Burning Skies by Caris Roane Page B

him.
    “Fine,” he retorted. “Run away like you always do. But I don’t think you’ll soon forget how I just made you feel.” He released her and folded his hands behind his head. She was still connected to him, still one with his body. Her disgust with him had pissed him off, scraped his nerves raw once more, and frankly he wasn’t going to make the disengagement easy, not when she came to him at night, not when she teased him by sliding against his cock every damn night. This time, she could do the work.
    She shifted her hips and he bucked hard to let her feel the connection once more, that his cock was buried deep inside her, that she had come to him for this purpose. She brought him to this place every goddamn night. Well, fuck her for looking at him as though he lived on the underbelly of a slug.
    She gasped then lifted and glided off him. “I hate you for doing this to me,” she cried. She covered her breasts with her arm, rose up, then faded away toward the dark edges of the room. Because she left, his departure from this nowhere place occurred at the same time. Once again, he felt that strange rush-and-glide as pitch darkness surrounded him.
    He blinked, straining to see, but one more blink and he was lying on his bed in exactly the same position, with his hands folded behind his head. He was on top of the sheet now and as before completely naked.
    For a moment he thought about folding to Second Earth and hunting her down. He knew where she lived, her little condo at the foot of Camelback Mountain. He wanted to get in her face and gloat. He wanted her to know that whatever game this was, for all her distaste of him personally, she wanted him, she pursued him, and he’d pleasured her.
    Hah.
    Well, at least in that he found a measure of contentment in their little war. At least in that he could smile at the ceiling, settling his shoulders deeper into the mattress. He’d done the very thing he’d been trying to do for four months now, since Alison’s ascension , since his return to his life on Mortal Earth—he’d brought his woman to a screaming climax.
    His smile broadened, at least for a time, then it dimmed. Who was he kidding? This would never be enough, these encounters that had no more substance than if he’d awakened in the middle of a wet dream.
    Still, he’d kept her with him until the end this time, and he would take satisfaction from that. Sort of.
    He’d come inside her, which made him wonder. He looked down at his partially thickened cock still weeping his fluids. He blinked. He felt over his abdomen and chest, but there was nothing of his come present on his body. He felt only a thin sheen of sweat.
    If this had been a wet dream, he would have been covered in his seed.
    So where was the unmistakable evidence that he’d just had one helluva fine orgasm?
    He was pretty sure he knew and once more he smiled at the ceiling. If he was right about all of this, Havily Morgan had one big-ass shock coming to her.
    Good.
    *   *   *
     
    Havily knew the encounter was just a dream, like all the others she’d experienced, endured, over the past weeks. Of course it was just a dream, except that in this dream she’d actually had an orgasm. And somewhere in the course of the dream, she’d stripped off her nightgown … as usual.
    She lay in bed, staring at her ceiling, at the collection of glittery butterflies. The air conditioner came on, and the large flock moved as though in flight.
    She smiled. She didn’t know exactly what this was she had been doing at night, but she could feel the ease of hormones that drifted through her veins now, those beautiful hormones that gave her such a light peaceful feeling.
    She had to admit one thing—her fantasies rocked ! She could even laugh at herself now. She had given Marcus such form, such shape that when she’d awakened from the fantasy-dream, for a moment she’d actually believed he was real.
    Her smile faded. She believed he was real in the same