“All I need is for my husband to come peel it off of me,” she murmured to herself as she spritzed her body with her scent. “Preferably with his teeth.”
“Did you say something, baby girl?” Whit asked as he stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a pair of silk boxers as he rubbed his muscular chest with a bath towel.
Hearing the sound of her spouse’s deep voice, Abby spun on the toes of the strappy heels - the same ones that Whit couldn’t understand her fascination with – to face him. Dropping her hands to her hips, she cocked a hip and struck what she hoped appeared like a seductive pose. “Hey, lover,” she greeted her half-naked husband throatily.
Whit’s facial expression morphed from surprised to thrilled in mere seconds as his hungry gaze moved up and down her body. “Well, to what do I owe this surprise? My new lucky dress and your fuck-me heels? Is it my birthday?”
“Your lucky dress?” Abby repeated with a laugh.
“Hell, yes, it’s my lucky dress. Ever since you modeled it for me at the mall, every time I take it off your delectable body, I always get real fucking lucky,” he clarified as he stalked toward her, his bright eyes already telling her that she wouldn’t be wearing her lucky dress or anything else for very long.
“Are our angels asleep already? They don’t usually surrender so easily,” he asked as he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, bending his head to brush a kiss against her bare shoulder.
“They’re out like little lights. The lack of an afternoon nap might have made them quite a bit more amenable to go off to play with the Sandman in Dreamland tonight,” Abby murmured, jerking her head toward the baby monitor on the dresser. “It’s just you and me here, Mr. Lehigh. Any ideas on what we could do to occupy ourselves for a couple of uninterrupted hours together?”
“So many, many ideas, sweetheart,” Whit murmured as his eyes lit with enthusiastic delight while he slid his hands down her back to cup her ass, squeezing it gently as he licked a path from her collarbone to her ear. “Should I share one of them with you?”
“Please,” Abby invited with a little shiver as he rubbed his shadowed jaw against the sensitive curve of her neck and tugged at her hair gently. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of feeling this man’s expert touch.
“Well,” Whit drawled, lifting a hand to play with one of her dress’s thin spaghetti straps. “The first thing idea I have is to strip you out of this amazingly hot dress. Any thoughts?” he asked his wife with a smile that would have melted off her panties – if she’d been wearing any.
“Yeah. What are you waiting for?” she sassed him playfully. Smiling when she heard his low chuckle, Abby watched as Whit hooked his fingers underneath the straps of her dress and pulled them over her rounded shoulders. Wiggling her curvy body just a smidge, she bit her lip as her dress shimmied down her body, exposing her naked breasts and pussy to her husband’s ravenous eyes.
“Oh, you naughty, naughty girl,” Whit murmured with approval shining from his eyes.
“Only if you’re a very, very good boy,” Abigail purred as her husband quickly spun her body toward their bed.
“I want you on the bed on your hands and knees, baby girl. I want to see this dazzling ass bounce while I take you from behind tonight,” Whit murmured against her ear before raking his teeth against the curve of her neck as he smacked her ass hard enough to pull a low moan from her lips. “You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” her husband growled against her neck.
“God, yes!” Abigail nodded enthusiastically.
“Then move your sweet ass, Abby. I’m so fucking hard that my dick could pound nails right now,” Whit rumbled, pressing his groin against her bare ass as he showed her exactly what her nude body was doing to him.
“While that would be interesting to watch, I’d be much more grateful if you’d pound me right now,” Abby teased, moving quickly as she assumed the position he’d requested, wiggling her ass dramatically for him and knowing full well she was waving a metaphorical red flag underneath her bull’s nose. She couldn’t help releasing another moan when his hand landed against her flesh again with a loud pop.
“My baby girl just loves getting her magnificent ass spanked, doesn’t she?” Whit crooned, moving behind her and stroking the reddened skin where his palm had landed. “I’m such a lucky fucker.”
“Whit, please,” Abby’s muffled voice begged as she dropped her head to rest against the comforter. “Fuck me, honey!” Seconds later, she barely resisted throwing her head back and howling with hedonistic glee. Only the danger of waking her daughters and ruining mommy and daddy’s special time stopped her. Because, hot damn, did it feel good when Whit slammed his dick inside her, setting a fast and hard rhythm that made every nerve ending in her body sing. She loved when he took her this way. She felt surrounded by him as he leaned over her, shuttling in and out of her body as his hot breath fell in hot bursts against her spine.
“That’s it, Abby,” Whit ground out through clenched teeth. “Take my cock. Let me feel that tight pussy strangling me inside you.”
His hot words only ramped up her desire, her pussy seeming to melt around his invading length, soaking him in her slick juices. Her spouse never failed to make her horny with his erotic demands. It drove her wild, and he knew it. “God, Whit! It’s so good! How does it keep getting better between us every time you touch me?” Abby wailed as the acute pleasure flooding her began to spread like wildfire, invading every cell in her body.
