But that grey fog in my head turns literal, swirling through my room.
Everything goes black and bursts into color.
Oh, God. Am I hallucinating from the shock of this day?
Not quite.
I抦 on my knees, straddling a warm-blooded Adonis with thighs like carved granite. His mouth moves from mine as he leans over. His grip urges me up, makes me stand, and then his rough lips find the pale pink of my nipple.
He tastes too good as he pulls a fluffy white blanket around me while I抦 lost in his kiss.
My legs tighten around him. I gasp.
He moves his head back so I can get a good look at his face, his honey-dark eyes shimmering in the light.
I recognize that face. It抯 not one I抦 supposed to like, much less?His lips are on mine again, demolishing my thoughts.
His tongue owns my mouth, moving wordlessly and whispering with movement.
揝witch off, Nevermore,?I can feel him saying. 揕et me help. Let me make you come so hard you never think of his shit again.?
I shouldn抰。
But that抯 not what my body wants.
His pure energy, his groan, tastes a million times better than the searing rush of his warm mouth around my breast.
I know what I want.
I just want to be closer to this wild, forbidden man.
Especially as he shoves my legs apart with those workman抯 fingers that shouldn抰 belong to a CEO. Especially as he thrusts into me with a hot raspy noise in his throat, his eyes dark with cavernous hunger.
揋o, sweetheart. Ride me to the moon.?
揙h! Oh, Lincoln.?I push down, meeting him, pulling him inside me to the hilt.
Burns梟o, Lincoln梬raps his mammoth arms around me, holding me in place.
揋oddamn, I love how you feel,?he snarls, coiling my hair around his fingers.
He pulls with just the right tension, leaving a delicious burn on my scalp.
Warmth fills me.
A shaky smile is the only answer I can offer.
Then he grips my hips, digs his fingers into my ass, pulls back, and drives into me.
Then he splits me apart into so many spinning fragments I never, ever want to be rebuilt.
Violins wail at me from another world.
My phone, annoying as ever, but at least this time it抯 not a reckless little boy I抎 love to push off the top of the Space Needle.
My body is on fire. I抦 so wet I抦 in no mood for cinnamon roll duty today. Especially for a man who isn抰 welcome in my dirty dreams.
I wish he抎 get over his addiction already.
Why can抰 my day start with a nice brisk ride to the office instead of having to make a mad dash for some overprivileged suit抯 pastries?
Why couldn抰 I have bought that Bitcoin crap back when I was a pimple-faced part-timer at Amelia抯 Bed and Breakfast? I could抳e sold it for a billion dollars by now and had all the time in the world to write poems about good men who don抰 suck.
I practically crawl through a cold shower and shake off like a dog because…yeah, it抯 that kind of day.
After blow-drying my hair as fast as I can, I throw on the first dress my hands touch and shove my feet into ballet flats梕asier to bike in than heels.
I抳e just hopped on my bike when my phone pings.
Oh, Lincoln effing Burns, can抰 you even wait until I get to the office to start harassing me? I pull out my phone. I have two texts.
Lincoln: Extra cinnamon rolls today.
I grit my teeth and don抰 even cringe at the sensation.
All I can think about is my dream, and him, thrusting like he抯 staking his claim.
Sad.
Stress does atrocious things to the brain. I shake it off, rolling my shoulders as I type, Roger. Extra, you sad little addict.
His reply comes zooming in.
Little? Try again, Nevermore. And is that any way to talk to your boss? I see you woke up in fighting form today. Lose it before you step foot in my office.
I send him a gif of a cartoon cinnamon roll flashing the middle finger梩hank God there抯 a gif for everything梐nd check the second text.
Please don抰 be Jay.
Please don抰 be Jay.
Guess what?
It抯 Jay.
Dakota. Please just ten minutes of your time? If you let me apologize in person and still find me unforgivable, that抯 fair. I just can抰 walk away with silence. Don抰 you owe me that much?
I owe myself a nice harsh slap to the face for forgetting to follow through on blocking his number.
Seriously. Why would I owe him anything?
He left me at a church full of people on my wedding day.
He was cheating for God only knows how long.
Our time is up. I learned a lot from you, so thanks, I send bitterly.
Like not to trust men梠r anyone who isn抰 named Eliza, for that matter.
How many times did singer girl Sam laugh it up with me oh-so-sweetly? Usually over a bottle of cheap wine at our crappy little rented farmhouse while she was banging my fianc?behind my back.
People. They suck.
So does wasting more neurons on this brutally desperate half-wit.
Jay: Dakota, we can抰 be perfect. Them mistakes I made bust me the fuck up every day. I can抰 even sleep. Please. Please give me a shot. Even five minutes.
I gave him the only shot he deserved at a life together.
He flunked it magnificently.
Also, I don抰 have time to argue, so I shove the phone back into my pocket and pedal like hell. By the time I get to Sweeter Grind, he抯 texted five more times.
They抮e all the same trashy woe-is-me messages about how he magically realized he can抰 live without me and how he was oh-so-wrong.
Gag.
I order the boss?stuff and then move to the counter to wait on the drinks. I don抰 even know why I replied. Maybe just raw curiosity.
Did Sam break up with you?
Jay: I broke up with her but we weren抰 even really together. She wasn抰 you.
I抳e had it.
With a hurt snicker, I pull up my contacts and block his number.
揅offee for Nevermore!?A barista sets a large cup down loudly.
I grab the coffee and weighty box of Regis rolls and flounce out the door, but I can抰 get to my bike.
What now? I think with a huff.
There抯 some random guy about the same height as Jay with the same mousy-blond hair strumming what sounds like folk music on a six string. He抯 not the reason I can抰 get to my bike, though.
A barefoot woman dances around madly a couple feet away, wearing a full-blown semi-formal wedding dress. Loose ringlets cascade down her back with every turn, but she抯 between me and my bike.
Awesome.
Portland might be the weird capitol of the Pacific Northwest, but Seattle isn抰 that far behind for the silver medal.
I shouldn抰 be so pissed. At least they aren抰 hassling anyone or blocking traffic.
It isn抰 fair to hate Guitar Man for resembling Jay, either. Betrayal shouldn抰 course through my blood so deep, but it does.
I try to go around the dancer, but she smacks into me mid-twirl.
The coffee cup crunches between us.
My mouth falls open in slow motion. Then I feel it before I see it.
Scalding liquid runs down my torso, biting my skin through the fabric.
揙w!?I tumble down on the sidewalk, sandwiched between the pavement and the street dancer, who抯 somehow landed on top of me.
揗y dress梚t抯 ruined!?she shrieks, jumping to her feet like only a bride with a soiled wedding dress can.
I scrape myself off the ground and stumble to my feet, thoroughly annoyed.
揟hat抯 probably why most people don抰 dance around in their wedding dress in front of a busy shop,?I bite off.
揃ut we抮e getting married!?she says, her lips curled in agony. 揂nd now梟ow I have to do it with a coffee stain.?