Sweet Dreams

by Rochelle Alers

  Although Craig had passed away years before he walked into Princeton for his first day of classes, Preston couldn’t shake off his father’s dire warning. Praying his late father was wrong, he majored in English with a minor in mathematics. His rationale was if he couldn’t make it as a writer he could always teach math. But he’d proven Craig wrong on two accounts: he hadn’t become a victim of the streets, and he hadn’t failed as a writer.

  “Will you share my bath with me?”

  Preston’s smile grew wider. Hearing Chandra’s voice, still heavy with sleep, was the perfect way for him to start his day. He swallowed a groan. She’d pressed her firm breasts against his back.

  “What do I get if I say yes?”

  “I’ll wash your back and any place or anything else you want.”

  This time Preston couldn’t stop the groan escaping his parted lips when his sex hardened with her erotic offer. He curbed the urge to reach between his thighs. He scrambled off the bed and practically ran to the en suite bathroom.

  Chandra waited for Preston to return, but when he didn’t she left the bed and walked into her bathroom. She turned on the faucets in the bathtub, adjusting the water temperature before adding a capful of scented bath crystals under the flowing water. The tub was half-filled by the time she’d washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  She let out an audible sigh when sinking into the lukewarm water. The slight ache between her legs was a reminder of what she’d shared with the man who was now a part of her life as she was his.

  What had begun with him returning her case and journal was now a full-blown affair. Resting her arms on the sides of the tub, Chandra closed her eyes and smiled. She was having an affair with P. J. Tucker.

  How, she mused, had her life changed in a matter of weeks? She’d had her first sexual encounter during her college sophomore year. He was another student in her study group, and she’d slept with him not because she was in love with him. If the truth were told, then she would have to admit that she barely liked him. She’d gone to his apartment to study for a statistics exam, and was forced to spend the night when a winter storm dropped a foot of snow on New York City. She slept with him again a week later, then decided they were better off as friends than lovers.

  Then there was Laurence, whom she dated for six months before getting into bed with him. Although she’d found sex with him satisfying, it wasn’t exciting. After a while she was resigned to the fact she would marry a man who would provide financial stability for her and their children and do whatever he could to make their marriage a success.

  Laurence Breslin may have been what Chandra thought of as benign, but she hadn’t been prepared for his reversal of affection. He’d professed she was the love of his life, yet when confronted by Mommy he folded like an accordion and sided with his parents against her.

  “Do you intend to keep your promise to wash my back?”

  She opened her eyes to find Preston lounging against the door frame, arms crossed over his bare chest. He’d put on the pajama pants he’d discarded the night before. Her gaze moved slowly over the stubble on his lean jaw, down to his magnificent upper body, long legs and bare, arched feet.

  Sinking lower in the tub, Chandra winked at Preston. “Yes. I always keep my promises.”

  Lowering his arms, Preston approached the tub, at the same time pushing the pajamas down his hips. It had taken months before his mother was able to locate a slipper tub large enough for two adults. He’d used it once, but preferred taking a shower. It was his sister who used it whenever she came for a visit.

  “Scoot forward, baby.” Chandra inched toward the opposite end of the tub, and he got in behind her. Scooping up a handful of warm scented water, he poured it over her shoulders. “You know I’m going to smell like a girl,” Preston whispered in her ear.

  Resting the back of her head on his shoulder, Chandra smiled up at Preston. “There are worse things you could smell like.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “True. It’s a good thing I’m secure about my sexuality or I would be having a few issues.”

  “I take it you like being a man?”

  “Very much. How about you, Chandra? Do you like being a woman?”

  “I love being a woman.”

  Preston’s minty breath wafted in her nose. “And what a magnificent woman you are, Chandra Eaton.”

  Her lids lowered demurely. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. The thanks go to your parents and their superior gene pool.”

  “I thought we were going to discuss Josette and Pascual.”

  “We did, but that was before you distracted me.”

  Chandra’s jaw dropped. “You’re blaming me for what happened last night?”

  Preston nodded. “If you hadn’t come into my bedroom wearing that little skimpy top showing the outline of your nipples—”

  “Don’t you dare go there, P.J.! You’re as much to blame for what took place. Don’t,” she screamed when his hands cupped her wet breasts, his thumbs sweeping back and forth over her nipples.

  “Now, let’s talk about Pascual and Josette.”

  “I can’t think with you doing that,” Chandra said in protest.

  “Is this better?”

  She rose several inches when his hand moved from her breast to the area between her thighs. “Preston. If you don’t stop, I’m getting out of this tub.”

  Chandra wanted him to make love to her again, and she also wanted to discuss the play. She didn’t know how much more free time she’d have once she began the task of moving into her new residence. Then, there was the possibility that she would be contacted for a substitute or permanent teaching position. Business before pleasure had always been her credo for balancing her life.

  Preston didn’t have the pressure of looking for a job or a place to live. He owned a condo and a house in the country, while she was subletting from her cousin. She’d saved enough money to sustain her for two years, but only if she continued to live with her parents.

