He raises a thick brow. His ink-black hair still drenched from our shower. And there’s very little more alluring than a soaking wet Tobias. I’d proven as much a few seconds after we stepped out of the shower.
Before I remembered my dream.
The raw stab the image produces has me wincing as I move toward him, shaking the bottle in taunt.
“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, slowly backing up.
“But I love cinnamon,” I push out my lower lip.
“That’s your problem.”
He cradles the bowl protectively away from me, still whisking as I prowl toward him.
“Don’t test me, woman.”
“Fine, I won’t put it in the food.”
“Glad you’re seeing things my way.” He watches me as I shake three dashes of the spice into my palm before I lift it, and blow. Tobias wheezes as a cloud of cinnamon covers the side of his face, momentarily blinding him. Cursing, eyes flaming with the promise of retribution, he slams the bowl down and lunges for me just as I leap out of reach. Giving chase, I barely manage to get through the back door and yelp when his fingertips brush my hip just as I clear it.
“You better fucking run,” he roars behind me as I sprint past the pool and dare to glance back. He’s hot on my heels, eyes dancing as he gives chase. I’m barely able to make it through the garden when he manages to hook me around the waist on the lawn.
I yelp his name when he twirls me around like a ragdoll, my feet dangling in the air before he lowers me to the grass and begins rooting into my neck as I choke on spicy fumes.
“Damnit man, you reek.”
“J’adore la cannelle,” I love cinnamon, he retorts snidely shaking the residual water in his hair across my neck and chest before coating me with the powder, creating a paste across my flesh as I frantically try to push him away. It’s when he pulls back that he robs my breath, his eyes bright, his smile so blinding, I shudder beneath him. It’s when my smile dims with the image that’s been screwing with me all morning that he draws his brows.
“What is wrong with you today?” He scrutinizes me beneath him, his eyes probing. “Are you still mad at me? I told you it couldn’t be helped.”
“No.”
“What is it then? You’ve been giving me hell all morning.”
I gaze up at him for a few seconds before I dart my eyes away. “I might have had a dream.”
“This is about a dream,” he says in the same breath.
“I told you,” I sigh, pushing at his chest to no avail. “I’ve explained this. They’re real for me.”
“But they aren’t real, Cecelia. And you can’t hold a dream against me.”
“Says you, and it felt real.” I can hear the ache in my own voice. “You locked me out of my own bedroom.”
“You had a dream that I locked you out of your bedroom, and you’re mad at me?”
“Yep.”
He narrows his eyes. “There’s more.”
“Nope, that’s the gist of it.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
He reaches between us, gripping my thigh and squeezes.
“S-s-stop. I c-can’t breathe inhaling all of this cinnamon. Get off me. I’m hungry.”
His fingers begin traveling to the hem of my sleep shorts before inching toward the promised land. “I can do this all day,” he assures, unflinching when I pinch his skin. “Tell me, what was I doing in this dream?”
“Non.” No.
“Non?” He leans in, darting his tongue along my bottom lip just as his finger faintly brushes over my clit. I moan, and he captures it, kissing me breathless as he sinks more of his weight onto me, pinning me to the grass.
“Damnit, man, you’re suffocating me.”
“Tell me, and I’ll set you free.”
“No.”
He resumes his touch, suckling my chest and teasing me without reservation.
“You’re a cruel and evil man,” I rasp out, digging my fingers into his scalp.
“Word of the day, soumission.” He muses as my hips buck due to his touch.
“Submission? Dream on, pal.”
“Have you forgotten already? One finger.” He licks a trail from my neck to my ear. “And I’m pretty sure that was a tear I licked off your temple.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He licks his finger in threat.
“Tobias,” I mewl, hearing the husk in my voice. “It was just a dream.”