by Shelly Bell
She hadn’t done a trust exercise since grade school when a group of girls had to catch her as she fell backward. It wasn’t any fun back then and she couldn’t imagine it being fun now. Still, she was willing to give Cash the benefit of the doubt. “Okay.”
“Stand up.” He pushed her coffee table back a couple of feet to give them more room. “Ever play ‘mirror image’ before?”
“I don’t think so.”
He fiddled with his cell phone until music began to play and then placed the phone on the table. “I learned it in a drama class I took in high school.” Before she could ask why he took drama, he added, “It counted as an English credit and was an easy A.”
The song he put on was one of her favorites. Slow, sappy, and likely to stay stuck in your head for hours afterward. She wouldn’t have pegged Cash as a fan of the artist or his music, especially since the singer didn’t have his breakout hit until Cash was in prison.
He beckoned her with a crook of his finger. “Come closer and stand opposite me.” Elbows bent, he held his hands up at the level of his chest with his palms facing her. “When I move, you mirror my action.”
She moved in front of him, feeling as if a bunch of tennis balls were ricocheting around in her stomach. “You won’t touch me?”
He lowered his head to look her straight in the eyes. “I promise.”
She lifted her arms and copied his stance as if she were his reflection in a mirror. Only a couple inches separated his palms from hers.
Her hands shook and her legs felt like gelatin. Apparently, her brain trusted him, but the rest of her body was still apprehensive.
She swallowed the glob of fear in her throat. “Did you get to listen to music in prison?”
Cash moved his left hand to the left as Dreama mimicked his movement with her right hand. “I had a special tablet for prisoners that allowed me to download music and audiobooks, play games, read the news, and rent movies. But the selection of media was limited.”
As a parole officer, she probably should have known that, but the subject had never come up before. When she had gone to the prison for pre-parole meetings, she’d focused on their future rather than their current situation. She regretted that now. She’d thought it was better to concentrate on things they could change and not fixate on things they couldn’t. She helped them with the transition to the outside world, but how could she really do that if she didn’t know what it was like for them on the inside? Getting to know Cash this week, she realized her parolees deserved better from her. Ignoring the years spent like dogs in a cage didn’t mean those years didn’t happen.
Humming, Cash swayed from side to side to the beat of the music. She followed his movements, stepping left when he stepped left and swinging her hips from side to side. They were dancing without touching, hands and feet so close together, their body heat joining together even when their skin could not. Cash set the rhythm, led her body’s tempo, and compelled her to mirror his motion. She imagined he fucked much like he danced, all confident and controlling, with one hundred percent of his attention concentrated on his partner.
The warmth of arousal flowed through her pussy, making her insides clench and release in anticipation of being filled and causing her panties to dampen. The temperature of the room hadn’t changed, but suddenly, she became overheated and feverish.
“Do you feel that?” he asked as a new slow song came on.
She didn’t have to ask what he meant. “Yeah. I do.”
“Good. That’s good,” he said huskily. “I want you to describe it to me.”
“Heat.”
“Use your words, Dreama. I want to know exactly what’s going on in that body and mind of yours.”
How could she describe something she barely understood herself?
“It’s like I’m heavy, so heavy my feet are sinking into the floor, only at the same time, I’m weightless and floating in the air. The room is whirling around me, so quickly it’s just a blur of colors and shapes. All my senses are heightened.”
“Are you scared?”
His palms were now mere millimeters from hers, but the last thing she was feeling was scared. “No. I know you won’t touch me.”
He stopped moving and dropped his arms to his side. His gray eyes were as dark as the sky in a thunderstorm. He dipped his head, his mouth drifting closer and closer to hers. “Do you trust me?”
She wasn’t scared that he’d kiss her. He’d promised not to touch her and he’d keep that promise.
She was scared that she’d never get the chance.
“With my life.”
His lips hovered over hers. “Then tell me a secret.”
Cash hadn’t intended to ask for her secrets. The words had spilled from his lips before he could stop them. All he knew was that he’d never felt closer to anyone than he had while dancing with Dreama. It wasn’t just sexual, although the sight of hardened nipples poking through that sheer white blouse of hers currently had his mouth salivating. It was far more complicated. If he couldn’t use his fingers or his tongue, then he needed to find some other way to explore her. He wanted more than her body. He wanted to know everything about her—all her thoughts and her fears and her dreams.
Her gorgeous breasts rose and fell with every heavy breath. She gazed up at him with pure lust in her eyes. It made him feel invincible, as if he could climb Mt. Everest so long as she continued to look at him like that.
She wrung her hands. “I haven’t slept in my bed since I moved in here.”
“What? Where have you been sleeping?”
“On the couch.”
That explained the comforter and pillow on the carpet.
“Why aren’t you sleeping in your bed?” he asked.
She rubbed her arms as if she was cold. “You’re supposed to feel safe in your bed, safe enough to close your eyes and trust that no one will hurt you, but it’s also where you’re most vulnerable.”
