Clara
I felt warmth—his warmth. My nose was buried against his sculpted chest. Another dream, the kind that drove me mad with longing. Only this time, I was the one who began it. My fingers slid over his bare, heated torso, tracing every line of muscle that made my head spin. His breath came in uneven waves. He pulled me closer and kissed me.
The kiss was both searing and impossibly tender, and I melted into it. We kissed for a long time—sweetly, hungrily—afraid to pull away, as if the world would end if we did. Each brush of his lips burned, but I craved more. Without breaking the kiss, I swung a leg over him, straddling him as his hands gripped my waist.
"God, Clara, you’re so sweet," he murmured.
I opened my eyes—and saw Dorian Gray. My mind refused to register it at first. I closed