“Because we fall a little more deeply in love every day, I think,” he replied tightly, pressing a damp kiss to her shoulder as he continued to thrust inside her, using one finger to rim her tightly puckered back entrance, teasing her body mercilessly. “You need to hurry, baby. I’m not sure how long I can hold back tonight. My balls are already throbbing.”
“No,” Abby whimpered, her body rioting at his low warning. “Not yet. Please!” Dear Lord, she thought madly, his cock ought to be declared some sort of lethal weapon. Especially since she was fairly certain that one day his skill at using it would kill her.
Sliding his hand between her legs to find her drenched with evidence of her need, Whit nuzzled Abigail’s neck as he continued to shuttle swiftly in and out of her wet pussy, the wet sound of their coupling filling the bedroom. Finding her swollen clit easily, he rubbed firm circles around it as he began to thrust harder. “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you clamp the walls of that sweet pussy around my dick,” Whit urged gruffly, his voice thick with desire. “Cum for me, Abby. Flood my cock with that thick honey, baby!”
Screaming as her orgasm barreled through her body, Abby muffled her cries of completion by burying her face in their bedspread as tremors of ecstasy wracked her body. Distantly she was aware of Whit’s triumphant shout of release as she felt him flooding her depths with his seed only to collapse heavily against her back a few heartbeats later. Turning toward him as he shifted his big body to fall beside hers on the bed, Abby couldn’t help her beaming smile. Lifting a hand, she caressed her husband’s flushed jaw lightly. “You still with me, my amazing husband? I didn’t kill you, did I?”
Turning his head to press his damp lips against the inside of her palm, Whit nodded. “I’m still here, sweetheart. You couldn’t get rid of me that easily.” He grinned, lightly nipping the tips of her fingers with his teeth.
“Love you so much,” she whispered, pure happiness shining from her eyes and radiating from her smile as she stared drowsily at her sexy husband.
“I love you, too, Abigail. You and this awesome family we’ve built together,” Whit replied gently, watching with amusement as Abby’s eyelids slowly fell shut.
And her last coherent thought was that a lucky little black dress’s track record remained intact.
The End
Lucy’s a Dreamer
By Brynne Asher
Lucy’s a Dreamer by Brynne Asher
Text Copyright © 2017 Brynne Asher
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copy-written materials in violation of author’s rights. Please purchase only authorized editions.
This book is a work of fiction.
Dedications
This book is dedicated to all those who brave the fight of their lives against cancer and their loved ones who cheer them on.
And to my readers, thank you for helping to support Gilda’s Club. I hope you get a fun read in the process.
Other Books by Brynne Asher
Overflow – The Carpino Series, Book 1
Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series Book 3
Vines - A Killer Series Book 1
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Chapter One
The Best Mistake I’ve Ever Made
Lucy
I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the light out because it doesn’t matter how dim the rays are peeking through the heavy blackout curtains, when one consumes as much adult juicy-juice as I did last night, it hurts the mechanics of the thinker.
I roll into my pillow and try to hide from the evil glow, but I’m stopped. Forgetting all about the drumming little minion inside my head, my eyes fly open. It doesn’t matter how much nectar of the bottle I partook, the events of last night flood my senses.
The strong arm clamped around my bare body.
His even breathing as he slumbers behind me.
The nasty morning breath in my mouth created only after the most exciting of nights and not brushing my teeth before bed. Not that I had a toothbrush. I never planned on sleeping here, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t brush his, either.
His masculine cologne mixed with sex surrounds me. I’d think the morning after it wouldn’t smell good, but fuck me—again—it really does.
However, what I see is the real kicker. I can’t take my eyes off the rumpled pile of black material lying on the floor.
Oh, I blame it all on that dress.
It must be magic. Or enchanted. Maybe bewitched? I guess those all mean the same thing, but anyway I spin it, that dress is the shit. Or it was last night, the whole night, all the hours of the night, with all the orgasms and the positions and the condoms. That wisp of material was spellbound the moment I slid it on, making all my shitty features nothing but perfection and all my pretty-good features, fucking magnificent.
I must have sparkled from its sheer awesomeness, because the moment I walked into the church—or ran, I’m always late, but whatever—he never took his eyes off me.
Vaughn Isaac Rowe.
I’m obsessed with names because my name is horrid. Lucy Gladys Adair. As much as my parents tell me I’m not, I was an accident. They already had a girl and a boy, spaced perfectly two years apart. They even had a dog. The perfect American family. Then, one night years later after my dad’s company Christmas party, my parents had too much fun.
Oopsy-daisy, hello me.
To make it worse, my parents are big on family names. Of course, the two planned children got the good ones. My mom said the week before I was born, her great Aunt Lucy died and my grandparents guilted them into making me her namesake. Great Aunt Lucy was an old-maid cat-lady. My mom even told me horror stories of having to visit her. Every time one of her cats died, she had it stuffed by the taxidermist. My mom said it didn’t matter where she stood in her Aunt Lucy’s little house, a dead cat was staring her down.
So not only was I a mistake, but I also got the shittiest family name after a freaky cat lady.
