Dreaming

She was dreaming again. Drifting in that place between dreams and reality, allowing her consciousness and subconsciousness to merge as one as she laid on the bed, in a small silk tank top and boxers, the heat pressing down and keeping her from fully waking. Faintly aware of the hot breeze blowing in through the window and brushing against her sweaty skin, her eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids with passing REM images.

There was no clear line, no way of defining one from the other. At points she could swear he was really laying on top of her, the fabric of the silk really the feel of his skin moving against hers as he seemed to labour through the love making. Her hips rocked upwards, pushing against him in return as their hands found each other, being pushed back against the bed above her head. Her eyes sought the darkness, vainly searching for those blue orbs that seemed like oceans when she looked into them. She wanted to make him real, she wanted him to -be- real. There's no way to describe it, no words to tell of the aching inside her, not only in her body, but in her heart as well. Her soul longing to wrap around him, sooth and comfort him in the only way that lovers can.

But at the same time, she didn't want it to be real. She loved the way reality and illusions blurred in her mind, she loved being able to slip back and forth at any time she pleased. To confuse the pain with the love she felt for a man that was barely within grasps reach. It tormented her, he tormented her. Giving into him completely, letting him take whatever he wanted. If only he knew he had her wrapped around his little finger, but it was dangerous that way. They both knew he pulled on her strings, he could unravel her soul at any minute.

Whimpering, she was finally able to find the depth of his eyes, letting them bore into hers as he pushed just that much deeper. It was such a surreal feeling; this perfect piece of a man belonging to her as far as she was concerned. The fine hairs that covered his entire body was hers, the fingers that now laced with hers, keeping her hands firmly against the bed were hers, the muscular buttocks that powered his increasing thrusts were hers, his lips - so kissable, soft, but commanding - were hers, his forearms - how she loved to watch them work, watch the muscles and the veins that helped make him perfect - were hers. But his heart, his soul, even his mind would never be captured by a single female and that made him all the more irresistible. And she didn't want to capture him, she wanted him to come to her willingly, to give himself to her as she gave herself to him, to give and take, to push and pull in a perfect loving dance. Beyond reality, that's what she had.

Her limbs ached, even as she remained in bed alone, her muscles grew sore from the workings of her mind. From the way he held her pinned under him, from the way he only seemed to worry about himself at the moment, taking what he wanted, what he needed with a low growl that made her sweaty body shiver with anticipation. She wanted to be used and from the way his hips grind against her thighs, she knew she wanted to be abused by him.

The breeze continued to drift in through the window, like a soft promising whisper that tickled her toes, caressing the hot flesh of her legs as it wound it's way around both their bodies, bringing the smell of yet another oncoming storm. No, she didn't want a storm yet. No, she wanted to finish this with him before her conscious was pulled from this sweet dream by the rolling thunder. Murmuring encouragements she knew he wanted to hear, his movements become almost frantic, even frustrated, but she was there. She was on the edge, she's always been on the edge with him.

"Don't stop...", she whispered, "t - take me...use me...abuse - abuse me...fuck...me", but his name become caught in her throat as if it was a sin to even whisper it to the wind, but who would hear? She would hear; a name meant he'd become real, more real than she wanted, real enough that he'd able to hurt her where she didn't want to be hurt. Not yet.

Her fingers tightened around his as the enviable climax cursed through her body, twisting and squirming under him, knowing he wasn't going to give up until he got what he wanted. But it hurt, the spasms that shook her body one after the one hurt so good she wanted to scream, but she didn't dare utter a sound as his own body finally tensed and then collapsed down on top of her, his breathing hot and heavy against the flesh of her neck. Yes, he was hers.

She woke slowly, reluctantly, her mind unwilling to take in the reality that was now around her. But she knew she was alone in her bed again, her arms still above her head, but resting against the mattress. Her arms ached, her fingers ached as well as the muscles in her legs. She knew she was panting, but she couldn't stop it, nor could she stop the empty feeling that rested between her legs, the warm breeze washing over the wetness that lay dormant. The storm continued to hold itself at bay, but the rain had started to seep in through the open window. Lazily she eyed the darkness that surrounded her, repressed her, but welcomed her at the same time and with a groan she rolled onto her stomach and then stiffly crawled out of bed.

Stripping the silk pajamas off, she padded down the hallway and into the bathroom, she needed to cool down, but she hated cold showers. Every muscle groaned in protest as she stepped into the shower, the steam billowing and rising around her as she let the water beat off her body, slowly relaxing her, but causing her forehead to sweat more. She felt empty and drained, she felt tired but wide awake, but most of all she felt satisfied. Holding her head under the shower head to allow the water wash over her hair, and run down her face, almost suffocating her. Her skin stung and burned from the heat of the steam and water, but she loved it. And she knew she would be able to fall asleep peacefully afterwards.