Free Landslide by Jenn Cooksey Page A

fulfills his promise to me and we become one at last. It’s a wonderful dream, yes, but not when there’s no chance it’ll ever be reality, not when you always wake up before the promise has a chance to be fulfilled, and certainly not when you’re having it while you’re sleeping next to a guy who is far removed from who your dream lover is. A guy you trust; one you feel safe and comfortable with. Someone you know would do just about anything to take your pain away. Someone who might even go so far as to do something for you that might mean your dream lover would be lost to you afterwards. Something he would never forgive either of you for due to the simple fact that it was that particular someone and you…

    “Holden,” I gasp, almost out of breath with my heart rate quickly ramping up even higher, “Please…”
    I hear soft, sleepy muttering next to me and feel his body roll further towards mine, making blood sing through my veins, my body delighted with the real warmth it for once gains from his. Taking his hand, I place it on the already enlivened skin of my hip…hungrily guiding it over and down the curve of my bare butt and further, encouraging him to continue on his own by using my body; by lifting one of my legs over his hip as I move against him. When I removed my panties I haven’t the faintest clue, but I moan when he moves his hand out from under mine, using it to caress me and sweep it over me so very painstakingly slow, first down and around my thighs and then between them. His hand lingers only a bare moment, like it’s toying with me, driving me mad with need and expectation. It climbs its way back up to gently cup my breast, weighing the fullness of it. With his fingers having seduced my nipple until it’s fully alert and puckered to his satisfaction, his hand then leaves me panting, and travels down again, stopping at my waist this time where he holds me still, pressing his body full to mine before he goes to kiss me.
    “Holden,” I breathe across his lips just before they part.
    Then he stills.
    “Oh, Jesus Christ, Erica, I didn’t know what I was do—I was asleep.” He sounds groggy, yet startled and apologetic. I know he isn’t Holden not only by his voice, but from so many other things that are different from my dream and memories.
    I don’t care.
    When I continue to pull him to me, begging him to touch me and calling him by the wrong name, he sighs into my neck and rests his forehead on my cheek. “Erica, sweetheart, stop. You’re dreaming. I’m not Holden,” he whispers, “C’mon, beautiful…stop. Wake up, sugar, you’re dreaming.”
    My eyes beginning to fill with tears, I open them to stare into his. I think it’s a look of understanding and a willingness to help that infuses his expression, but a searing pain in my chest rips through me when he and his hand begin moving away. I become frantic, clutching at him and bawling, as if my life depends on him continuing to take part in the nightmare that my dream really is.
    “But he promised! He promised! Please…it hurts so much. I need you to make it go away. I need you. I’m so empty. Please .”
    Then I kiss him.
    His lips seem confused under mine, as if they either aren’t sure what to do or don’t know if they should do what they actually know how to do perfectly well. As my hips begin rocking against his in a rhythm only my ears can hear, his firm lips become more pliant. They finally begin to move over mine, his tongue testing the waters by touching mine tentatively at first, but becoming more sure of itself as he kisses me back, even if he is still reluctant about doing so.
    When he abruptly stops again, I become practically inconsolable. I’m so close to having this despised longing and hated feeling of being abandoned—of not being wanted or worthy—finally slain like the demons they are and deserve to be. I force his hand to touch me again, although he refuses to move a muscle or even breathe. So with his