Cuckoo in the Coven

He turned away from her and pulled the curtains wide open, flooding the room with moonlight. When he turned back, he looked her up and down and nodded approvingly. He stroked his hands over her bare shoulders and then weighed her silk-covered breasts quite deliberately in strong, warm hands, drawing her breath from her lungs when his thumbs ran over her nipples.

He chuckled and began to unbutton his coat, a thigh-length number made of heavy felt. The loose shirt he was wearing clung to the heat of his body. Well-cut riding breeches and knee-high boots showed off his long, strong legs. She couldn’t help staring at the strange clothing he was wearing. Especially the breeches. Tightly fitting, they revealed every bit of him, including the rather impressive bulge at his groin. The fabric looked like soft suede, and it was tucked down into his rough leather boots. In contrast to his heavy jacket, the shirt he wore beneath it was soft cotton, and it flowed over his powerful chest, at once hiding yet revealing his physical power.

“You’re like a warrior or something,” she commented, barely realizing she was speaking her thoughts aloud.

“No warrior, although I’ve had a few tussles in my time.”

He said it quite suggestively, and she smiled. She wouldn’t mind tussling with him. Perhaps she could play the woman of the night, the wench. She’d always loved drama classes as a teenager, and hadn’t had the opportunity to go full-on actress since then. Give him your best Salma Hayek impression, she told herself, tossing her hair back over her shoulder.

He didn’t seem to mind her eyeing him while he stripped, and with the Dutch courage from the rum, Sunny began to relax and enjoy the dream. Why the hell not? Maybe it would go all the way, like it had the last time. But she hadn’t remembered any details like this, no, and she prayed she would remember it all when she awoke this time.

As soon as he’d taken off his jacket, he pulled the shirt off and dumped them both on the floor. Oh yes, she thought, her eyes growing wide as she watched him strip—please let me remember every detail. He was well built, his shoulders large and powerful, his belly hard with muscle. He strode to the bed and grabbed her by the wrist as he passed, pulling her into his lap.

Sunny was spellbound.

The man grinned again and stroked his hand over her cheek.

This was turning out to be one magical dream.

“Now, what manner of undergarments are these?” He stared, as if perturbed, at her shortie PJs. “And how does a man get rid of them?” With one finger under the spaghetti strap at her shoulder, he shifted the silk chemise around, watching as it moved over her breasts, still peaked from his earlier touches.

“Up,” she murmured, gesturing toward the hem of the top, breathless with anticipation to see what might happen next.

He didn’t waste a moment. He stripped the chemise over her head and then tugged at the waistband on her shorts while eyeing her bared breasts appreciatively. His eyebrows were up and he had a half smile on his face as if now amused by what she was wearing.

“Gone, and now for the drawers.”

Drawers? That tickled her no end, and laughter bubbled inside her.

He tugged her shorts off, jostling her weight easily on his lap, and she wriggled to assist in their removal. The bulge of his cock brushed against her leg. Not only was he as hard as steel and his hands sure and knowing, but his gaze was so hot she felt restless with tension. He began exploring her more demandingly when she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and panted against his ear. The atmosphere between them crackled with anticipation.

Her entire body was pounding with desire.

“What should I call you?” she asked, breathlessly.

“Cullen.”

The name sounded familiar, as if a feeling of déjà vu had stolen over her.

“And if you hear bad things said against me,” he continued, “when I’ve gone on the morrow, don’t listen, Sunny, for I am a wrongly dishonored man.”

“Oh, have you been a naughty boy?” she remarked, going with the flow.

His eyebrow quirked and he looked at her as if he was amused by her remark. “Not as ‘naughty’ as they might have you believe.”

He lifted and rolled her onto her back on the bed with ease, his large hands roving over her with the expertise of a sexual connoisseur, seeking out the most tender and responsive places to touch her.

She was helpless under the assault. She’d never met a man as sexually confident and demanding as he was. Within moments, his hands were between her thighs and he stroked the length of them, as if admiring the softness of the skin there. Fire swept through her and down, to meet his fingers where they touched her intimate places to the melting point. He was so blatant and demanding. She hummed her approval. He kept looking at her to observe her reactions, while he caressed her with strong, firm fingers.

“Ah, sweet heaven, you are inviting, and ready for me, I see.”

“It’s hardly surprising,” she managed to mumble, before she was brought short from further comment by his exploration. Oh, but he was torturing her.

In ordinary circumstances, she might have had a twinge of embarrassment at such a forthright sexual approach from a stranger. But the combination of extreme arousal and the surreal dream-quality of the whole encounter negated any such misgivings. Her entire body on fire with sensation. She beckoned him closer still.

“Heh, that’s good,” he said, taking her invitation.

She swore aloud when he bent his head to kiss her intimate places. She moaned and arched and rested her hands around his head. She grew frantic as the sensation built towards its peak. Her hips bucked, a deep, long shudder coursing through her body.