Dream Lover

by Kristina Wright (ed)

  “I need your help, Faith girl.”

  “My help? But I don’t know what to do!”

  She didn’t.

  Once upon a time she’d told her grandmother about the pictures and patterns she found in clouds and rain and sometimes wind-tossed leaves. Linda Jade had taught her how to tell idle fancy from something that might be important, how to pay attention and see things that weren’t there to be seen. But that had been long ago. She’d been a kid for Chrissake and still believed in Santa Claus.

  And it had been years since she’d felt even a whisper of anything. Except for when Elisha got pregnant and tried to hide the fact. Faith had been taking her to school one morning, and as the sun broke over the mountains and light fell on her cousin’s belly, Faith had seen the baby shape and known. When Elisha protested, demanding to know how Faith had figured it out when she’d only just known for sure herself, Faith had shrugged, answered that Elisha was showing. But maybe it had just been a lucky guess.

  Anyway, if it had been real, she couldn’t use it—whatever it was. Not anymore. She didn’t know how to wield it.

  “You can,” he said. The man in the dream. “You’ll find a way. We need you, girl.”

  He called her name. Not Faith, but her name in a tongue she didn’t herself know. The wind repeated it, whipping around and around, a cat chasing its tail, a vortex spinning faster and faster until she couldn’t hold on, until it sent her tumbling.

  For the second time in a week Faith woke up on the floor, swore, and decided she needed to go back to her grandmother’s. She needed someone to talk to about this, before she completely lost her mind.

  Linda Jade hadn’t said anything on the phone and she didn’t say anything as she opened the door, except to ask Faith how she was. But she looked at Faith from the corner of her eyes.

  “David’s here,” she added as she started walking toward the kitchen, and Faith headed for the stairs to put her overnight bag away.

  Faith stopped. “David?”

  Linda Jade nodded. “Came by to bring me some sod for that side plot the dog messed up. Told him to stay for lunch.”

  “But you knew I was coming!”

  Her grandmother nodded, as if that explained everything.

  “Figured you might wanna see him.”

  And before Faith could utter a word of protest, she turned and shuffled toward the kitchen with sudden agility. Finding herself defeated, Faith gaped at the empty doorway for a second more, then shook her head and went upstairs to put her bag down.

  She didn’t want to see David again, not after the last time when he’d stormed out of her apartment, still shirtless. That was when she’d flung her slippers after him and told him to go, that if he was going to behave like a little boy she didn’t need him; knowing she’d been wrong for it. All he’d asked for was the chance to stay longer than a night, to see where it might go if she let it; to be more in her life than her occasional fuckbuddy. For stuff another woman would have been begging or demanding or nagging to have, she’d chased him off with slippers.

  Sighing, Faith straightened her blouse, made sure it was buttoned up decently and walked down to the kitchen. David turned from where he sat at the table and raised both hands in a mock-protective gesture, grinning at her.

  “Don’t throw anything. I promise to behave.”

  Faith stopped, looked at him for a second or two and laughed.

  “Shut up!” She came to sit at the table across from him. “I’m not in a throwin’ mood.”

  “Good.”

  “’Specially not in my kitchen,” Linda Jade added, before promptly shuffling back out.

  Faith looked down at her hands, out the window. Finally she looked back at the man sitting across from her. He’d put on a little weight, but his long hair pulled back in a ponytail was still thick and glossy. His chest still looked rock solid under his T-shirt.

  “So how’s life treatin’ ya?” she asked.

  He shrugged, wide shoulders moving smoothly under the hugging cotton.

  “Can’t complain. Was about to ask you the same. You look good, Faith.” He hadn’t lost an ounce of charm either.

  “Thanks.”

  She fiddled with a potato peeler on the table and wondered what to say next. Images of her dream visitor’s face filled her mind, his voice strange and echoing as if he spoke to her through a tunnel, yet deep and melodic like a flute—the kind of voice that could have made her panties wet, like David’s could…used to. Damn it. Guiltily, she glanced up, hoping her body language wasn’t giving her thoughts away because he’d be sure to misinterpret the reason and wouldn’t that be a motherfucking cluster.

