Tiffany stared back at her from the depths of the glass.
She met Witt’s gaze in the mirror as his big hand moved inside her panties. She wanted to scream, to twist away, to hide. But Tiffany wasn’t done. She hadn’t even gotten started.
Fight her. Control your dreams. Rip their masks off. Cameron’s words echoed in Max’s head. And she wanted to, wanted to wish the mirror away, wanted to close her eyes and refuse to let Tiffany take over, to take Witt away.
As Max watched, Tiffany arched and purred like a feline, all the while smiling at the mirror, as if she knew Max was trapped inside. Her arm coiled around Witt’s neck, holding his face against her as he sucked on the flesh of her throat. Tiffany licked her lips, staring straight back into the reflection of her own eyes. Then she whispered, “He’s mine.”
“I’m yours,” he murmured back.
And Max lost the battle.
Tiffany rolled away, moved down to kneel at the side of the bed, and pulled him until she was between his spread thighs. “I’m the best you’ve ever had, the best you’ll ever have.”
Tiffany went down on him with a wide open mouth. He groaned. She triumphed. Another one bites the dust. He tasted like salted peanuts, and he was big. The longer it takes, the harder they fall, and he had taken such a long time to seduce. But in the end, she always won. He was hers now. He shoved his hands through her hair, swore and writhed beneath her hot, unrelenting mouth. She worked him, fingers on his balls, manipulating, massaging. She knew all the tricks. Knew how to keep them screaming for more until she tired of the game. Maybe it would take longer to get tired of this one. Oh my yes, such a huge one. Such fun. She felt his orgasm building, felt it in his harsh breath, the clench of his fingers in her hair, and the tension in his gut muscles.
Then he came like a power driver, shooting into her mouth, briny, viscous, lovely. She swallowed it all. It was power. It gave her strength. It weakened him.
He softened in her mouth. She let her lips slide along the length of him, tongued the tip, and felt him twitch.
He fisted his hands in her hair and twisted. Her scalp screamed at the insult. She heard him laugh. With his cock still in her mouth, her head immobile from his painful grip, she strained eye muscles to look up at him.
Bud Traynor laughed again. She saw her own reflection in his obsidian eyes. Tiffany was gone. It was Nadine Johnson who watched him with a wide, frightened gaze. “Bite me, bitch, and I’ll break your fucking neck.”
Max screamed, and kept on screaming even though one small part of her realized she was awake and lying on Witt’s couch.
She hadn’t heard him run down the hall, but his arms were around her. Her face mashed against his bare chest. Her mouth open, she tasted his salty flesh.
She wanted to scream again.
“It’s all right, baby,” he soothed, running his hands up and down her back. “It’s just a dream.”
Just a dream. A horrible dream. Chills raced along her body. Her fingers were cold and numb. She clutched him to her, weakened by the need to do so but unable to control it.
The worst part of the dream were the thoughts running through her head. Do you want me? Do you want me more than her? Do you want me more than anyone you’ve ever wanted?
It was demoralizing. Pathetic. Needy. She’d have felt better, much better, if the part that bothered her the most was Bud Traynor’s black eyes.
Instead all she could hear was Witt’s voice telling Tiffany he was hers.
“Wanna tell me about it?”
“No.” Fast answer. Very fast. Too fast.
“Might feel better.”
“I won’t.”
She wouldn’t admit to being jealous of a dead woman. Especially when Witt’s hands made her erogenous zones tingle. She pushed away, scrubbed an eye with the heel of her hand, and tried desperately not to look at his chest in the moonlight. “What time is it?”
Hand still on her shoulder, he flipped his wrist to look at the glowing dial of his watch. “A little after five.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
He trailed a finger down her arm, leaving a path of goosebumps. He definitely didn’t seem the least bit angry with her now. “I’m not.”
Uh-oh. Trouble brewing. She saw it in that blue spark in his gaze. She wasn’t in any shape to fight him off. She searched for a monkey wrench to throw into his thoughts. “There was one thing from the dream we should talk about.”
“Hmm?” He didn’t stop with the finger-trailing thing up and down her arm.
She knocked his hand away. “This is serious. It’s about Nadine.” As she said it, she realized it was true. Nadine in the dream was important. The most important thing of all. “At the very end, Nadine was with Bud Traynor.”
Witt, wearing a pair of black sweats, sat back on his haunches. “Yeah, so?” Off-hand words, yet his mouth tensed.