He recalled her story about the attack. She’d been sick in bed when the man had broken into her apartment. “You’ve had your trust violated. I get it.” She deserved to feel safe, and he could be the one to give that to her. “Do you want me to stay here for a little while until you fall asleep?”
She hesitated. “It’s probably not a good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea.” They could add it to the list that included not telling the police about the photograph and the attempt on Dreama’s life, and their Dom/sub relationship. “But what’s one more?”
Deciding, she gnawed on her bottom lip. “Yes,” she finally said. “I want you to stay.” She gathered the comforter and pillow in her arm and motioned at him with a tilt of her head to come with her.
He picked up his phone from the coffee table and shot a quick message to Rebecca so she wouldn’t worry. He had no idea what he was going to tell her about where he went tonight. His sister would know if he lied to her.
As Dreama shut off the family room lights, he stuck his phone back into his pocket. He must be insane to think he could lie in a bed with her and not touch her. Every moment he spent with her made it harder and harder.
And that wasn’t the only thing getting harder.
But his desire to touch her was more than sexual. He wasn’t sure why, but the need to take her into his arms and soothe her felt as necessary as breathing. Words weren’t enough to explain what she was beginning to mean to him. If she could only put her hand on his chest, she could feel how fast his heart was beating whenever she was near.
He followed her into her bedroom where he got another glimpse into Dreama’s soul.
Dreama’s room was like a bohemian oasis. Purple beads hung over the archway between her room and the bathroom, and she had an honest-to-God lava lamp on top of her dresser. He hadn’t seen one of those since his first and only year at college. Her bedspread was an explosion of bright colors, and there was a stuffed unicorn by the top of the bedframe. Cute.
A huge box by her bed marked toys caught his eye.
What kind of toys?
“Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the box. “I know you’re dying to see what’s in there.”
He dropped to his knees and lifted the box’s flaps. Inside he discovered enough sex toys to fill the shelves of an adult store. Most items he recognized. She had a collection of vibrators and dildos, lube, butt plugs, and nipple clamps. Anything she would need for self-pleasure.
He pulled out a metal piece that was in the shape of a question mark with two small steel balls at the end. What the hell was it?
Dreama knelt beside him. “The orgasm I’d had at Club X was my first in more than a year. Between my lack of arousal and living at my parents, there was no need to unpack my toys. I opened this box Friday night after I got home. Underneath the couch pillow where you were sitting earlier, you’ll find my favorite. It’s gotten quite a workout these last few days.” She smiled and sighed wistfully as her fingers caressed a glass dildo. “I have missed my vibrator collection. I’ve had a longer relationship with them than any man, and they don’t mind that I prefer a little variety in my pussy.”
He chuckled, amused by her unabashed love for her masturbatory aids. He held up the odd-shaped toy. “And this?”
“Oh. That’s an anal hook.” She winked. “But it’s not for me.”
He dropped it back into the box.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to impale your ass with Captain Hook.”
“Captain Hook?”
“Because of its shape,” she said as if it was obvious. Then she laughed again. “I’m just kidding. I’ve never used it on anyone but myself. One of my first Doms gave it to me to use for posture training. But it can also be used in bondage.”
His mind immediately went to a dark and dirty place where Dreama was harnessed in place by the anal hook connected by rope that went around her torso. His heart and cock throbbed in tempo. He rubbed his hand over the front of his jeans and as discreetly as he could, shifted himself.
He was proud of how calm he remained. Especially when inside, his heart was pounding a staccato beat against his breastbone and heat was curling around his groin.
He had to be a masochist. How else to explain he was about to sleep in bed with a woman he wanted but couldn’t touch? Only a masochist would agree to that kind of torture.
“So…bed. How do you want to do this?” he asked.
“We could use my extra bedding as a wedge between you and me. I brought the one in from the family room and there’s more on the top shelf of my closet.”
“Sure.” After standing, he opened her closet and reached up, snagging a couple of bright bedspreads. He turned around just in time to catch her checking out his ass.
She winked at him again, delightfully unapologetic for her actions, and pulled a pair of pajamas from her dresser. “Be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”
Dreama disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him alone in her room. With his dick being strangled behind his boxers, there was no way for him make himself comfortable. Tonight wasn’t about him or his dick. He’d gone nine years without pussy. He could control himself for another few hours.
In the middle of the queen-sized mattress, he created a barrier with two of the blankets. Unsure of which side she preferred, he settled on the front edge of the bed.
A minute later, the bathroom door opened and Dreama strolled back into the room. She’d changed into a modest pair of pink silk pajama shorts with a matching short-sleeved top and had put her hair up in a messy bun. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup. She looked younger that way.
Choosing the right side of the bed, she slid under the sheets and tugged the comforter up to her chin. “Ready for bed?”
“Sure,” he said, his voice coming out a little more gruffly than normal. He flipped off the light and with only a sliver of light coming in through the window, made his way to his side of the bed. He stood there, a hand at the button of his jeans.
