Virtually Hers (7 page)

He wondered whether he could make her jealous. Jealousy was the ultimate blinding emotion. She’d now been able to react in an intimate way to his dreams and fantasies. He’d test that bond and see how her “connected” brainwaves would react to his projecting someone else into “their” fantasy. That could be the final straw to get her to take the trigger.

“Round three, Elena,” he murmured. “What sexual deviant thing can I come up with that would distract you?”

His lips left a trail of fire down the side of her neck. She leaned back, silently giving him more access. His hands circled her waist firmly as he pushed her against a cool surface. He was all male heat on her; the cool against her flesh made her shiver with need for him.

Not a dream.

The warning flashed like a blinking neon sign in her head.

She turned her head and saw herself in a mirror. She was wearing a black lacy bustier with a plunging neck line. Red bowties seemed to be the only things holding the front together. That, with the extremely low neckline, pushed her cleavage together until it was almost spilling out of the top of the see-through bustier.

What the hell…I don’t own such a tacky…

Understanding dawned. It was a dream, just not hers. Just like the other night. She should get used to it. She was in Hades’ head again and he was somewhere sleeping and having one of his erotic dreams. About her.

Her whole body clenched as she watched his dark head dipping lower, kissing the gentle slope of her breast. Her breath came out in a hiss when she felt his tongue, wet and wicked, teasing the flesh just above her left nipple. He wrapped her right leg around his waist and she felt his hand caressing the back of her leg and bottom. She followed the hand in the mirror as it disappeared between their two bodies, and suddenly, she didn’t care whether it was her dreaming or him dreaming. She just wanted to get back to that part in the other dream—she swallowed, trying to slow down her thoughts, mixed with that aching need that was pushing her over the edge.

Not a dream.

She frowned. Why was she hearing a different warning now? It was hard to concentrate. Her thoughts were a confused jumble of unfinished sentences, with odd images and thoughts interrupting.

“I know it isn’t my dream,” she affirmed. “I don’t freaking own a bustier.”

Not that the affirmation mattered. Her body was wantonly pushing against the hand exploring her intimately, her leg curling, on its own accord tightening and loosening its hold of his body. He knew exactly where to touch, inciting her into a frenzy even as he skillfully kept her right at the edge without pushing her over. She was helpless against the rising tide of heated pleasure pushing against all her nerve endings. She didn’t think she could survive another interruption.

Fantasy or not, her need for him was very real. She wanted this man desperately. Now. And if she didn’t make it happen soon, she knew the buzzer would wake her up again and she’d once again be left bereft, unable to get the magic release he kept promising her.

She caught an image of herself with her arms wrapped around his neck as he tilted her further back. His heat—she wanted his hot length inside her, not his fingers.

Dammit—dream or not, she was going to have him this time. That image—of her so passively supine, so willing to be led—was Hades’,
not hers
. She fought with herself to ignore the urge to follow the fantasy going on in her head. She was
not
going to stay passive, dammit. She was
not
going to let him take charge.

She made herself look at the mirror. A part of her understood that it somehow represented her own mind, that she was seeing the fantasy through a mirror. Her hand felt like lead as she forced it to obey her. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his thick length and guiding it toward her slippery heat. She stood on tiptoe, using the leg around his waist as leverage. The head of his penis nudged hard against her. She felt giddy with desire and as she slid her hand down its length, she thought she heard Hades’ groan over the roar of anticipation reverberating in her ears. She smiled in triumph. At last…she swiveled her hip, undulating toward…

Nothing.

She was suddenly standing alone. She swayed on her feet. Frustration like she’d never known before spewed out violently, like water from a busted fire hydrant, and she fell on her knees. She slapped the floor in anger but barely felt any pain.

She was hot all over, flushed with some kind of sexual inflammation for which she couldn’t find a cure. The sensitiveness had turned into a raging fever. Part of her was telling her to calm down, to think. The other part was keening for release, that if she didn’t do something soon, she would go mad. The other part was winning.