  But David was only looking at her silently, an almost wistful expression on his face.

  “Do you mind my asking if there’s someone else?”

  Faith felt her face burn as she shook her head. “Nope.”

  He didn’t ask whether that meant no to her minding or no to the someone else, and she didn’t volunteer to clarify.

  Outside, a spark of lightning made them jump and glance at the window. Thunder boomed a second behind, rolling fainter and fainter notes until the clouds swallowed the sound up, leaving only the eerie whistle of wind.

  “It needs to rain,” she said, looking at the clouds so like the ones from her dream. Did those same clouds brood over a distant landscape, some place beyond the reach of ordinary? Some real place in the spirit world where he, they, everyone waited for her help? Or was it all in her head?

  “Yep. It’s been like this for too long.” David paused and she turned to look at him. He leaned across the table, T-shirt pulling taut on his shoulders. “It’s like…it’s waiting to be set free. The rain. Can you feel the energy in the air? I know you feel it, Faith.”

  She looked down, closed her eyes and gave her head a short, sharp shake. David had always believed in her visions, her magic. They’d argued about it, she saying he needed to get his head out of stories and legends and focus on the things that mattered: Education. Good jobs. He’d asked why they couldn’t do all that and still believe.

  The arguments had ended with her turning away, unable to find a rebuttal. She wouldn’t admit to herself it had been shame, and he wouldn’t ever accuse her of it. Maybe he should have.

  Thunder rumbled again, and Faith felt a sharp needle twinge of pain between her eyebrows, piercing its way into the back of her skull. She winced and rubbed at her head.

  “You okay?” David asked.

  “Yeah…yeah. Just a headache. You’re right, it’s the weather.” She looked up, past the dull throb behind her eyes, and met David’s gaze. “And yes. I feel it.”

  “Let’s go upstairs, Faith.” He said it just the way he’d said it years ago, when they were kids and just messing around. Except they weren’t kids now and there were years of baggage.

  “You know nothing’s changed? This is just gonna be…”

  “Yeah, I know what it’s just. I’m over it, girl. I know I’m not going to get anything more from you.” He leaned back and stretched, letting the damned T-shirt pull tight against his chest. “But damn, you look hot still. What can I say?”

  Guilt niggled at her even as she stood up and offered him her hand. She was using David, using him now for something she wasn’t even sure would work, wasn’t even sure made sense, wasn’t sure she believed in.

  But David wanted it, wanted her, and most important, David believed.

  “You’re thinking too hard,” he said, nibbling at her ear as they stood in the spare bedroom beside Faith’s overnight bag, his hands around her waist, the bulge in his pants pressing into her ass.

  “So what else is new?”

  More thunder outside.

  “Not when you fuck, babe.” He squeezed her hips closer to his and began rubbing the crotch of her jeans. One work-hardened finger slid down to press the material into the hollow over her damp pussy, then moved back up to flicker against the seam over her clit, making it spasm and making her wriggle
against his cock. Unbuttoning her shirt abruptly became a hard task, buttons and fingers at odds, refusing to cooperate.

  David chuckled. “See? You’re all about fucking, Faith. You don’t let yourself get distracted.” His voice got lower with each word, with each kiss on her neck that ended in a soft bite, with each deliberate stroke of his finger. “You take it seriously.”

  “Mmm. Let’s hope I take it seriously enough to make this rain happen,” she said, spinning around to kiss him. David sucked at her mouth for a sweet second, then let his lips slide from hers and stood looking at her, not moving despite the loud thrum of their hearts as they stood chest to chest, the hardness of his cock pressing into her stomach.

  “You mean that?” The usual flippancy was gone from his tone.

  Her fingers found the length of his ponytail and she wound it around her fingers. She nodded. “Yeah, I do. Will you help me do this?”

  He stared at her a moment more, probably trying to decide if he believed her or not. The room was hot and muggy from the bloated atmosphere. Sweat trickled down the valley between her breasts and though unbuttoned, her shirt stuck to her skin like cling wrap.

