The haze deepened, her mind slipping further into the warmth of the dream, and for the first time, she stopped questioning whether she should wake up.
Cassandra's senses were overwhelmed, each one heightened to an almost unbearable level of intensity. Every breath she took was filled with the deep, musky scent of him, mingling with the faint sweetness of the Sraalwyn still on her lips. It was intoxicating—like breathing in warmth, desire, and something darker, something more primal. Her skin burned with sensation, every nerve alive and humming as if her body had been set aflame.
His hands on her skin were like fire—slow, deliberate, and unrelenting. Where he touched her, her body responded instinctively, arching into him, needing more, craving more. She felt each brush of his fingers as a ripple of pleasure that sent shivers down her spine, each stroke drawing out new sensations, new depths of desire she hadn't known she could feel. The sensation was maddening, like she was being unravelled piece by piece, each part of her body responding in a way that was raw and visceral.
Her breath hitched, coming in short, shaky gasps, as her body pressed closer against his. The fabric of her dress felt unbearably delicate against her flushed skin, as if every thread of it was heightened in her awareness. Even the slightest breeze from the corridor seemed to skim across her like a lover's touch, making her shiver, her body hypersensitive to the cool air against the heat of his hands.
Every time his lips found a new spot on her skin—her neck, her collarbone, just below her ear—it sent a pulse of desire shooting through her, deeper and hotter than before. Each kiss was slow, almost torturous, as though he knew exactly how to make her fall apart, how to tease her to the very brink without letting her fall over the edge just yet. His breath against her skin was warm, and each time his lips left her, she ached for more, the absence of his touch as powerful as his presence.
Her heart pounded in her chest, the rapid thud of it filling her ears, drowning out everything else except the sensation of him, the heat, the need that was quickly taking over her. It was a primal thing, a hunger that grew more insistent with every second, every heartbeat. The haze in her mind deepened, and with it, her resistance faded away completely. She wanted to surrender to it, to lose herself in the intensity of it all, to let the dream take her wherever it wanted.
Her hands, trembling but eager, moved up his arms, feeling the hard muscles beneath his coat, the steady, deliberate strength in him that made her pulse race. She clung to him, grounding herself in the solidness of his body even as she felt herself slipping further into the dream, further into the raw desire that was building, swelling like a storm inside her. It was an intensity that left her breathless, that made her feel like her body was no longer her own, but a vessel for this overwhelming sensation, this hunger.
The heat between them was unbearable, a burning sensation that started low in her belly and spread through her like wildfire. It coiled deep inside her, growing tighter and tighter with each touch, each kiss, each whispered breath against her skin. It was a pressure that built slowly, achingly, until she could think of nothing else but him—his hands, his lips, the way his body pressed against hers, how every movement seemed designed to push her further into this state of absolute need.
Her body was no longer her own—it was a mass of pure sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure that bordered on pain, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her pulse racing out of control. She felt like she was on the edge of something immense, something that would consume her completely if she let it, and yet she craved it, wanted to fall headfirst into that abyss of sensation and lose herself in it entirely.
His voice, low and rough with desire, rumbled in her ear, sending a fresh wave of shivers through her. "Do you feel it?" he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "How close you are?"