joke he’d probably intended. Something deliciously inappropriate and alarmingly appealing.
This did not bode well.
Dreaming, for Hannah, was a little bit like being drunk. In both states, she felt removed from herself—but not in a negative way, not like disassociating. It was lighter, a giddy, reckless experience that usually felt delicious. The cautious voices that typically tied her up in knots disappeared, sucked away like cobwebs through a vacuum cleaner. Hannah’s experience of drunkenness and dreaming were enough to convince her that she didn’t have only a single self. Maybe no-one did. Certain basics of identity might remain the same, but people could change significantly depending on their circumstances.
For example, Sober Hannah would rather die than let some random girl give her head in a club bathroom, because 1. germs and 2. germs and 3. dignity and 4. germs. But Drunk Hannah had happily let precisely that scenario come to pass on a hazy summer night in 2009, and had been rewarded for it with a rare orgasm. She hadn’t thought about the prevalence of the herpes virus or the amount of faecal matter in the average toilet cubicle, not even once. And she’d been rewarded with the best sex of her life, while her sober encounters tended to result in awkward disappointment and general disillusionment, no matter what she did.
Drunk Hannah, clearly, was not Sober Hannah. That was okay.
And Dream Hannah was not Awake Hannah, either. That was okay, too.
This was what Hannah told herself as Nate Davis sank his teeth into her shoulder.
She gasped, stretching out on the enormous bed they shared, arching back against his erection. He was perfectly sized—big enough to make her sigh, not big enough to require gallons of lube—because she had made it so. That was the beauty of dreams, you see. He spread her arse slightly with one hand, until his rigid cock nestled between her cheeks—which would be scandalous enough to send Awake Hannah into fits, but only managed to drag a purr of satisfaction from Dream Hannah. She rocked against that thick shaft as Nate ran his tongue over the tingling bite marks on her shoulder.
He stroked her hip, trailing silken whispers of arousal over her skin, and Hannah realised they were completely naked. Maybe they hadn’t been a second ago, but they were now. Also, their enormous bed appeared to be floating in a tropical ocean. Weird, but she’d go with it.
“Stop thinking,” he whispered in her ear. “Look at me.”
“No, thank you.”
She felt him smile. His lips were pressed against her throat, soft and warm. Then he reached between her thighs with one steady, tattooed hand and touched her. Actually, touched might be too feeble a word: he ran the blunt tip of his middle finger over her folds, teasing her slick, swollen flesh. When he nudged her clit, Hannah moaned.
His finger circled her stiffening bud, the contact too much and too little, delicate and delicious. His mouth, hot and wet and wanting, sucked at a spot just beneath her ear. She melted against him like warm chocolate and he rocked his hard dick against her arse in a rhythm that echoed her pounding heart. “Look at me,” he said again.
“You’re very demanding,” she managed to gasp, “for a figment of my imagination.”
“That’s not what I am,” he murmured. Before she could beg for more of the dizzying sensations he produced between her thighs, Nate’s teasing touch became a firm, fast rhythm. He flattened his fingers and massaged her clit, distributing that perfect pressure, heating her blood into molten lust.
Hannah moaned, then rocked her hips back and spread her legs wider. “You’re not demanding?”
“I’m not a figment of your imagination.” He pushed her onto her stomach, then dragged her hips up into the air and spread her thighs.
“You are,” she insisted. “If you were real, I wouldn’t feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“Good. I wouldn’t feel good.”
“I’m real, Hannah.” He parted her folds, the fat head of his cock sliding over her slick entrance. “You know me.”
“I don’t know you. I haven’t seen you in years.”
“You remember me.”
“I never knew you. No-one knew you.”
He leaned over her, his chest covering her back, his body caging hers as his length nudged at her entrance. She felt his breath against her ear as he whispered, “You knew me. Of course you knew me. That’s why you wanted me so bad.”
“Nate…” She closed her eyes, shuddered at the promise of satisfaction, at the kiss of his hard dick spreading her wider and threatening to