by Lane, Nina
I roll the condom onto him before he moves between my legs to align our bodies. Anticipation unleashes inside me. I grip his shoulders, weakening with need as his thick erection slides into me. And then, finally, we’re joined together again, a key fitting into a lock, our bodies straining toward each other and our hearts beating in unison.
Our eyes meet, glittering with passion. My soul overflows with an emotion so complex and intricate that the ties holding it together seem both indestructible and as fragile as gossamer.
I pull him toward me, pressing my forehead to his. Our breath mingles between us, hot and rapid. He pulls back and presses forward again, filling me, stretching me.
“Oh…” I run my hands down his back, my whole body vibrating with pleasure. “You feel so good… I’ve missed you so much…”
He lowers his mouth to mine. Our lips crash together in a collision of urgency, muscles tensing and flexing. He braces his hands on either side of my head and thrusts again and again. Intense need takes over, and our world dissolves into a chaos of moans and gasps, the deep push of his cock into my body, the heat flaring through our blood.
I cry out his name, lifting my legs to hug his hips, tightening my inner flesh around his pulsing shaft as bliss cascades through me. I feel the pressure releasing through his body, the delicious increase in the pace of his thrusts, before he presses into me with a heavy groan.
Panting, Dean rolls over and takes me with him, pulling me against his chest. We sink into the exquisite afterglow together, my body pressed to his side, right into the space where I will always fit perfectly.
Since the world will, unfortunately, not stop revolving just because Dean and I are together again, I force myself to wake early the next morning for a shift at the bakery. I stop at home to change and pack a small travel bag, as I have no intention of leaving the cottage for the next couple of days.
Though I’m tired after last night, my body hums with happy energy, and I’m in an excellent, friendly mood as I help customers with their croissant and baguette choices.
Because Dean is… well, Professor West—a man with an ironclad work ethic who values company time—he doesn’t send me any sexy emails or texts while I’m working, though on my break I find a note from him in my satchel:
I smile and send him an email:
Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.
—Rose Franken, author and playwright
Anyone can love, but it takes Liv and Dean to love like THIS.
—Olivia West, Dean’s very hot and sexy lady
After I clock out at the bakery, I hurry to the museum in the hopes that I can finish my shift there early. It’s a cool, sunny day, green grass pushing through the melting snow as spring makes its final big push to overtake winter.
As I approach the Historical Museum, I see Florence Wickham getting out of a car parked in front of the building.
A member of the Historical Society’s board of directors, Florence is a white-haired, elegant lady in her seventies wearing a belted camelhair coat and delicate, diamond jewelry. She sees me and waves. I walk over to greet her.
I’ve been a little embarrassed around Florence ever since she caught me and Dean getting hot and heavy in a coat closet at the Historical Society’s holiday party last December, but she seemed more envious than horrified by the act. I suppose the fact that she left us alone to finish indicated her tacit approval of our sexy escapade.
“Hello, Florence.” I take her elbow to help her step over a slushy puddle by the curb. “Looks like spring is finally in the air.”
“Nice, isn’t it, dear?” She glances behind me. “Is your husband with you?”
“No, he’s working at the moment.”
“Oh. What a shame.”
“Indeed it is.”
I hold open the museum door for her and follow her inside. We walk past the exhibition rooms to the Historical Society offices at the back of the building.
“Is there a board meeting today?” I ask Florence, as we take off our coats and hang them on a rack in the hallway.
“Monday morning.” Florence pats her hair into place. “We’re discussing the fate of the Butterfly House, that old place over on Monarch Lane. It’s in such an ideal location by the mountains, both overlooking the lake and close to town, that developers have been trying to purchase the land. Of course that means they would demolish the house.”
“That would be terrible.”
“Yes, it would,” Florence says. “We’ve managed to prevent that so far because the house is historically important. It was bequeathed to the Society years ago, but unfortunately we can’t afford to do anything with it.”
She waves me into one of the offices, where a drafting table is covered with blueprints and photographs.
I pick up a black-and-white photo of the grand, old Butterfly House. It looks to be primarily an American Queen Anne-style building with a large front porch, decorated spandrels, and overhanging eaves. There’s a balcony on the second floor, bay windows, and a polygonal tower rising from the front that makes it look like a fairytale castle.
“When was it built?” I ask.
“In 1890,” Florence replies. “It was a beautiful place in its heyday.”
“What’s going to happen to it now?”
“We’re starting a fund-raising campaign to try and restore it,” Florence explains. “We thought we could open it for tours and such, but we’re in a bind because of zoning laws. Also there’s quite a bit of resistance to the idea of a site open to the public, since it’s close to a residential neighborhood.”
I pick up another recent photo of the Butterfly House that shows the extent of its disrepair—the front steps are decayed and overgrown with weeds, the door and porch scarred by graffiti, the windows boarded up, the shingles broken.
