He writhed beneath her, above her. Her warmth surrounded him, taking him in, enfolding him, holding him fiercely. And she was smiling. She was smiling and giggling and gasping and kissing him.
I love you, she whispered against his throat.
It was then he knew it was a dream. He remembered consciously choosing, willing it all to continue; the slip and press of her skin against his, her heady moans and breathy sighs, their hips tilting tightly together. He could feel the down of her cheek beneath his fingertips, count her eyelashes. Their sweaty bodies moved frantically, entangled in each other, shuddering in the pleasure their union conjured.
He woke to sticky sheets in the not-quite-dark of early morning. Alone, aching, and cold.
