Free Reawakening by Charlotte Stein

lunged upwards, to get more of it. More contact, more rubbing, just more, more, more.
    “I think she likes that,” Jamie said, and she didn’t know which one of them was worse. Blake for actually touching but not giving her the thing she needed, or Jamie for all of his pointed little comments.
    Why was he the one who always had to talk? He’d done so in the last dream, too, she was sure. As though he’d become this whole other person in the back of her mind, and that person liked to talk kind of dirty and teasing.
    It made her wonder if he was really like that. If her brain had picked up on something about him that hinted at a penchant for faintly suggestive and very arousing little prompts and observations. Maybe he talked that way about pancakes, usually, and her mind had just translated it.
    I think she likes blueberries became I think she likes you almost touching her pussy. Do it again. See if she’ll arch right up off the bed. Oh would you look at that? Yeah, she will.
    She wanted to shout at him to stop being so cruel but the thing of it was—it didn’t feel cruel. It felt a-maz-ing. Like being dipped in liquid heat. Like everything he said—no matter how innocuous sounding—went directly to her sex and touched all the places Blake wouldn’t with his sweeping, slippery hands.
    Then Jamie said, “Touch her pussy, now, touch her—she’s dying for it.” And everything in her melted down to nothing. Blake didn’t even have to obey—though it was good that he did.
    When her legs practically fell open, he just slid his whole big hand right between her legs, right over her too-swollen and too-heated mound.
    It was like before. In the dream, before, when touching her there had given her a sense of this incredible filthiness. He didn’t even let a finger slide between the lips of her sex, but the filthy feeling remained. It was like getting split open—it wasn’t the same as any of the other similar touches she’d had in the past.
    His hand was big, and it gripped the entirety of her sex as though he needed to anchor himself, somehow. Feel all of her out, before he progressed any further.
    She couldn’t help moaning, and barely cared if her sleeping self moaned, too. His hand on her felt so lush . Decadent, almost, and especially with Jamie there drawling on about how she felt. Like this? Like this?
    “Hot,” Blake said, then after a moment, “I can tell she’s really wet, too, without touching her right there.”
    God, that was…specific. Were dreams usually this specific? She couldn’t even remember having dreams where people actually said things, never mind all of this nonsense. They weren’t operating within pretexts, now. It was all sex one hundred percent of the time, and they were definitely as horny as she was.
    What else could it mean, when Jamie said things like—“Go on and touch her, then, so we can see.”
    It was so rude , after all. Even ruder than Blake’s hand on her. Though Blake’s hand soon progressed to something worse and better, all at the same time. He just slid two fingers all the way down, down through her slit, spreading everything as he went.
    Then she forgot her own name and where she was and whether she was dreaming or not.
    Something was blooming hot and bright between her legs. It felt like some kind of inferno, only there was a muted sense to it, the way feelings sometimes got during dreams. A kind of charged, slowly pulsing thing that threatened to reach a terrible crescendo at some point.
    Though the truth was, she wanted it to get there. Her body needed it to get there. Apparently it was really, really mad at her for denying it some masturbation the other day, and now it wanted to wriggle against Blake’s imaginary fingers and urge that feeling on until it got what it so badly needed.
    Like his thumb against her clit. Oh yeah. It needed that, all right. His thumb against her clit was heaven, it was glorious, oh God, was Jamie saying something weird like rub it