I don’t know if he’s trying to be funny. I don’t know what he’s trying to do. I can’t open my eyes all the way, and it’s so frustrating. I can’t control myself at all. “What are you doing?” I murmur when he doesn’t get up. I go stiff with a gasp when his lips brush against my cheek, then move down my jaw before brushing against my throat.

“Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

This can’t be happening. It can’t be Colt touching me the way he is, so gentle and sweet. It can’t be Colt kissing my neck until I shiver and goose bumps cover my skin. I have to be dreaming. That’s the only explanation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers before planting another kiss, this one against my collarbone. “So perfect.” I would thank him, but my tongue is too thick and heavy. Besides, what does it matter? This is all a dream, anyway. You don’t have to thank somebody in a dream, do you? Even my thoughts aren’t making any more sense than what my body is feeling. And what it’s feeling is something deeper and more intense than anything I’ve ever known. There’s wetness pooling between my thighs, and my pussy is aching for attention.

I’ve had some sexy dreams before, but not once did they include Colt, though. Normally, it’s some stranger, a sweet guy I met at a coffee shop, maybe. Then there is usually a part where I get frustrated because I can’t get off, not understanding that everything happening is only happening in my head.

Not so this time, when the sensation of Colt’s hand cupping one of my breasts while gently sucking the other is so intense, so real. “Oh god,” I somehow manage to moan. It doesn’t come out clearly, but I guess that doesn’t matter in a dream, either. He understands, and he chuckles a little before turning his attention to the other breast, gently sucking on my nipple, rolling his tongue around it in slow, sensual circles that make me lift my hips and grind against him.