I’m suddenly reminded of a children’s book I once read at Allie’s store—The Little House, about a lovely cottage that began falling apart when no one was left to take care of it. And though I have a ton of stuff to do for the Wonderland Café, I find myself asking Florence if I can help.
“Oh, we would love to have your help, Olivia,” she replies. “There’s so much to do with researching the historical value of the home. Samantha told me you’re writing the exhibition brochure, so perhaps you’d like to work on something about the Butterfly House’s history?”
I agree, thinking I can do the work at home in the evenings. Florence and I spend the next hour going over all the photographs and documents that the Society has already collected pertaining to the house’s history.
After I finish my museum shift, I finally get back to the Firefly Cottage close to three. I find Dean sitting out on the porch overlooking the lake.
My heart just sings at the sight of him, all rugged and handsome in faded jeans fitted to his long legs and a worn T-shirt beneath a long-sleeved flannel shirt. He extends his arms. I sit in his lap and burrow right up against him like a cat curling into its favorite patch of sunlight.
“Good day?” he asks, brushing his lips across my hair.
“Mmm. No work tomorrow, though, and Monday’s my day off. I’m all yours for the next two days.”
“You’re all mine for the next two millennia.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I lose myself easily in the moment. A light rain drives us back inside, which is entirely fine with both of us as we spend the rest of the afternoon watching a movie, making love, and reading. We order room service for dinner, though by the time we get to dessert, I’m starting to yawn.
“Long week,” I say apologetically, as Dean nods toward the huge bed and tells me to call it an early night.
I crawl under the covers and fall asleep, waking only when Dean climbs in next to me a few hours later. I tuck myself against his side. After so much time away from my husband, just sleeping beside
his strong body is arousing. My subconscious soon spins and twirls with a resurgence of hot dreams, mostly involving Dean in the guise of a sexy warrior intent upon ravishing me.
Heat slides through my body. I shift, imagining him all rough and commanding, fondling my breasts, his cock hard. I dream of straddling his thigh and writhing against him. In the fog of sleep, I hear myself moaning, feel his fingers rubbing my damp cleft, his breath on my neck. And though reality with my husband is always better than my dreams, I wake all warm and loose, even a little sweaty.
Leaving Dean to sleep, I take a shower and wrap myself in one of the fluffy hotel bathrobes before grabbing my brush and going back out to stand in front of the mirror over the dresser.
“What were you dreaming about?”
My brush tangles in my wet hair. I yank it out and turn to stare at Dean. He’s lounging on the bed wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms and a rather smug expression.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You were having a major sex dream last night.”
Oh, lord. The images flood back into my mind, pornographic and vivid. I clear my throat.
“I was not.”
“Uh huh.” He grins. “You were moaning and everything. Very lusty.”
A blush heats my face. “I was not.”
“Yeah, you were. Got me all hot too.”
As much as I don’t want to admit to actually acting on a sex dream, it would certainly explain why I woke up feeling really good.
“So what were you dreaming about?” Dean asks again.
I turn back to the mirror and continue dragging the brush through my hair. I can still see him in the mirror, watching me with that cat-ate-the-cream look.
“Stop it,” I mutter.
“Don’t you want to know what else you did?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, you did something. You rode my thigh, then spread your legs so I could finger your pussy.”
“Dean!” I turn to face him again, my pulse leaping. “Did I really do that?”
“Uh huh.”
“You are such a liar.”
His grin widens. I stride toward the bathroom. As I pass him, he bolts upright and reaches to grab me around the waist. With a shriek, I tumble onto the bed. He moves over me and straddles my thighs, locking his hands around my wrists and pinning them to either side of my head.
The look he’s giving me—teasing but hot—is enough to spike my arousal higher. I buck my hips upward half-heartedly to try and throw him off. His grip on my wrists tightens.
He leans down to press his lips against mine, his tongue doing a slow sweep of the inside of my mouth. He tastes like mint.
“What were you dreaming about?” he whispers.
I’m starting to melt. I try to strengthen my resistance. “None of your business.”
“Come on, beauty.” He presses kisses along my lower lip. “Were you dreaming about getting fucked in public?”
I shake my head. His erection is starting to poke against my belly.
“Or about being with a woman?” he asks.
That thought makes his cock swell hard.
I shake my head again.
He shifts his hips, pushing against me. Since I just got out of the shower, I’m naked beneath my robe. One tug at the belt and he’d be sliding his cock against my bare skin. I draw in a breath. My heart is thumping, especially with him straddling me and looming over me the way he is.
“So?” he asks. “What was it?”
I stare at the bulge in his flannel pajama pants. “You.”
“Yeah?” He’s still rubbing up against me. “What were we doing?”
A blush begins to creep up my neck. “Um, you know. Having sex.”
He pauses and eyes me skeptically. “What kind of sex?”
“Regular… just regular sex.” I try to keep my voice casual, but he’s not buying it.
Dean sits back on my thighs and continues to look down at me.