This is why I love the name Vaughn Isaac Rowe. I’ve loved it since the first day I laid eyes on him when I was in middle school and my big brother brought him home. It’s regal, perfect, and all him. How could one not be a Vaughn Isaac Rowe without being strong, larger than life, and so hot, one would want to take pictures of him playing basketball in the driveway while hiding in the upstairs window.
I know this for a fact because I totally did it.
Then again, he had females all over San Francisco drooling over him.
Vaughn is the same age as my brother, Josh. They’re both three years older than me. When I first met him, he was in high school, and I was merely a goofy middle schooler. He was big, beautiful, and practically a man. I thought his dark eyes, dark hair, and large frame were perfect, even back then. I, on the contrary, was built like a boy—gangly, wore braces, and had no boobs. Not that I have boobs now, and at the age of twenty-six, have given up hope of growing any. Time has only enhanced the beautifulness of Vaughn, and as opposed to practically being a man, I know firsthand from last night, now he’s all man.
I swear, unicorns must have shit sparkles on that little black dress I borrowed from my older sister, Abby, because my lack of boobs mattered not. Any other self-respecting woman who didn’t understand the meaning of cleavage would’ve pinned that sucker together. Maybe I would have, too, on any other day with any other dress. But the second I wrapped that material around me and saw it dip low between my breasts, I ripped my bra off faster than a unicorn can puke rainbows. And the minute I walked—okay, ran—into the church for my brother’s wedding rehearsal, I knew I’d made the right decision. Anything that makes my mother shoot disapproving daggers at me with her beady mom eyes and my dad roll his, is an all-go plan in my playbook.
My neckline plunged so far south, it almost hit the border and needed to speak Spanish to communicate.
Everywhere else, my magic dress hugged and clung to me like white on rice.
That’s when it happened. The men were congregated at the front of the church, the old people were gathered with the pastor, and the women were a cluster of chattering energy. Through all this, Vaughn’s eyes caught mine.
I haven’t seen him since the summer after he graduated high school. My brother stayed in California to go to college, but Vaughn didn’t. He left and went as far east as we were west. I knew he and Josh stayed good friends, but it’s hard to perv on someone from across the country when I was still in high school, then getting degree after degree because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do with my life. Food Science sounded great—I love food—but it turned out to be mind-numbingly boring.
Basically, I lost track of him, not that I didn’t try. It’s easy to stalk someone from afar with social media, but he wasn’t cooperating. Whenever I’d Google him, he was only listed on research grants, technical advancements in medicine, and LinkedIn. It’s not nearly as easy to spy on someone via LinkedIn as it is Facebook, not to mention it’s the most boring site in the history of social media. There was no other option, I had to give up the ghost so I wasn’t accused of stalkerish behavior. That would just be embarrassing.
I heard through my mom and brother he was back and started some medical research firm in the Silicon Valley, although I have no idea what it’s about. I just know I haven’t seen him in ten years. Back in the day he was friendly, but only in an obligatory way one is required to be nice to their friend’s younger sister.
So last night when his eyes caught mine and didn’t let go, every nerve ending wrapped in my perfect dress went abuzz.
I was a hummingbird in a beehive.
Little did I know it was nothing compared to the way he would make me tingle later on.
I’m aware of my issue with semi-questionable decisions. Having lots of sex with Vaughn Isaac Rowe might’ve been a fantasy years ago, but now, the morning after and day of my brother’s wedding, it migh
t not have been my brightest move.
Even so, that other part of me—the part that sort of enjoys my semi-questionable decisions—can’t help but think in a whispered voice that this might be the best mistake I’ve ever made.
Conflicted, ugly, delicious regrets. It seems to be my motto.
Damn you, Lucy Gladys Adair.
Chapter Two
The Shui, It’s All Off From the Feng
Lucy
I wasn’t worried about the walk of shame—I’ve walked it a couple of times in my twenty-six years. But half my family and most of Josh’s fiancée’s family are staying in the same hotel. It felt like I was playing hide-and-go-seek all the way to the parking lot.
It shouldn’t have mattered because, besides my hair and makeup screaming copious amounts of sex, my dress still looked good the next day. My hide-and-seek walk-of-shame wasn’t shameful at all.
I just made it back to my one-room apartment over the garage of my parents’ house, and my phone starts going bonkers. When I look at the time, I realize why. I’m supposed to be across the driveway for hair and makeup. It’s an afternoon wedding and Josh and Olivia want pictures taken all over the city before the ceremony. It’s going to be a long day, to say the least. It’s a good thing I’m a talented bullshitter because I’ll need to put all my skills into play, acting like nothing happened last night.
Ripping off my magical dress before flipping on the shower, I open my texts. Ignoring my mother, I open the thread to my sister, Abby, and try to put them at ease long enough for me to shower.
Abby – Where the fuck are you? The moms, especially ours, are having a shit hemorrhage. You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago.
The art of being late is to let them think I’m on my way, even when I’m not, simply to get them off my back.
Little Black Dress Page 7