  But for Chandra that wasn’t an option. She wanted her own place. She wanted to invite whomever she chose to stay over when the mood hit her. Her parents had raised four children, and now that they were in their sixties they could do and go anywhere they chose without having to worry whether their house would be standing when they returned.

  Chandra had lived on campus when she attended Columbia, was provided with faculty housing when she taught at the private school in Northern Virginia and during her Peace Corps tenure. She’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday in April, and she still didn’t own property or a car.

  “Sorry, baby,” he apologized, kissing her mussed hair.

  She blew Preston an air kiss. “Apology accepted.”

  Lowering his head, Preston brushed his mouth over hers in a peace offering. “I’ve plotted the first act of the play.”

  Settling against his chest, Chandra closed her eyes. “Tell me about it.”

  Preston wrapped his arms around her waist. “You can interrupt me whenever you need clarification. As I mentioned before, the opening scene will be Josette getting off a ship in New Orleans. She garners a lot of attention not only because she’s very beautiful but because she’s wearing an Empire-waist gown that is now the rage in Paris.”

  “Does she look like a woman of color?”

  “Her mother, Marie, is mulatto and Josette is a quadroon. Although fair in coloring, she wouldn’t be able to pass for white. Her mother meets her at the pier with her household slaves.”

  Chandra opened her eyes. “Her mother owns slaves?”

  “Yes, baby. Many gens de couleur owned slaves. Marie, as plaçée to a wealthy Creole planter, would have a personal maid and manservant.”

  “Please continue, Preston.”

  “Marie is going on about the upcoming quadroon ball and she has arranged for Josette to become plaçée to the son of the wealthiest man in New Orleans. Marie overrides Josette’s protest when she taps her on the hand with her fan. They arrive
home and Josette retreats to her room where she writes a letter to a young man she met in Paris. He is also a man of color, but she knows her mother will not permit her to marry an African. In order to hide her liaison from her mother, she addresses the letter to his sister to give to him.

  “The next scene is at the shop of a dressmaker where Josette is to be fitted for a ball gown. She spies a man in the latest European fashion lounging on a chair. When their gazes meet, she suddenly finds herself feeling faint. He gets up to assist, but Marie steps in between them to aid her daughter. The shopkeeper revives her with smelling salts, then leads her into a dressing room.

  “Josette suffers through being measured and having to select fabric for her dress. When she emerges from the dressing room she sees the strange man with a woman. I’ve already established that Francesca is Pascual’s sister and a vampire who has to feed, whereas Pascual doesn’t.”

  Chandra smiled. “I like that.”

  Preston inclined his head. “I thought you would. Josette gets to see Pascual again at the flower market. He buys a nosegay, then presents it to her. She is reluctant to accept it, because her mother has lectured her about talking to men to whom she hasn’t been formally introduced. But Josette thinks herself more French than American, and the girls with whom she interacted at her school thought of themselves as libertines. A few of them had become mistresses to wealthy men, while others took lovers by their leave. Pascual gives her a card, asking whether he can call on her. She tucks the card into her reticule, then presents him with her back. When Pascual tells her the woman she saw him with was his sister, she tells him he will hear from her.”

  “Does she contact him?”

  “Yes. She sends the maid with a note to Pascual at the boardinghouse where he’s living during his stay in the Crescent City. She invites him to share afternoon tea with her and her mother, a ritual she discovered during a visit to London. I haven’t fleshed out the scene between the three of them because you have tell me how Pascual supports himself.”

  “He’s a hide exporter. He has turned vast tracts of land into horse and cattle ranches.”

  “Nice,” Preston complimented. “What does he do to pass his time in New Orleans?”

  “He does what most men of leisure during that time did—whore, drink and gamble.”

  Throwing back his head, Preston laughed. “Damn, baby, you didn’t have to say it like that.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I am right,” Chandra argued softly. “I did the research. Knowing this, will Marie be receptive to him?”

  “She’s charmed by him because he appears to be a wealthy foreigner, but she has signed a contract to have Josette become plaçée to an American. Her dilemma is that the contract is as legal and binding as a marriage certificate. If she permits Josette to become involved with Pascual, then she’s risking her future because her daughter’s father may withdraw his financial support. Plaçée notwithstanding, she cannot insult or embarrass a white man. Pascual shocks Marie when he offers to make Josette his wife, not his mistress or plaçée. Unfortunately, Marie will not concede, and tells him he can find another quadroon if he attends the ball. Pascual has decided he wants Josette. The scene ends when he tells Francesca he will have Josette. He will go as far as ordering Francesca to turn Josette into a vampire.”

  Chandra applauded, her heart racing with excitement. “Bravo! Bravo! What have you planned for the second act?”

  Lacing his fingers together over her belly, Preston pulled Chandra closer. “You and I will have to work closely together on act two.”

  “Why?”

  “This act will be solely about seduction. It will begin with the ball and the Regency dance, which can be the English Country Dance, the Cotillion, Quadrille, waltz and your tango. Of course, I’ll have to hire a choreographer. Josette’s benefactor will be introduced in this act.”

  “What does he look like?”

  Preston paused. “All I’m going to say is, physically he’s the complete opposite of Pascual.”