“Your reaction was pretty hot for regular sex,” he says.
“Well, you did say I was lusty,” I remind him.
“Which is exactly why I don’t believe you were having a dream about regular sex.”
He tugs at the knot on my bathrobe belt. I squirm and try to buck him off again. He pulls the knot loose and eases apart the flaps of my robe.
“Very nice.” He gazes down at my damp skin—though I don’t know if that’s from the shower or if I’m starting to sweat.
Then he palms my breasts and runs his fingers across my hard nipples. His touch is light, gentle, and delicious. I press my legs together because I’m throbbing.
“Tell me.” He trails his hand down to my belly button, then lower to brush my mons. “Tell me and I might let you come.”
Oh, God. I’m helpless against that kind of talk, and he knows it.
“Dean.”
“Uh huh. Where were we in your dream?”
“Um.” My flush deepens. I twitch under his teasing touch. “On a… a ship.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “A ship.”
“Yeah. A… a pirate ship.”
“A pirate ship.” Dean stares at me before a glint of humor lights in his eyes. “And might I have been a pirate?”
I skirt my gaze from his and look at the ceiling. “You might have been, uh, the pirate captain.”
He laughs, but it’s so filled with affection and amusement that I can’t be irritated. He leans down to kiss me again, his tongue stroking the corners of my lips. Desire rushes through me.
“The pirate captain, huh?” he says. “And what were you?”
“A captured maiden.”
“And did I ravish you?”
“Totally.”
He sits back and squeezes my breasts. “Tell me.”
By now I’m getting so aroused I’ll tell him anything if it means he’ll give me an orgasm. I take a deep breath and shift underneath him, making sure his erection rubs against my belly again.
“You had me tied down in the… whatever it’s called. The brig or something. Had my… my hands tied above my head.”
“What were you wearing?”
“A long dress.” I can’t think straight with his fingers tweaking my nipples like that. “I can’t remember why you captured me. I think you wanted my land or something. Maybe it was my house. Or maybe I owed you money for a—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupts. “Get back to the ravishing.”
“Well, you had me tied up down there, and then one night I heard you coming down the stairs. You threw open the door and stalked in, all angry and menacing. You untied my hands and ordered me to pull up my skirts.”
“And did you?” His eyes are starting to get a little glazed with arousal, which makes me warm to the story.
“Uh huh. All the way up past my hips. Skirt and petticoats. Then you told me to pull down my drawers and turn around so you could see my ass. Next thing I knew you were standing right behind me. I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. Then you… you spanked me.”
“I spanked you?”
“Several times. You were wearing leather gloves. It stung. Made my cheeks red. But it also made me wet.” Now that my hands are free, I reach up to caress the bulge in his pants. “Then you told me to bend over a barrel.”
“And you did.”
“I did.” I grasp the waistband of his pants and pull them down. When his large, beautiful cock springs free, I can’t help sighing. “I knelt down on the cold stone floor and positioned myself over an oak barrel with my drawers down and my petticoats up. You told me to reach back and spread my…”
The blush fires my skin again. I can’t help it.
“Spread your…” Dean prompts.
“Spread my pussy for you.”
> His cock pulses in my grip. The evidence of his reaction, his lust, has my blood burning.
“You did it,” he says.
“While you watched,” I add. Parts of the dream are still vivid, but other parts have faded with daylight. At this point, though, I don’t care whether I dreamed it or am making it up on the spot. “Then I felt your hands skimming over my ass again, felt you kneeling behind me.”
“I had my cock out, I’m sure.” His gaze is hot on the movement of my hand on his shaft.
“Not yet,” I say. “First you took my arms and lashed my wrists behind my back. I was completely helpless.” At the gleam in his eye, I add, “And at your mercy. Then you took off your gloves and trailed a finger over my folds. Like you were testing how wet and ready I was.”
His chest is heaving. “Then what?”
“You rubbed the head of your cock against my pussy.”
I squirm. I want his hand between my legs. Shivers wash through me. He puts his hand over mine, indicating he wants my grip tighter. He sucks in a breath.
He looks gorgeous, all masculine and sweat-damp above me, his skin flushed, his thighs hugging my hips. I’m so turned on that one flick of his finger on my clit and I’d come like a rocket.
“Go on.” His voice is strained.
“Then I felt you pushing inside me,” I gasp, “and your hands gripped my ass which was still red and burning from the spanking. I felt you stretching me, filling me, but all I could see was darkness. My breasts pressed against the barrel, aching. I couldn’t move my arms. Then you started thrusting, slapping against me, making my ass burn hotter.
“I was moaning and jerking against the barrel, astonished by the feeling of your cock sliding in and out of me. I couldn’t stop my excitement, the urgency that drove higher and higher. I started pushing back against you, begging you to do it harder. Then you thrust so deep I felt it through my entire body, and that was it. I screamed and came all over your cock… oh!”
