Chase was dreaming. It was a good dream, a pleasant dream. It was more than that, it was a fantasy, a wet dream. It wasn’t real, he didn’t think, because that would be simply too much to bear, too much wonder to contain. She was the dream, the one woman of whom he’d dreamed so often. The dream had been a long one, hours of ecstasy, it felt like. He’d dreamed of running into her after a show, and discovering she loved him after all, wanted to be with him despite the impossibility of such a thing. They’d gone to his show, and then to a hotel, and they’d made love. In that dream, she had taken Chase to a place he’d never thought possible, beyond sex, beyond climax, beyond anything that had ever been. He hadn’t just come harder than ever before in his life; he’d felt her soul merge with his.
They’d fallen asleep together, in the dream.
And now, dreaming, he felt her lips on his body. Pressing fiery kisses down his chest, across his breast, light lip-touches on his ribs, his side, his hip. Oh god, what dream. She was kissing his thigh, and her hands were carving hot lines of sensual contact over his arms and inner thighs and now…oh shit, now she was touching him.
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