I open the door wider without a word and she steps in.
I can smell a whisper of scent. Something heady like jasmine, or gardenia blossoms. Something that makes me want to bury my nose in her core and inhale deeply.
Her skin is flushed from the cold, nipples peaked and belly tight, but her spine is straight, her jaw held like a weapon. She’s offering herself to me freely, not submitting to my desire. And I don’t even try to resist.
My hand finds the bow, fingers sliding beneath the ribbon. She lets me tug the tails loose and I watch with held breath as the knot comes apart slowly, the satin whispering as it slides free, until she stands before me completely bare, waiting, unashamed.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice so rough it sounds like I’ve been chewing gravel.
She tilts her head. “But I am.”
“You’re young.”
“I’m an adult, perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”
“I’m your commander.”
“Not right now, you’re not. Jace.”
Gods. The sound of my name in her mouth is like the most potent aphrodisiac. My cock doesn’t bother with twitching, it goes straight to attention.
She presses forward and her hand flattens against my chest. My heart punches against her palm, savage as a fist striking iron.
The words in my mouth rot on my tongue. All the reasons I’ve pushed this down, all the lines I’ve drawn, one by one, they burn under her touch.
When she kisses me, I let her. She tastes like honey and blood. Like battlefields and new beginnings. She kisses me like she’s never been afraid of me. Like she knows exactly what I’m made of and wants it anyway.
When I lift her, laying her on my bed, strong arms cradling her as if she’s made of something rarer than gold, I’m still telling myself this is just a dream. A vivid one. The kind that makes your teeth ache and your cock burn and your soul rattle with need.
Hazel’s body fits under mine like we were made for war together. Her thighs part for me. Her arms hook around my shoulders. Her teeth catch my lower lip when I kiss her again, her legs locking tight around my hips.
And I’m so fucking hard. I’m aching to bury myself in her sweet heat. She arches beneath me as I grind down, cock pressed against her slick heat through my boxers. She gasps my name, fingers fisting in my hair.
“Jace,” she says, like it’s always belonged to her.
I palm her breast, thumb circling her nipple, and watch her writhe. Her back arches off the bed. Her lips fall open on a gasp. When I touch her between her legs, she’s soaked.
“You’ve been thinking about this?” I ask hoarsely.
“Every fucking night.”
I groan. My mouth finds her throat, her collarbone, the underside of her breast, marking her with kisses and teeth. She whimpers, grinding up against me.
I’m losing it. Losing every last thread of discipline I’ve spent years mastering.
When I finally push into her, she moans loudly, like she doesn’t care who hears. Like she wants the whole damn pack to know who she belongs to now.
And I want to give her everything.
The thrusts start slow, reverent, my hands locked on her hips like I’m holding the edge of the world. Hazel’s lips move against my jaw. “Harder.”
“Hazel-”
“Please.”
I lose the war. I fuck her like I’m starved for her. Like I’ve needed this for years without letting myself realize. Our bodies slap together in rough, breathless rhythm. Sweat beads on my back. Her moans get ragged, urgent. She’s close. So am I.
“I’m going to come,” she gasps.
“Look at me when you do,” I order, voice fraying.
She does. And as she falls apart beneath me, legs trembling, pussy fluttering around my cock, I watch her. I watch the girl I trained, the soldier who made my life hell, the woman who just shattered every fucking wall I had left.
I come with a growl, deep and possessive, spilling into her as my hips jerk and stutter. The dream doesn’t fade.
I stay inside her, holding her as our breathing slows. Her fingers trace the back of my neck, soft and fond, as if she’s known this version of me all along.
I kiss her shoulder. Whisper her name. Then there’s only pain as the dream tears apart like wet paper.
I wake up hard and furious, jaw clenched, sweat soaked into my sheets. My hips are still moving. My body is still rutting against the mattress like a dog in heat, the last echoes of orgasm wringing through me.
I groan, loud and guttural, and roll onto my back.
“Fuck.”
The ceiling above me doesn’t answer. I throw an arm over my eyes and breathe through my teeth, every muscle tight with shame.
It was just a dream. Made real by how intimately I know everything about here. The sound of her voice. Her laugh. The smug way she chews on her lower lip when she’s trying not to grin.
The bow was my stupid subconscious turning Eli’s smart-ass comment about her showing up wearing nothing but her bow, into a red satin one, instead of one that kills.
So actually this is Eli’s fault.
No. Don’t be a coward.
I shift uncomfortably, still half-hard, the wet mess between my thighs already cooling. I’ll need to change the sheets. Again. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Just the worst.
I don’t usually dream it that vividly. I don’t usually see her. Smell her. Feel her. It’s always been blurry before, lust without a name. Hunger without a face. Even though I knew it was Hazel.
I drag both hands down my face, but my heart refuses to slow down.
She’s younger. Not that much younger, but enough that I feel it in my bones. She’s a Delta. New to the inner circle. I’m her commander. The one who signs off on her training schedules, who critiques her blade work, who’s supposed to tell her when she’s ready for the front lines.
I’m not supposed to be having sex dreams about her. And yet, here I am, covered in sweat and shame, cock twitching at the memory of her voice in my ear.
“Jace…”
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t start doing this. Not with her. Not when I’ve already been on the wrong side of war. Not when my instincts are this fucked. Not when Hazel, proud, brave, reckless Hazel, deserves someone who isn’t torn in half every time she looks at him.
It would be easier if I didn’t suspect she felt something too. But I’ve seen it. Felt it. That glint in her eyes when I put her in her place during drills. That extra beat she holds my gaze when no one else is looking.
I told myself it was nothing.
Because it isn’t. It never was. Not really. Not from her side.
I’ll just have to work harder to keep my walls up when Hazel is around.