  “I mean it, David. I’m not bullshitting you.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Okay...” He moved his hands up to cup her breasts through the protection of shirt and bra, and he breathed out heavily. His gaze dropped from her face to the curve of her cleavage. “Shit, I’ve missed you like this.”

  He hooked his fingers inside the cups of her bra and peeled them back like the rind of an orange so that the globes of her breasts spilled over the satin edges, erect nipples brushing his fingers, sending jolts of sensation down between her legs. She didn’t have to ask. David knew what she liked; knew how to capture each of her taut nipples between his tongue and the roof of his mouth and toy with them, suck them like hard candy. Faith moaned and gripped the waist of his jeans to keep her balance. She was melting in her own jeans. These fucking clothes. She needed to get them off.

  “Stop!” Crap, that had been louder than she meant it to be. Never mind it was only her grandmother in the house, Linda Jade had the ears of a wolf. But then her grandmother had to know what they were doing. Hell, she’d brought him here on purpose.

  “Jesus!” She stumbled back as David released her, and she went to work on his belt, undoing the big, embossed buckle and sliding the straps back so she could unzip his pants. “This is insane. Fucking insane.”

  He laughed and shrugged, reached to help her untangle his cock from boxers and jeans.

  “Love it,” he said.

  His hands tousled her hair, slow and careful because she was on her knees now, pulling his balls free too so she could cup her fingers around them and roll them as she worked her tongue down the length of his cock. His strong, male scent filled her nose, his curly hair brushing her cheeks and chin as she licked and sucked his length, now smooth, now ridged with veins pulsing with blood under her tongue.

  His cock jerked and trembled in her mouth, his precum on her tongue sharp and salty as he moaned and bucked his hips to drive himself into her throat. Her body responded to David’s taste and smell, rising as the familiar, wild pleasure filled her pussy. Was this even what she was supposed to do? Did her dream-guide see what she was doing? And did he approve?

  Slowly she pulled back and looked up at David. His eyes were closed, lips pulled back from his teeth as he breathed hard and rough, fighting the urge to come. Faith lifted her hands and peeled her sticky shirt away, then her bra. Getting to her feet as David opened his eyes to look at her, she unzipped her jeans. She pushed them down to her ankles. Only a pair of rose-pink silk panties remained, soaked and tucked into her crevice by his caresses.

  If the spirits did see her, and if this was right…then was it enough? She could see the answer in David’s eyes as he watched her move her hand between her legs. Don’t question, Faith. Don’t think.

  She caressed her clit, feeling the pert nub of flesh through the slippery material, loving the sensation it created inside her: wet, fearless, defiant. Powerful.

  “Fuck me,” she told David.

  He didn’t say a word. He yanked the T-shirt over his head and threw it aside, exposing brown muscle and coffee-colored nipples, hair trailing down navel to groin to his swollen cock: ready to fill her. Ready to give her power release.

  He came to her and turned her around. She held on to the post of the bunk beds while he worked her jeans down over her boots and pulled them off. She closed her eyes as his lips found the dimple just above the curves of her asscheeks and his tongue laved it, moving downward as he pulled the panties to her thighs, flicking against the pucker of her ass as the panties went to her ankles, darting forward to steal a taste of her pussy again before he took the panties off and pulled her downward, brought her to her knees, and spread her legs.

  She clutched the post and arched her back, her face against the cool metal, her eyes closed. The wind was rushing, coming to her call, blowing the heavy clouds together, herding them like sheep. Lightning crackled brighter, faster, zigzagging blue and white across charcoal gray pregnant with rain. She felt David’s cock press into her wetness.

  “Touch me,” she whispered, and he did, knowing what she meant, reaching around to hold her breasts in his roughened hands, calloused palms stroking her raw nipples as his cock slid deeper into her, moisture gathering and gathering, rising like a flood. David’s cock was pummeling her, slapping wetly with each stroke, balls sticky with her juices hitting her ass. Clouds had gathered, so heavy the room was dark as night, while the wind battered at the windows, frenetic and wild. Pressure was throbbing in her pussy and her clit and her brain, pressure falling and falling and falling.

