I was dreaming about sex with Raul again. And talking in my sleep. So much that I awoke to my own panted chant of “Fuck me, Raul.”

I blinked my eyes open. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar. As was the humming noise of the plane engine in the background.

And the sound of Raul groaning in pain beside me.

“Don’t,” he grunted. “Fuck … please, don’t stop … need you so bad, Bethy …”

Huh?

“Bethy … what are you doing to me? Fuck, that feels so good …”

Oh, shit—what was I doing?

I glance down at my body, then over at Raul’s next to me. I’d been masturbating in my sleep—while giving a sleeping Raul a handjob!

I froze.

Oh, wow. His cock was enormous in my hand—wet from his precum and pointing straight to the ceiling.

I had three fingers buried between my thighs, and they were soaking wet. My clit felt hard and swollen with the need to come as I rolled my thumb over it. Jesus, how long had I been masturbating?

Raul groaned again. I was still gripping his dick. I flexed my fingers experimentally.

He shifted, his hips lifting off the bed, causing my hand to slide down to the base of his erection. When he lowered his hips back to the mattress, my hand slid up his dick again. He groaned my name and repeated the action, rocking his hips up and down, fucking my hand in his sleep.

I tried to remember how mad I was at him—to remind myself that he was a scary werewolf creature who’d kidnapped me—but a rush of fluid coated the fingers between my thighs at the sight of Raul’s powerful, naked body undulating next to me, his beautiful hard penis desperately seeking the touch of my hand wrapped around it.

Before I knew it, I was helping him—gliding my hand up and down his thick shaft while he continued to groan and say my name.

It made me feel powerful—knowing how much Raul wanted me. Needed me.

Mesmerized by the sight of him, of the sounds of him grunting and groaning and begging for more of my touch, I rolled onto my side, then shifted upon my knees, careful not to disturb his aroused slumber as I gained a closer view and a better grip on his dick while continuing to touch myself with my other hand.

“Yesss,” he sighed. “Ah, please, Bethy … yesss … in your mouth, baby … please.”

Like a woman possessed, somehow I found my head lowering over his midsection, my lips parting, my tongue extending to swirl over his salty, bulbous head, before taking him fully into my mouth. As soon as I tasted him—and heard his hiss of pleasure—I was lost.

I began sucking him in earnest while working what wasn’t in my mouth with my hand. His hand fell atop my head, pressing down gently at first, then more forcefully, as he grunted and raised his hips, his cock seeking the back of my throat.

I didn’t deny him.

“Ahhh, Bethy, feels so good … you’re so beautiful … feels so perfect … fantasized about you for so long ...”

His words were like crack. And I was an addict.

I ate his praise up like candy, along with his cock, until my clit was painfully swollen and my pussy throbbing—beyond dripping wet with the need to be filled.

So when Raul began mumbling, “Straddle me, Bethy” and “Ride my cock” in his sleep, I couldn’t resist temptation.

I bobbed my head up and down twice more before pulling my mouth from him, shrugging my robe from my shoulders, and straddling his hips.

Taking him in hand, slowly I lowered myself onto his rock-hard length.

Drenched as I was, my insides felt swollen and tender as they stretched to accept his uncompromising girth. Not surprising—given how aggressively we’d gone at it the night before. Raul had been insatiable. And I’d been right there with him.

Yet after everything we’d done the night before, what I was doing now felt even more devious. Dirty. The fear that he might awaken at any moment to catch me fucking him in his sleep was a tremendous turn-on.

My head rolled back and I released a moan at the sensation of his thick head pushing its way so deeply within me as I sank my weight onto him.

Fuck but he felt good—so perfect inside me.

I told myself I deserved to get off after everything I’d been through as I began to move over him, lifting and lowering myself, angling my body back and forth in order to catch all the right spots—my hips circling and rolling to the music of Raul’s grunts and groans as his pelvis jerked and lifted beneath me.

I needed this.

He’d drugged me, the bastard.

He’d kidnapped me.

He’d left me alone aboard a private plane to South America with a gang of big horny monsters masquerading as the hottest male nannies on the planet.

My hips rolled faster the angrier I got, my movements more bold, the knot in my lower belly tightening, the pressure building.

“That’s it—fuck me, baby,” he directed in his sleep. “Faster. More. Want to feel you clenching around me … soaking my cock …”

He was suspiciously articulate for a guy who was sleeping.

But I was too close to the edge to analyze the obvious signs.

And then I was cartwheeling over it.

Holding my breath, I bit down on my lip to withhold the carnal, shamelessly unrefined noises threatening to escape as I did clench and gush all over him.

Spots were beginning to form in my vision from lack of oxygen as the tremors rolled through me. The metallic taste of blood seeped into my mouth from where I’d bitten my lip. And then my heart nearly burst from my chest when Raul’s eyes abruptly opened, flashing feral yellow through the dimly lit bedroom to catch me in the act.

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my throat.