He ground his palm into his eye socket and let out a shuddering breath. Just the sound of her voice right now made his body tight with desire.

"Fuck," he swore low and rolled out of bed. He needed a shower—a cold one.

As he crossed the floor near her mattress, he caught a whiff of Claire—that unique scent of her which was a combination of soap and some kind of flower he couldn't place. It made his knees go weak with desire. It made him want to collapse onto her bed and roll around in it like a feline in cat-nip.

He double-timed it to the bathroom and ran the water in the shower while he chuffed off his sweatpants and tossed them to the floor in a wad. Then he climbed into the shower and let the lukewarm water sluice down his body, pound on his shoulders and head.

Adam leaned one hand against the tiled bathroom wall and closed his eyes, trying to banish the memory of the dream and failing. He hit the cold water on the faucet big-time, but not even that helped.

The soft brush of her inner thigh against his cheek, the taste and scent of her filling his senses and making him crazy with the need to fuck her. The sweet feel of her clit against his tongue and the way she shuddered and moaned as he brought her to a hard and fast orgasm by sucking that sweet little bit of flesh into his mouth.

Afterward, the delicious give of her thighs against his knee and the feel of her wrists under his hands. The hot, velvet snare of her sex around his hard cock, so sticky sweet and perfect. How he'd fucked her hard and fast—flesh slapping on flesh—until she'd shattered a second time, the muscles of her pretty, perfect sex milking his shaft…

He had his hand around the base of his cock before he even knew he was doing it. Adam stroked himself from root to tip, harder and faster, just the way he wanted to thrust deep into Claire. He fisted his hand against the wall as he came, pleasure rising up from his balls and exploding. Claire's name tumbled from his lips as it washed over him.

When it was finished, he leaned his head against the wall and let the water run down his body.

What was it about this woman that had him so goddamned torqued up? He had lots of women in his life. Witches were lucky in that they didn't have to worry about catching diseases. Adam had made damn sure he'd taken advantage of that benefit since Eliza's death.

Drowning his sorrow in pussy. That's what Jack called it.

The point was, he'd never been hurting for women, so why was this particular one affecting him this way? Like he was some thirteen-year-old kid who just found his dad's stack of Penthouse magazines under the bed?