Dreamscapes

Sunday #2

He is a little tentative, stilling his hands against her ribs and staring up at her. It makes her bold. She sits up all the way, the heat of her core easy to feel through his sheet and her thin cotton pajama pants. She looks him straight in the eye, pushes him back to the bed, grips the bottom of her shirt, and pulls it above her head. Her long hair drops down around her, partly shielding her breasts from his gaze. He can't breathe. He can see the underside of each breast, and he can't take his eyes off them. He is frozen until she takes his good hand in her own and gently squeezes, giving him permission. He swallows thickly, and gently brushes her hair over her shoulder and stares.

She expects him to touch her, to pull his hand from her shoulder and trace, caress, cup, and fondle. But he doesn't. He is memorizing the way she looks right now. He is burning the image into his brain. He always wants to remember the exact blush across her chest, the pattern of freckles on her skin, the tightening of her light brown n*****s in the cool air. It arouses her beyond belief, and he has barely touched her anywhere. With Edward, she is always in awe. Weak to his strength, submissive to his judgement, undeserving of his attention. But right now, she has never felt so powerful in her life.

When Jacob finally moves, instead of reaching for her breasts, he pulls her up and toward him. She falls forward and locks her arms so as not to smother him with her chest. Although that is probably what he wants, because he reaches for her left n****e not with his fingers but with his tongue. He traces circles along her aureola with the tip, and laves the hardened peak with the flat expanse. It sends a deep ache between her legs and she moans deeply. He draws as much of her breast into his mouth as he is able, and he suckles lightly. Each taste draws a different sound from her throat. He wants to hear them all. He experimentally, lightly, runs his teeth along the n****e, and she tosses her head back and gasps. He feels a corresponding rush of wetness between her legs, and she unconsciously begins to squirm against his leg.

She is climbing higher and higher just from this. She had no idea her breasts were so sensitive. She has touched herself before, has fantasized before, has brought herself to orgasm by her own hand before, but the heat of him is more than she ever imagined. The waves of pleasure washing over her are wonderfully new to her. The seam of her pants is pressing up against her c******s, and she can't stop herself from rocking against his thigh to cause delicious friction in just the right spot. He reaches his left hand up and brushes his knuckles along her right n****e, elevating her right to the cliff's edge. He can sense just how close she is, knows that she needs just a little push. So he rolls her right n****e between his fingers, oh so gently rolls her left n****e between his teeth, and presses his left thigh up into her core, and she is flying off the edge, crying out in wordless joy.

She collapses on top of him, disoriented and happy. She feels him smiling into her hair. He is smug, surprised, and not just a little satisfied. If he can make her feel this way with half her clothes still on, how good will it be once she's completely naked and he's able to touch her everywhere? She decides to find out. She lifts herself off him and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her pants, gazes at him through her lashes. His smirk disappears, and she pushes the fabric down past her hips. Her pants pool around her ankles and she steps out of them. His eyes are serious and dark as they rake up and down her body. She feels beautiful and wanted. He reaches out his damaged hand and lightly grips her hip, drawing her back to the bed. Before she climbs back onto the bed, she takes hold of the thin sheet still wrapped around his waist and tugs down.

Her breath leaves her in an audible woosh. She shouldn't be surprised that he is naked. He wears little enough clothing out in public; why would he wear anything in his own bed? Despite having nothing to compare him to, she is quite sure that by any standards he is enormous. Enough to make her worried. Is there any way that's going to fit? She realizes she's been staring for a while when she drags her eyes off his c**k and back up to his face, finding the smirk has returned. This time it's accompanied with a mischievous glint in his eye. She decides to wipe the smug look off his face, so she kneels on the edge of the bed and draws her fingers up his length.

He sucks in a sharp breath as she grips him by the base with her left hand, leaving her right free to explore. He is hot and hard and silky all at once. She traces along the large vein that runs its length, provoking a large sigh from him. She runs her thumb along the crown's edge, drawing a sharp gasp as she finds a sensitive spot in the center of the crown. She is fascinated by the drop of clear liquid weeping from the tip. She smooths it over the head with her thumb, and he groans. She brings her thumb up to her lips to taste him, and he is salty and tastes better than she'd imagined. At the same time she pumps once, twice, three times with her left hand. She grips him with both fists at once, the right on top of the left, and he is so large that nearly half of him is still exposed to the open air. She experimentally twists her fists while pumping them up and down in sync, drawing a series of deep, breathy moans from deep within his chest. He struggles to keep his eyes open, to watch what she is doing to him, to burn the image of her working his flesh into his memory to fuel his fantasies. If this is a game, she thinks she is winning until he grabs hold of her busy hands, stilling them, and pulls her up toward him.

