Foretold (St. Bastian Institute 1)

I nuzzled my nose into his neck then pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. A physical shudder went through him, and I enjoyed affecting him like this. Next, I ran my hands over his abs, moving one hand around to firmly grip his backside and pull his erection harder against me. I started to move my hips, seeking pleasure, a sharp hunger rising. I wanted to feel every part of him. I wanted to absorb him into me, keep a little piece of him for myself forever.

I trembled when his lips caressed my jaw, dragging across to my mouth and kissing me gently. I kissed him back, heat and trembles consuming me as I deepened it, sliding my tongue along his and loving how he shuddered in response.

Opening my thighs, I tugged on him, encouraging him to climb between them. He didn’t resist, not breaking our kiss as he settled between my legs, his erection pressing against the frustrating layers of fabric that separated us. His fingers splayed across my nipple over my T-shirt, and I moaned into the kiss. He moved his hips, his cock creating the perfect friction against my clit. I was going to come. He didn’t even need to touch me skin to skin.

I savoured the rumble of his groan when his hand dipped under the hem of my T-shirt, sliding up my stomach and ribs before carefully palming my breast. My skin erupted in goosebumps. Peter’s tongue delicately caressed mine before he broke our kiss and moved down my body. He pushed my T-shirt up to reveal my breasts then lowered his mouth to my nipple. I wanted to cry out, but some deeper instinct made me stifle my moan.

His tongue circled my nipple while his hand lowered between my legs and, without hesitation, slipped past the barrier of my underwear. I was wetter than I’d ever been. Peter dragged his mouth across to my other breast, lavishing attention on the nipple. Pleasure culminated in my core as his fingers caressed my folds, travelling lower and exploring a place no one had ever been. I felt a tightness, a sweet edge of pain, and then his hand went to my clit, drawing circles with just the right amount of pressure.

I was going to burst.

Peter licked at my breasts, his tongue flicking across my nipple, and then his mouth was on mine, kissing me even deeper than before. Whatever he was doing to my clit had me tightening my thighs around his hips, searching for release. His hips thrust into my thigh, and a fierce shudder fell over him. I didn’t have time to wonder about that because all of my pleasure centres seemed to have culminated in my core, on the verge of some wonderful kind of explosion.

Then, between one moment and the next, I came. I orgasmed for the first time at someone else’s hands, and it wasn’t even real. I wasn’t sure reality was a match for dream Peter. He knew all the best ways to touch me.

I buried my face in his neck, nuzzling close and savouring the tremors of pleasure as they subsided. Dream Peter wrapped his arms around me, flipping us so that he was spooning me from behind. I fell into him, allowing myself to enjoy the comfort and protection he offered.

Before I knew it, I was resting peacefully, and no more nightmares terrorised my sleep. Only blessedly quiet slumber followed.

***

When I woke up, it was morning. My bed was warm and cosy, a thin stream of pale, January light filtering through the curtains. I drifted in a state of semi-wakefulness, enjoying the comfort of my duvet, and it was a long while before I realised why my bed felt even warmer than usual.

I wasn’t alone in it.

Peter Girard was spooning me. And no, this wasn’t dream Peter. He was very much real and very much physically present. His heavy arm was draped across my stomach, and a quiver filled my belly. His deep, even breaths skittered across my neck, his head resting just a few inches above mine. Peter had unconsciously teleported in his sleep again, and I wasn’t mad about it. In fact, this was the best I’d felt in a really long time.

Then, my mind raced back to my vivid dream, and heat flushed my cheeks. Had it been a dream? It had felt incredibly real, and my lips were unusually tender. Was that because I’d actually been kissing Peter? Every cell in my body tingled in awareness.

I knew I should wake him, but I wasn’t overly enthused to have the conversation about last night. Then again, it may have been some sort of shared dream. Our minds were magically connected, after all.

I was still trying to drum up the courage to wake him when there was a commotion downstairs. Someone stormed into the house, and then I heard my mother and Rita’s voices drifting up the stairs. I hurried from my bed, grabbing some leggings and a hoodie to throw on while Peter stirred. He looked around, a little dazed, then realisation dawned, and he shot up like a light. His eyes met mine, full of apology.