Reawakening (9 page)

“Or maybe you want him to slide a couple of fingers inside you? He could do that, too. You tell me what you want.”

I want you
, she thought then stirred in an agitated sort of way, back in reality. Did she really? Was that really what she wanted? Her mind flashed on him dancing with her in a different way, and that inferno went high, high.

“Do you want him to fuck you, June-bug?”

It was him calling her that name—that was the thing that made it more difficult. More frustrating, somehow. She bucked against Blake’s hand and felt those two fingers slide in to the hilt. Just like Jamie had promised.

It felt crazy-good but not quite good enough. Not full enough, not electric enough.

“I think she needs your cock, buddy,” Jamie said, at which she didn’t mind admitting—a sob broke out of her. A real one, too. Not just some fake dream thing. “It’s the only way to get the zombie infection right out of her.”

Oh, of course, it was! Of course. She needed a good hard fucking until she couldn’t even remember what the word zombie meant. What other solution was there but that one? Apart from the other sane, reasonable things, obviously.

“Oh yes please,” her dream-self said, while back in reality her actual self cringed. How dare the dream-self sound so…breathless. What did she think this was? Zombie apocalypse porn?

Oh dear God, it was. It totally was.

“Don’t you worry, baby. He’s going to give it to you so good.”

It couldn’t have gotten more zombie apocalypse porn if it had tried. She felt sure she’d seen this one before—
28 Lays Later.
That was the title, right?

And it was funny, it really was, until Blake was suddenly on her. At which point, her pussy remembered what it felt like to have a cock sliding into it, even if she didn’t.

It felt heavy. Heavy and full. It made little pulses of sensation flow upward from that one point, until she could hardly do anything but clench down hard on him. Rut up against him.

He moaned when she did. Slid almost all of the way out then fucked back in hard enough to shake her whole body. It didn’t hurt, however. He wasn’t rough, exactly. He just wanted and needed and couldn’t stop himself from getting.

She could tell he couldn’t because, as he took his pleasure, he made all of the noises she couldn’t imagine Blake making in real life, and he turned his head from side to side as though he couldn’t believe that this—
this
was sex.

This feeling of being totally consumed by someone, while consuming them at the same time. He somehow got a hand to her clit, but she didn’t need it. His solid—God, how solid it felt—length rubbed all the right places, and she was so wet and so turned on that it didn’t really matter, anyway.

She could have come over a pat on the back. As it was, she settled for coming hard and slippery on his working cock, straining at the rope leash all the while.

Though back in reality it wasn’t quite enough. Not quite enough to give her the end to that warm wave of deliciousness—that almost-orgasm that dreams sometimes let her have.

But apparently this dream was intent on being really, really good to her, because it didn’t mind continuing, and maybe upping the ante, a little. And her conscious self knew exactly what the upped ante was going to be.

“Was that good, baby?” Jamie said. He didn’t ask Blake anything. Blake sprawled on his back while her dream rendered in glorious detail what it would feel like, to have someone come inside her.

Like being really, really dirty. And naughty. And was Jamie going to do the same thing now, too? Oh yes please.

“But you’re greedy though, right?”

She tried to nod her head. But it was still lolling from Blake and all of those little remembered sensations—of someone’s hand on her hip, pressing in order to get that good, good leverage. Of a cock in her cunt, as eager and rampant as the person doing the fucking.

“You want a little more?”

She wanted to scream at him, then. But the scream seemed totally redundant when he was naked now, too. She couldn’t see him clearly—because of course, back in reality, it was hard to determine someone’s body type through layers of Hawaiian shirts—but it didn’t really matter.

It was Jamie. Jamie was going to fuck her. She could feel his body over hers, taut as a wire. Strung out with need but holding back all the same.

Yeah. Yeah. That would be Jamie in bed. So wound up and ready but just holding back a little—maybe as a tease. Maybe because he was sweet and good and a gentleman.

“You want me to make love to you, baby?” he said, and the cutting edge of his previous words slid away. There was nothing torturous about that sentence. Nothing at all.

And when she tilted her head up and kissed him, he didn’t pull away. He let her, and she gave it everything she had. It all just poured out and into his mouth, hungry and desperate.

It was almost too much, when he pushed into her. Mainly because he didn’t wait, the way Blake had. He took one firm stroke then went for the others hungrily, forcefully. Like she might melt away if he didn’t put his stamp on her, firmly.

And it was that thought that put her over the edge. It made the fuzzy swells of pleasure big and hard to escape and finally, finally her body gave into it. She felt it go without a hint of resistance.

He was good, he was so good, and she had known he would be. Always known. Blake was hot but Jamie was wild, and that was what it felt like to get fucked by him. Like the way he’d danced, with just that glancing edge of competency and a whole lot of horny enthusiasm.

God. God. How she wanted to just
live
in it. Just live in sex, forever and ever and—

She woke with a snap for two reasons. The first was the aching gush of glorious pleasure winding its way pleasantly through her body. The second was a complete and total awareness of the sound she’d just made.

It wasn’t even a sob, really. Or a whimper. Or a light moan. She’d made a noise like a goose dying into the quiet, dark stillness of the bedroom. The bedroom that she was totally not alone in.

Not like before when she’d had her last completely inappropriate sex dream. Previously, she’d woken up alone in the bed and free of any possible witnesses. This time, there could have been witnesses.

Like the one who was kind of staring down at her from the prop of his three times folded over pillow, with a knowing look in his bright sparking eyes.

