The Season To Sin. Clare Connelly

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       CHAPTER TWO

      HER HAIR IS longer than I realised. And so much softer. Up close as I am, it smells like vanilla and honey.

      I know it’s a dream but, for the first time in a month, a woman has chased her from my mind and I am free from the cursed hauntings of my past. I clutch at the fine threads of this dream, refusing to let it slip from my mind.

      ‘I love it when you kiss me,’ Holly murmurs, her lips a perfect red. I reach for her, pulling her to me, my hands large against her fine frame, my fingers splayed wide on her hips.

      Her body is pliant at my touch. Easy to control.

      Surrendered completely to me, and what I can give her.

      I yank her—hard—against my chest, enjoying the soft exhalation that brushes my jaw. Her breasts feel so much better than I imagined. They’re firm and soft at the same time, so big and round. I lift a hand and palm one, my thumb brushing over her nipple, my fingers possessive and demanding.

      She looks at me on a tidal wave of confusion and uncertainty. This is new and different and she doesn’t know how to respond.

      She doesn’t need to worry.

      I know enough for both of us.

      I lift her easily—she’s light and I’m strong—and wrap her legs around my waist. I don’t know how I want her but, God, I know I need her. Her dress is floaty, it moves easily over her hips, granting me the access I need. Even though it’s my dream and I should be able to control this shit, she’s wearing underwear—a barrier I don’t want.

      Her hands wrap around my neck, drawing my head closer to hers, and she’s kissing me, her tongue seeking mine, duelling with me, her eyes swept closed against the assault of this passion.

      But I don’t want to kiss her.

      Kissing is romance and reward—fucking is not. Fucking is passion and need—a primal, physical act that is over when it ends.

      I break my mouth free and stride across the room. I don’t know where we are. Dreams are funny like that. I push her back against a wall and, with her weight supported by the wall and my hips, I rip her dress open at the front. She’s not wearing a bra—thank you, dream gods—and I crush my mouth to her breast, rolling my tongue over her nipple until she whimpers, and then I move to the other, this time pressing it with my teeth so her back arches forward and her fingernails dig into my shoulders.

      I’m naked now—in a dream, clothes are capable of simply disappearing—and I slide her panties aside with my fingers, my eyes mocking her, teasing her, as I nudge my cock to her entrance, hitching myself at her seam, feeling her moist heat before sliding deep inside her.

      She groans, a sound that comes from the base of her throat, and I laugh.

      ‘This is just the beginning, baby,’ I promise.

      And because I’m pursued by demons that seek to punish me, I wake up at that moment, sweat beading my brow and a cock that’s harder than stone. I drop my hand to it, rubbing my fingers up and down my length, curving my palm over my thickness.

      It’s no good.

      Having dream-fucked Holly, I need the real thing.

      I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s midnight. I’ve been asleep only forty minutes. For Christ’s sake.

      I scroll through my calendar, going back to Tuesday last week when I met Dr Scott-Leigh in that café.

      Her contact details are in the appointment file. I click on her email address:

      Holly,

      I need to see you again. Tomorrow.

      I consult my calendar once more—these sleepless nights are playing havoc with my short-term memory.

      Four p.m. is my only free time.

      NM

      I drop the phone to my bed and push up. I dress quickly, or as quickly as I can when my dick is like a tent pole, and throw back a tumbler of straight vodka, then call one of my drivers—there are four on rotation.

      Graeme is on the roster.

      He’s probably the least able to hide his disapproval of my lifestyle, and that gives me a perverse sense of amusement.

      ‘Where to, sir?’ he asks without meeting my eyes. Did I wake him? Tough. It’s his job, after all.

      ‘Mon More,’ I say, naming a club in Putney. Julianne has haunted my dreams for a month and now Holly is taking over. The only thing I know is I can escape them both in a loud bar with free-flowing booze.

      It’s not like I’ve been thinking of him since our appointment. At least, not only of him. I’ve had a lot else on my mind. Like working out how I’m going to make a Virgin Mary costume for Ivy before her Christmas concert and when I’ll have time to help her with the gingerbread house she’s determined to give her grandmother this year.

      No, I’ve been far too busy to think only of Noah Moore.

      Except at night, when my head hits the pillow and I shut my eyes. Then, all I can see is his face, СКАЧАТЬ