  “Don’t tell me he’s blond, short and frail-looking.”

  Preston nodded.

  “No, Preston! The only thing missing is spectacles and he would be a nineteenth-century nerd.”

  “What do you want, baby?”

  “Make him a worthy competitor. He can be blond, but he can also be gorgeous. Also make him a little older. Perhaps early thirties. Compared to Pascual’s two hundred-plus years he’s a mere baby.”

  Preston gave her a long, penetrating look. “Okay. Basil, who will be called Bazz-el, will be Pascual’s mirror image.”

  “Don’t forget to include a voodoo ritual replete with drums and dancers. I want everyone in the audience to feel as if they’d been transported to the motherland.”

  Lowering his head, he nipped the side of her neck. “How would you like to take a trip to the motherland with me?”

  “What are you talking about, Preston?”

  “Let’s go back to bed.”

  Chandra flashed a saucy grin. “And do what, baby?”

  “I don’t know, baby,” he teased. “Perhaps you can show me what to do.”

  “Stand up, Preston,” she ordered. “Come on, darling. Please stand up.”

  Deciding it was better to humor Chandra than continue to question her, Preston pushed to his feet. He’d regained his footing at the same time she went to her knees, facing him.

  “No!” Preston bellowed like a wounded animal when he felt the heat of her mouth on his sex. Chandra had wrapped her arms around his thighs, holding him fast.

  He hardened quickly as he stared, stunned, at his penis moving in and out of her mouth. Eyes closed, fists clenched, he succumbed to the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever had in his life.

  Bending over, he forcibly extricated her arms, slid down to the cool water and pushed inside her with one, sure thrust. Between sanity and insanity, heaven and hell, he drove into her like a man possessed. Then without warning, he pulled out at the last possible moment, moaning as he spilled his passion in the water.

  “You didn’t like it?” she asked innocently.

  Preston glared at Chandra, his gaze raking her face like talons. “I loved it, Chandra. But you’re driving me crazy,” he gasped. He should’ve known what to expect; what had just occurred was ripped from the pages of her journal.

  Moisture dotted Chandra’s face when she opened her eyes. “That makes two of us. Now, please let me up. I need to take a shower.”

  He stepped out of the tub, she feeling the heat from his gaze on her wet body as she headed to a corner shower stall. Closing the door, she turned on the water, then slid down to the tiled floor. Her attempt to live out her fantasy with Preston had nearly met with disaster. He’d entered her without a condom during the most fertile time of her cycle. If he hadn’t pulled out, then the risk of her becoming pregnant was more than ninety-nine percent.

  The door opened; Preston stepped in and closed the door behind him. Anchoring his hands under her shoulders, he eased her to stand. “We can’t do that again. Not unless you want a baby.”

  Water spiked her lashes when Chandra glanced up at Preston. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I want it to happen again,” he crooned. “It just can’t happen unless I’m wearing protection.”

  He pulled her to his chest, rocking her from side to side. They stood under the falling water, rinsing the lingering soap from their bodies. Minutes later they stood on a bath mat drying each other’s body.

  They’d made love—twice, discussed Death’s Kiss and had to prepare for Ray Hardy and his wife.

  Chapter 11

  Chandra knew she’d made an error in judgment when she’d initiated oral sex. Although he’d claimed to have liked it, she wasn’t certain whether he appreciated her assertive take-charge approach. Although not as sexually experienced as some of her classmates and/ or coworkers—her sum total of liaisons was limited to two—sh
e’d become a participant whenever sex became the topic of conversation. It was those explicit conversations, coupled with pornographic films, that fueled her fertile imagination.

  She’d bonded with three single female teachers at Cambridge Valley Prep. When they didn’t have dates, they usually got together on either Friday or Saturday nights. If they met in her apartment, then it’d become Chandra’s responsibility to provide the food and beverages. In order to avoid a conflict, they’d set up a rotating schedule for their get-togethers.

  One night someone rented a pornographic movie, and when the images appeared on the television screen it was to stunned silence. They laughed at most of the antics because the acting was so contrived, but viewing the movie served as a pleasant diversion for their girls’ night.

  Afterward, they scheduled one day a month as “naughty night.” Most times they wound up critiquing the acting, or lack thereof, plot and set decorations.

  Chandra pulled on a pair of faded jeans, thick white socks and a cotton sweater with a rolled neckline and cuffs in a soft oatmeal shade. She’d towel-dried her hair, brushed it and pulled it into a ponytail. Preston told her their meeting with the Hardys was casual and informal.

  She cleaned up the bathroom, then turned her attention to making the bed.

  “I didn’t invite you here to do housework.”

  She turned to see Preston in the doorway, hands folded at his hips. Jeans, a navy blue waffle-weave pullover and running shoes completed his casual look. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved.

  “I have a thing about unmade beds,” she retorted.

  “Get over it, Chandra. Now, come eat breakfast.”

  Chandra didn’t move. “Are you pissed with me?”

  Preston lowered his hands as his expression stilled, becoming a mask of stone. “What are you talking about?”