She stopped breathing momentarily. Tried to think of possible excuses for making a dying goose noise. Only she couldn’t think of any, because her brain had ceased functioning. Every part of her had ceased functioning, apparently. That was what happened when you had a sex dream about someone who slept right next to you on a nightly basis.

God, how stupid was her brain? What had it been
thinking
? Jamie was obviously, clearly a light sleeper. He was always the first one gone in the morning. Five am, to Blake’s more reasonable Seven am. Sometimes he’d make a noise in the night and be up and out of bed, pacing around—though the noises he made were always of a completely appropriate nature.

Argh, no, the zombies are eating me!
That sort of thing. Never
oh God yes, yes, come all over my pussy, Jamie.

She looked into his deep blue eyes, and tried to assess whether the above had been said. True, she’d definitely honked like a goose. But had he been awake for the whole show? Had she said other things, more incriminating things, with words and diagrams and oh no, oh no.

Why did he look so…warm?

“Bad dream?” he said, and he sounded absolutely sincere. It didn’t seem like a tease at all. But really, how could she be sure? It was always so hard to tell with Jamie—with both of them, in fact. One spent his time as closed down as a rock. The other behaved in such a jumbled, jerky, scrappy fashion…she just couldn’t pin him down.

Then her mind went to the image of literally pinning him down, of course, and there she was. Back where she’d started, in Hornyland.

“Uh,” she said, because that was the national anthem of Hornyland. Such a pisser, really, that it was so much sweeter than the national anthem of Zombie World—because she couldn’t act on it, of course. She couldn’t act on anything in Hornyland. Hornyland was weird when six billion people were dead and Kelsey had taken a bullet in the head and they weren’t attracted to her, anyway.

Right?

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”

She flushed red, thinking of how rude her dream had made him. How she’d thought about him being a nice guy because he let sex things happen to her. He just
was
a nice guy, for God’s sake!

So very, very nice. Especially with his hair kind of falling over his forehead like that and his sparking eyes swirling into hers and that good sharp, strong edge of his right cheekbone. Sometimes, Blake seemed like the handsome one.

Because Jamie was scrappy and silly and not obvious with it. Until he leaned in close and whispered that he had dreams all the time. Then things were different. Then she felt so suddenly close to him that she was sure she could hear his heart beating through his skin, through his t-shirt, through everything. She’d probably be able to hear him on the other side of the world.

“I dreamt one time that we were swimming in the lake,” he said and the building warmth returned as though it had never been away. It didn’t even need something particularly suggestive, as it turned out. Swimming was enough to fire it back up again, apparently.

Well, swimming and his mouth very close to hers. And maybe that little hint of…did he have an arm around her? He was propped up on his elbow, now, and she felt almost positive that he’d dropped his forearm over her pillow, above her head.

Strange, really, that it felt more intimate than the dancing had, when he’d put actual arms around her.

“And you know, we were just kind of splashing around…”

She savored his voice. The texture of it—
jus’ kinda splashin’ arown.
Every word he cut off or couldn’t be bothered to finish, and how wide his sentences seemed to yaw. It was probably the reason she’d had him talking all the time, in her dreams. If he sounded sexy when talking about swimming, how sexy would he be when discussing dirty things?

Oh, very. Very.

“Then the water started turning red, and I could feel all these hands, clawing at my legs and I knew any second they were gonna pull you down. I knew. ‘Cause that’s what my dreams are always like.”

Or, you know. Not sexy at all.

“You okay, June-bug?” he asked. Probably because she’d flinched when the warmth and happy swimming had abruptly turned to something blood red and dark.

And now she was blushing again, too, because really. What sort of insensitive fucking person dreamt about sex when everyone around her still lived in Tortureville? He’d probably seen his wife and family eaten in a swimming pool. He’d probably tried to get to them across acres of water, before the zombie lifeguard tore off their limbs.

Jesus. Jesus. It wasn’t even funny, thinking about zombie lifeguards. It was awful. Jamie wouldn’t appreciate her apocalypse humor, the way Kelsey had.

“Hey, it’s okay. We wake up again, right?”

He had a hand on the side of her face, now. No doubt her mortification just looked like womanly distress or something like it and he felt the best way to cure it was to touch her hair, and her cheek, and was he rubbing a thumb over her temple?

He was, and she couldn’t help herself. She just had to close her eyes and savor it a little—because he did it so rarely, so rarely. The dancing had seemed like an electric jolt to her spine precisely because it had involved so much contact.

In a place where contact wasn’t allowed. She’d seen to that, the first night she’d spent there. She’d let them see her skittish and sleepless, freaked out by their maleness and unable to function. And now they were too scared to give her so much as a handshake.

She thought about saying to him, then—please shake my hand. Just to see what kind of response that would get. Just to see if he would. He could start by sliding his fingers over hers, and rubbing his palm over each one, then…

She opened her eyes and he was closer. Much closer. That one too-daring thumb had found its way to making circles over her temple, and they were lovely. Not sexual, exactly. Lovely in a different, but still warm way.
Soothing
, she thought, as her eyelids went heavy and her breathing slowed and everything turned to syrup.

She became aware—somewhat absently—that his arm had stopped hovering in the air, somewhere above her chest. He had laid it down over her collarbone to better facilitate temple rubbing.

“Feel better?” he asked and she thought
God, yes
. Most of her didn’t even feel all that embarrassed, anymore. He’d rubbed away her humiliation, along with her sudden lifeguard terror.

And oh. He was so, so handsome. Just really handsome, up this close.

“You’re kinda still trembling, June-bug,” he said and she wondered if she’d really been trembling before. Or was he just looking for a reason, a dream excuse for the minute tremors that were shaking their way through her body?