GRACE POV
I was having a very wet dream.
The kind that could make a saint blush and a therapist retire.
And the star of it?
A tattooed mountain of a man.
He had those strong hands, rough and hot, sliding down my hips, his breath feathering against my ear as he whispered things that could’ve probably gotten us both arrested in three countries. His chest pressed against mine, his scent—God, that scent—woodsy and dark and male. I was right on the edge, seconds away from the kind of mind-blowing orgasm that made angels cry—
“Aaaaaa!”
My mother’s voice hit me like a grenade.
I groaned, burying my face into the pillow. Maybe if I ignored her, she’d vanish. Maybe the dream would mercifully continue and I’d get back to that glorious moment where his mouth was—
“GRACE! COME HERE! NOW!”
No