  “Faster!” she gasped. Faster, faster, faster if it was going to be strong enough. Faster so the sweet wetness trickled down her thighs, so the first tentative drops thudded against the windowpane, against the parched ground.

  “David!” she cried out, and he held her, strong arms around her, hard cock working her wet pussy, sweat rolling off them both like water. Healing, sweet water falling, falling from clouds. Swollen streams bursting with sudden floods. Cool droplets on fever-hot skin. David’s thrusts were coming slower, harder now, pounding her throbbing wetness like rain drumming on waterslick ground, his belly and arms and chest soaked with effort and perspiration, like hers. She ground her hips backward into him, meeting his thrusts, squeezing her pussy tight around his cock until she felt the telltale spasm, the shudder in his arms—the final thrust where he filled her and leaned against her, panting, cock twitching inside as his flood joined hers.

  “Faith.”

  She nodded, eyes on the windows; trembling. Rain washed the dust, washed baggage and fear with it. Let life start and grow all over again in newly moistened soil.

  “Yes, David,” she said. She brought one of his hands to her mouth and kissed the back of his knuckles. She could feel her dream-friend smiling.

  Beyond the windows, the rain began to pour.

  SHATTERED BELLE

  Craig J. Sorensen

  The stranger headed straight for the church. Finally, a new preacher! Certainly he would set things right. He was clad in simple clothes: blue jeans, boots, and an undershirt. Not what she expected, but even she could remember that the journey up to this mining town was not an easy one. She crept past the old store and the cursed saloon and then peered in one of the long windows of the church.

  The man removed a large backpack and set it against a pew. He was tall and sun soaked, with light hair and a scraggly beard. His carved face was handsome, and though he looked seasoned in a way, he was obviously young. He unpacked his goods: clothes, food, a thick blanket that seemed hinged like a bible. He opened it with a flick of his powerful wrist and spread it over the front-and-center pew.

  Reverently, he pulled a silver pot from the backpack, swept the dust from the pulpit, and placed it there.

  He began to talk. Belle wandered along the windows and look
ed through each to see who he was talking to. He was indeed alone, so she went to the door. Used to the church being off limits, and even though he was inside, she was surprised she so easily entered.

  His voice boomed. “…To all your favorite spots. All of mine too. You believe it’s been a year? ‘Read the signs,’ you said. What signs? Make up your mind!”

  Belle had to duck behind a pew when he rushed up the aisle like a madman, the silver pot in his hand. She quietly followed him into the graveyard. Though the markers were askew and rotting like teeth in an old prospector’s jaw, and despite his behavior, he remained most appropriately reverent. He paused at the largest of the markers, one of the few made of stone.

  He passed his fingers over the simple declaration. A Taylor, 1846–1872. Belle wanted to leap forward, to entreat this eccentric new preacher. Then he snorted, “‘A Taylor’? Not even ‘The Taylor’?’”

  Belle was furious at the flippant comment but pinched her lips.

  “Well, Lauren, are you ready?” He looked around the graveyard. “Nice place, right? You always liked the mountains, solitude, and what’s more, you tried for all you were worth to get me into church. Check it out, success on all accounts!” He looked at the sky as if expecting something. Belle opened her mouth, but no words came. The stranger took a flask from his hip pocket and opened it. “You and your signs. Christ.” He took a big swallow of whiskey, shook his head, and disappeared into the church. Belle tried to follow, to chide him. This time, the door did not yield.

  Light from the windows of the church defied the blackened landscape when Belle finally returned. Of course, she would not normally dare peek in on the new preacher—that would be indecent—but there were odd noises inside. Unlike the rambling conversations of earlier in the day, the sounds were deep and strained, but she could see nothing. She slipped inside and crept along the side of the church.

  She restrained her shock. The tall man was stretched out over the thick blanket on the front-and-center pew. In one hand was a picture, which he suspended close to his face. He was entirely nude. His mouth was in a sort of sneer, his body writhed. His other hand stroked the length of his hard rod, slow then fast, slow then fast. He seemed to be in great pain.