She looked into the mirror in front of her, trying to control her breathing. The damn bustier was too tight. She grabbed at the ribbons, pulling at them till they were knotted up.

“Come back!” she screamed at her image in the mirror. “You’re not going to stop this fantasy!”

She stared hard. She was still in his fantasy; dammit, she could feel his presence. Just then, she saw him, in the corner of the mirror. She reeled back, watching in shock. In rage.

He was lying on his back and a beautiful woman was sitting on top of him. She was wearing the same bustier, the top of her breasts popping out precariously as she swayed forward, teasing the man underneath her.

Helen watched as Hades reached up and slowly pulled one of the ends of the red bow. The woman pulled back, helping with the unraveling, and even in the shadows of the mirror, Helen could see the gap in front of the bustier widen.

Hades’ forefinger twirled around the next ribbon’s end; the woman pulled back; the gap widened into a bigger V. The woman’s breasts spilled out, so white against the black lace, and Helen couldn’t take her eyes away as Hades’ large hands scooped under them, freeing them from the bustier.

Helen’s own chest hurt. She was breathing too quickly, too deeply, and the tightness of the bustier was constricting. The lace rubbed her nipples till they puckered from the friction, causing even more sensual awareness of her body’s screaming needs.

“The bastard…he’s having another erotic dream about some other woman. How dare he?” She wanted to gnash her teeth. Of course he dared. A sleeping man could dream about anyone and anything he wanted. She was the intruder here, getting her jollies off someone’s fantasy about her. But she was beyond logic here. “He started the fantasy with me, and dammit, he’s going to end it with me!”

She slapped against the mirror, pounding on the surface where she could see the image of the entwined couple. She had never felt so murderous in her life. How dare he? How dare he choose another fantasy woman other than her!

She prowled back and forth in front of the mirror, fueling her fury by sneaking angry glances at the image. She knew that her anger was irrational because this wasn’t real and Hades could dream of whatever…
dammit, look at her crawling all over him
…and whomever he…
oh, be boring, dangle those stupid breasts over his face…
wished because like he’d said, she was the one invading his…
oh, hell no, you’re so not going to fuck him, bitch, where’s your buzzer, where’s your fucking buzzer?
Helen barely registered the growl coming from her own throat.

It didn’t matter that her head was telling her that she was sleeping too, that she was also dreaming.

Not a dream.

She ignored that soft repetitive voice in her head. Semantics. She was “dreaming” Hades’ dream. Not a dream, but she was part of it.

She stared longingly into the mirror. Had been part of it, she corrected. She ached for his touch through and through. She choked back another cry. It was shadowy, but she could see that woman’s head bobbing up and down between Hades’ raised legs.
Arggggh!
That. Was. Her. Penis. She was the one who made it that size…

Oh, this was getting personal. She couldn’t stay rational about it at all. All she could think about was that that woman didn’t have a buzzer and she was going to get to make love to Hades.
Her
Hades, dammit. She created him and there was no way in hell she was going to allow another female tamper with
her
dream man. She would
not
be ignored for some other fantasy woman, when she, Helen Roston, was
real
.

There had to be a way to reinsert herself back into Hades’ dream.

The mirror. Her mind “reflecting” his dream.

Fine. She was going to fight fantasy with fantasy. She’d just use her “mind” to interrupt his little tête-à-tête.

She walked determinedly a few feet back, gathered her strength, turned sideways, and delivered a roundhouse kick at the flat gleaming surface. The crash was strangely muted. The shattered glass imploded as if it wasn’t a mirror but a doorway. She stared at it for a moment and then without a second thought, stepped inside.

Not a second too soon.

The other woman’s derriere was raised up, getting into position. Hades’ hands cupped the cheeks, squeezing them. The woman was moaning like some banshee. Her hand disappeared between their bodies.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

Helen grabbed the back of the woman’s half-loosened bustier and yanked hard, pulling her to her feet. The woman turned and brought one knee up.

Helen jumped back. Shit. What, she had to fight a fucking fantasy too?