She thinks he is going to kiss her until he feels him tug her higher, settling her above him, her lovely legs resting on either side of his head, her core right above his face. She reaches for the wall to support herself above her, and is more nervous than she has ever been. For a second she is embarrassed about her own compulsion to shave herself bare, until she sees the hungry look in his eye. It's obvious that he loves the way she looks. He breathes deeply, and this time she really is embarrassed and trembles a bit above him. Before she has a chance to pull away, he leans up to kiss her mound sweetly. He smiles up at her. It's not the bright, sunny grin that she thinks of as the quintessential Jacob smile. This smile is truly sexy. This one is meant for her, and her alone. It centers her. Calms her. Only Jacob could make her feel so comforted at a time like this.

Then his eyes darken and his lids droop. He moves side to side, nuzzling his nose gently along the folds at the top of her inner thighs. He peppers barely-there kisses along her lips in tingling trails. She had never realized just how sensitive her skin is there. When she's touched herself in the past, she never took the time to explore her own body so slow or so thoroughly. She had no idea she could feel this good, and he still hasn't touched her center.

He has her lovely ass gripped in his large, hot hands, and he can't believe his good fortune. He is more turned on than he has ever been, and he knows he has brought her to the same place. She is desperate. Wanting. But not knowing exactly what it is she wants. She is on the verge of begging when finally, finally, he reaches out his tongue to lave the entire length of her slit. The taste is pure s*x, and his c**k throbs in response. Now he wants more. He teases her with a few more light strokes of his tongue, not quite stroking along the nub, until she is whimpering with need. With a groan, he gives in and presses his tongue firmly against her c**t, and she screams.

He licks in frantic circles as she grinds down against his face. She is whimpering continuously, trying to get even closer to him. His hot mouth on her is pure pleasure. He pulls back just a little, and she is alarmed until she feels him move down to plunge his long tongue deep into her. Oh, a different sort of pleasure. He slowly thrusts his tongue and she tosses her head back with a gasp. He can sense the shift in her, that the wonderful sensations he is causing in these dual parts of her s*x are separate and distinct. He grins into her body, slides his tongue back up to flick at her c**t, and slides one large, thick finger slowly into her. She freezes above him. It's almost too much. It's somehow not enough. He gently f***s her with his hand as he tongues her, slowly picking up speed. He can't believe how tight she is, and can't wait to plunge his d**k all the way in. He gazes up at her and thinks to himself that this is his new favorite view. Her head has fallen forward again, and she's biting her bottom lip just like she does when she's nervous. He knows that every time he sees her do that, from now on, he will flash back to this moment.

She needs just a little more, just a little something extra. He slides a second finger in and experimentally turns his fingers, and she bites her lip harder. He twists and pumps simultaneously, and she vibrates with pleasure. Then he curls his fingers. She cries out, arches her back, taut as a bowstring. He is incredibly turned on, and she isn't even touching his c**k. He repeats the motion again and again, and when he finally sucks her c**t into his pursed, soft lips, that's it. She's gone. She's coming, her legs locked onto his skull in his new favorite embrace. It's almost endless, and her keening pleasure triggers his own release. He pumps up into the open air, spurting all over his own stomach. She finally falls over onto the bed beside him.

He turns his head to look at her curled around his uninjured side. She looks more than satisfied. She looks happy. And she looks... asleep. He chuckles to himself. It's just as well, seeing as he already came as well. Although he's still hard, despite his own orgasm. Maybe it's just being a teenage boy, maybe it's one of the few perks of being a werewolf, maybe it's that the girl lying next to him is Bella, but he's pretty sure he wouldn't even need a minute to recover for another round. But she looks more peaceful than he's seen her in months. More peaceful than he's ever seen her, really. He gazes at her sleeping form for long minutes, calm and content. He wants to hold onto this perfect moment in his hand. It's the last thought he has before he succumbs to warm darkness.

The next morning, Jacob gradually wakes with a small smile on his face. He doesn't want to move. Last night was the best experience of his life. His smile turns into a smirk. Maybe they can finish what they started. They fell asleep too soon, and have some very pleasurable business to attend to. He reaches out his left arm and hits the wall. Oh. The sheets are cool beside him. His smile fades. He doesn't want to open his eyes to confirm what he already knows. Was it really just a dream? Never in his life has a dream been so vivid. No other s*x dream has ever come close. He can almost smell her strawberry scent in his nose. He's dreamt of her before, sure, but not with such clarity. Nightmares aren't so vivid. Not even the dreams he had of his mother in the weeks after her death, when he could feel her arms wrapping around him and hear her voice humming low in his ear, felt so real. He opens his eyes, squinting against the weak Washington light, and is greeted by a bare, empty room.