She increased the pace, her fingers sliding deep inside her, stretching her as she envisioned him replacing the violence of the dream with a slow, rhythmic devotion. The gap between the dream and the gorge was closing; in her mind, the Rex of the nightmare was dying, and the Rex of her longing was being born from the steam and the heat.
Her breathing became shallow, ragged gasps that echoed the frantic movement of her hand. The tension in her thighs became unbearable, a coiled spring of pure, unadulterated need.
'Come to me... in my mind... show me the Rex who cares...'
As the peak approached, the imagery became blindingly bright. She saw him leaning down, his lips brushing hers, his scent of earth and sun overwhelming her senses.