But there wasn’t any time to think as her opponent suddenly seemed to have grown into an Amazon, launching into the air and crashing into Helen like a freight train.

Helen managed to twist at the last second, allowing her to escape a direct hit, but they both landed hard on the floor, with her on the bottom. She turned her head and stared at Hades for a second. Helen blinked. The bastard was turned on by this. He was sitting up, naked, and was leisurely pulling at his erection.

She winced as her head went one direction and her hair the other, and she used her elbow for leverage as she head-butted the woman on top of her. But she couldn’t budge the Amazon off her even an inch.

It became a wrestling match of strength as she grappled with arms and legs which felt like steel around hers. They rolled several times. She managed to tear off bits and pieces of bustier. She heard hers being torn too. It didn’t help that her freed breasts were more sensitive than ever. Whenever her nipples unexpectedly rubbed against anything, she’d lose focus, and had to go on the defensive.

It suddenly occurred to her that her opponent wasn’t hurting her too much, that the various locked positions that held her down—the one with the other woman sitting on her chest so that she had to use her legs to push up to fight off the weight, opening her thighs in a sexual way; the one where she was on top for a few seconds, her face crushed against the other woman’s chest, so that to pull out of the headlock, she had to push off the floor with her hands, like a push-up, except that it was more of a butt-up—were done so for the viewing pleasure of the man watching them. The damn man was continuing his fantasy with double the fun.

Helen cursed out loud and renewed her efforts. If she had to, she would make this into a bloody nightmare. They rolled again and ended up in a sitting position, with her in front. Her opponent’s legs came under and between her thighs and pushed them apart, causing Helen to lose whatever leverage she had left. Planning a headlock, she lifted and curled her arms around the back of the woman’s neck. To her chagrin, her opponent countered by wrapping her arms under hers, and sharply pulled back. With her legs open and her arms off the floor, Helen found herself effectively imprisoned.

She turned to snarl at Hades. He stood up, fair-haired and golden tan, and stalked toward them. She couldn’t take her eyes off his huge erection.

He squatted down in front of her and smiled.

“I like this,” he said.

Helen strained against the limbs holding her so tightly. She couldn’t believe that she’d lost to this…bitch… Another realization seeped in. She couldn’t fight back with her usual strength because she was acting out Hades’ fantasy. He was in charge. She was weaker because he wanted her to be. She finally lay there panting.

Hades leaned forward. She sucked in her breath at his touch. In contrast to her fight with her rival, he was gentle, cupping her breasts possessively with his hands. His thumbs played with her aroused nipples until she whimpered. His fingers freed the tangled ribbons and what was left of her bustier dropped away.

His lips weren’t moving but she heard his voice. “Let’s repeat everything. Call my name.”

“Hades, you bastard,” she spat out. His gaze was heavy, loaded with meaning, as it settled on her body. She started trembling as his gaze followed his hands, moving lower, sweeping the curve of her belly and hips. She made a sound of outrage as her captor’s thighs opened wider, thrusting her own to do the same. There was nothing she could do except watch Hades looking down on her more intimately than any other man ever had.

“Beg me.”

She opened her mouth automatically, about to obey, then suddenly remembered that she had also done so in the other dream. She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head.

He smiled. Still his lips didn’t move as she heard his voice.

“It’s too late, Elena.”

She stared at him as he bent his head slowly, his gaze mocking as it remained fastened to hers, and she tensed as his hands splayed against the inside of her thighs, pressing down until her folds revealed the hidden pink moistness. His head dipped. She groaned even before she felt his mouth on her.

Her back arched up helplessly. His tongue was ferocious this time, mercilessly laving that most sensitive part of her with the kind of intense attention meant to bring on an orgasm. She had been so close the last few times that the edgy tension came upon her almost immediately. She gasped, straining hard again, as he sucked on her clitoris. Stars formed behind her closed eyelids as the tension stretched endlessly, drawing her to a point where she could do nothing but anticipate the coming release.