Bachelor Number Four by Megan Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

The Come Inn has great midday rates mean? Son of a bitch. Trying to play me.”
    She’d brought it on herself, she had to admit it. She didn’t have to like it, but she did have to admit it.
    “No more games,” she told herself. “That’s the reality check!”
    He’d packed up his toys and gone home, but did that mean she’d won? It didn’t feel like it. As Arden went upstairs to bed, it felt like she’d lost, big-time.
     
     
    This time, he took her from behind. Hard and fast. His cock slid inside her as his hands came around to cup her breasts. Fingers tweaked her nipples upright, and a moan leaked out of her.
    Arden arched, his heat like flames along her back as he bent over her to bite the nape of her neck. She was kneeling? No, bending, hands flat on the table…the kitchen table, but not hers. Cold, bare floor under her feet. The table’s smooth surface under her palms. A dream table, in a dream kitchen, with a dream man fucking her.
    And oh, it felt so good. She came, orgasm shuddering through her, and understood she was dreaming because her arousal didn’t diminish. Sensations that would have left her unfulfilled in reality drove her closer and closer to climax in the dream.
    The sound of his breathing, the roughness of his thrusts, the hard, unyielding surface beneath her hands worked together, part of the dream, and gave her the freedom to let herself go into it. This was not reality. This was a dream, and since it was her dream, she knew who her lover had to be.
    She wanted to see his face, but couldn’t manage to turn. His cock fucked in and out, faster. His hands gripped her waist, hard enough to leave bruises if this had been real, and she leaned forward, elbows now resting on the table, forehead on the cold, smooth wood.
    She came again, a slow rippling of pleasure. The dream shifted. She lay on her back, legs wrapped around her lover’s waist while he thrust inside her. His weight materialized against her chest. His mouth took hers, tongues meeting and sliding free to stroke and tangle.
    “Shane.”
    His intense gaze pinned her. The smug arrogance of his smile made her angry, and with her anger her passion soared.
    “I love fucking you,” he told her, no soft and gentle words in this dream, no tenderness.
    She made to slap him, but his hand caught hers and forced it upward, above her head, where his hands pinned both her wrists. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even struggle. His weight held her down, but he didn’t stop filling her. His hips rolled, his pelvis pushed against her clit with every thrust.
    It was wrong, this angry fucking. She should hate it. Hate him for doing it to her this way. And she would…in real life she would hate it, would get no pleasure from his force and dominance.
    But this was not real life, this was a dream, and even here it was not some twisted rape fantasy. She wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted to fuck him, to be fucked by him, wanted to ride him until she came again and again.
    She wanted to hear him say her name when he climaxed.
    “Say my name.” The words floated from her dream lips.
    “No,” answered the uncooperative lover. “I won’t.”
    “You will.”
    And because this was her dream, he did. Moaned it, long and low, his voice a harsh and husky whisper that sent another orgasm spiraling outward from her clit to the rest of her body.
    She woke after that last one, a stifled cry on her lips. The blankets had tangled around her legs and she extricated herself while she peered at the clock. Fifteen more minutes until she had to get out of bed.
    Fifteen more minutes of sleep she wasn’t even going to try and get. Her entire body still hummed with sexual tension, surprisingly unrelieved by the cascade of climaxes she’d experienced.
    There was really only one way to get rid of that feeling, which she’d grown accustomed to over the past eighteen months. She slipped from the bed and closed and locked her door, knowing both her girls wouldn’t