“I meant it when I told you to get comfortable. You can take off your pants if you need to,” she said. “It won’t bother me.”
He gritted his teeth. Sure. Why not? He unbuttoned his jeans, shoved his pants down his legs, and kicked them off, leaving him in his boxers. Settling himself on top of the covers, he placed his head on the pillow and threw a blanket over himself. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he turned his head and found Dreama on her side, watching him.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” he replied, flipping to face her.
He couldn’t believe he was lying in bed with Dreama. It seemed surreal to him that less than two weeks ago, he’d been sleeping on a prison cell cot.
“What was it like for you in prison?” she asked, as if she’d read his mind.
Sometimes, at night, he’d wake up in his sister’s house and forget where he was. He’d forget that he could pee in a bathroom behind a closed door.
“Lonely,” he answered. “It’s weird, because you have no privacy. And yet, I’d never felt more alone.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I have another secret to tell you. I’ve never slept in bed with a man before.”
“What do you think so far?”
She lit up the room with her smile and it was all he could do to keep from stealing some of that light for himself. “I think I could get used to it.”
SIXTEEN
The next day, Dreama had a little more bounce in her step. Not even the long-ass staff meeting had brought her down. The pain from her scars was still there, as was her limp, but she had more energy than she could remember having in months. More significantly, she had hope.
When she’d awoken this morning, Cash had been gone, but he’d stayed long enough last night for her to fall asleep in her own bed. Something as simple as that wouldn’t mean much to most people, but it meant everything to her. With Cash by her side, she could finally overcome her fears.
After work, she drove straight to Jane’s house for dinner. Ryder and Finn both had information about Browner to share and they wanted to do it in person. She was eager to hear what they’d learned.
Nervous excitement effervesced in her belly as if it was filled with bubby soda. Cash was coming over again later, and she really wanted to be able to give him some good news.
Standing on Jane’s porch, Dreama had just lifted her fist to knock when the door swung open. Smiling, Jane took a step back. “Come on in.”
Dreama practically bounced as she moved inside the house. “I slept with my parolee,” she announced to Jane with a smirk on her face.
And it had been the best night’s sleep she’d had in more than a year.
Maddox ran toward her, his cheek covered with something that looked like ketchup. “An Dweama.”
Aunt Dreama. She’d never enjoyed hearing her name more.
She bent down and snatched him up into her arms. “You smell delicious. I’m going to eat you up.” She made a hungry growl and kissed him all over until he let out a loud belly laugh.
“You had”—Jane glanced at her son—“S-E-X?” she whispered. “Putting aside the matter that he’s your parolee, how did that work if he couldn’t touch you?”
“We didn’t have sex,” Dreama said, not bothering to spell out the word. It wasn’t as if Maddox understood what it meant. “We slept—actually slept—in the same bed.” She handed Maddox to Jane, then removed her coat and boots.
Jane shook her head and brought Dreama to the kitchen. “I don’t know what to tackle first. You’ve never slept in the same bed with a guy before. You had rules about it.”
Ah, yes. Her list of rules.
Never spend the night.
Never invite him to hang with friends.
Never make plans for more than one week out.
And most importantly, never, ever, introduce him to the parents.
She’d invented the rules to prevent any expectations about their future—or more specifically, their lack thereof. Sex had always been easy for her,
but once emotions got involved, things got messy and complicated—mainly because she didn’t get emotional over men.
She’d never been in love. She wasn’t even sure she was wired that way.
Dreama grabbed a shiny red apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter. “Safe to say I’ve chucked the rules out the window when it comes to Cash.”
Jane put Maddox in his high chair, where he attacked the rest of his chicken nuggets and ketchup. “Cash, huh? Sexy name.”
“Sexy man.” Sexy ass. Sexy smile. Sexy, large hands. A sigh escaped her. “He’s helping me with my phobia.”
Jane poured a glass of white wine and handed it to Dreama. “Is he some kind of therapist?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” She took a large sip. “Okay, not really. He’s using a technique he used for a traumatized dog.”
The sides of Jane’s lips twitched. “What is he working on first? Teaching you to sit or how to roll over?”
Dreama couldn’t help smirking. “More like he’s teaching me to beg. He’s acting as my Dominant.”
Jane grabbed the bottle of wine and, perhaps realizing she was pregnant and therefore couldn’t drink, handed the sucker over to Dreama. “Wow. Are you sure you trust him? I know you think he was innocent—”
“Yes. I trust him completely.”
“Aren’t you worried someone will find out and you’ll lose your job?”
If anyone would understand, it was Jane. She’d gone through a similar dilemma not long ago when she’d helped Ryder uncover whether her employer—owned by Ryder’s father—was behind the theft of Ryder’s proprietary software.
“Last night, Cash brought something to my attention I’d never considered.” Dreama sat at the kitchen table, leaving the wine on the counter. One glass was enough. “I love being a parole officer, don’t get me wrong, but at some point, I became more focused on beating Meg than the job itself.”
