by Desiree Holt
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!
Her face was flushed with desire , the pulse at the hollow of her throat beating wildly. The feel of her around him was pure ecstasy. Bracing himself, he—
He sat up in bed, his heart racing, his skin burning as if he were back in the fire. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he blinked his eyes and realized he was in his bedroom, with the mother of all hard-ons and sweat covering him from head to toe. He wiped his face with shaking hands.
Holy shit!
He was glad Nina hadn’t asked him to tell her about his dream. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand being alone with her again without attacking her. How had this happened? After the fire, he’d written off the rest of his life. No woman would want him, never mind look at him. And here out of nowhere was Nina, also suffering from something. Was it really the Abenaki legend pulling them together? Had a greater power decided they were meant for each other? Did he really believe such horseshit?
He dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Friday and Saturday mornings he’d started on the therapy exercises and equipment with Grange. What he’d done were mere baby steps, showing him how far he had to go. But he was determined now to see it through. If nothing else, at least he could get to a point where Nina didn’t hear him limp.
He stripped off his boxers and cranked on the shower, opting first for hot to ease his sore muscles. But before he shut the water off, he switched the temperature to ice cold, hoping to send a message to his dick.
As he leaned against the tiled wall, he thought the morning couldn’t come soon enough for him.
***
Brutus woke Nina early with his demand to go outside and then be fed. She pulled on a pair of sweats, stuck her feet in her fuzzy slippers, and let him out the back door. She wasn’t in a mood to brave the cold this early. By the time she let him back in, she had a mug of hot coffee in her hands along with a piece of Grange’s delicious apple pie.
If people don’t stop feeding me, I’ll weigh two hundred pounds.
The computer was still on her kitchen table from the night before. She flipped up the screen and booted it up, waiting for it to come to life. And then what? Could she really describe her dream to Blake? Use the words from her dream?
She was still trying to make up her mind what to do when the IM box popped up. She took a fortifying slug of her coffee, and she clicked on it to open it.
Blake: R U up?
Booklady: Brutus gets me up very early. What about you?
Blake: I have Grange. He might be worse than Brutus.
Nina laughed.
Booklady: I don’t think so. I’ve met him, remember?
Blake: He was on his best behavior for you.
She tried to think about what to say next. She couldn’t simply slide into the dream.
Blake: I dreamed about you last night. Did you think about me?
Booklady: Yes.
That was all she could get out for the moment. This was all so new to her.
Blake: I want you to tell me about it.
She nibbled her lower lip then took another sip of coffee.
Booklady: You first.
Pause. Then his answer popped on the screen.
Blake: I’ve never done this before.
She laughed again.
Booklady: Neither have I. But you go first.
Another long pause. Maybe he’d changed his mind. There was no indication he was writing anything. Then the notation “Blake is typing” came up. Nina distracted herself by chewing on a piece of the pie.
Blake: You were all tender and pink from your bath. I always wish I could see you in a tub full of bubbles, but my dream never starts till after you’re finished.
She jerked back. His dream started in the exact place hers ended? How was this possible? Were they in each other’s minds? Had the Abenaki dream god melded their minds together?
Blake: U there?
Booklady: Yes. Go on.
Thank God for the apple pie. Nibbling on it kept her focused.
Blake: You’re lying on your bed, naked.
Blake: Do you have a king-sized bed with a painted headboard? Pale blue?
Again she was shocked. He was actually seeing her bedroom, not some imaginary creation. How did this work, anyway?
Booklady: Yes. I do. I can’t believe you actually see it in your dreams.
Blake: Want to know what else I see?
Did she? Was she ready for this? She forced herself to relax.
Booklady: Yes.
Blake: I see your sweet body spread out on the bed, your nipples a gorgeous rosy red, your cunt so wet and waiting for me. I touch it and nearly lose my mind.
Ohmigod! Nina leaned back in her chair, greedily gulping her coffee. She hadn’t expected anything quite this explicit.
Blake: Still there?
Her hand shook as she typed.
Booklady: I am.
Blake: Did I scare you off?
She was panting now, her pulse racing. Already the crotch of her sweats was damp, and her pussy fluttered with tiny tremors. Holy shit!
Blake: Nina?
Booklady: No. I’m still here.
Blake: Does it turn you on when I tell you these things? Be honest with me.
Turn her on? She was getting close to minor combustion.
Honest. Okay.
Booklady: It does. How about you?
Blake: Honey, you don’t know the half of it.
Booklady: Tell me the rest.
Blake: I want you to pretend this is happening right this minute. I place my mouth right on your clit and take a slow lick of your slit. Then I tell you to touch yourself, to keep doing it while my tongue slides in and out of you.
Nina took her coffee to the sink, emptied out what was left, and poured a glass of cold water. She drank it halfway down while standing at the sink.
Good Lord! She was melting here.
Blake: Did I scare you off?
She sat down again.
Booklady: No. Not at all. Um. I’ve never done this before. Had computer sex.
Blake: It’s good, isn’t it?
She knew she was blushing as she typed.
Booklady: Yes.
Blake: I’m not telling you any more until I get some details from you. It’s not fair.
Nina took another sip of water before writing.
Booklady: It began as always with me getting out of the tub. So you see? In my dream, you do get to see me.
Blake: Too bad we can’t mesh our dreams together. Maybe….
Booklady: Maybe what?
Blake: Nothing. Go on. Tell me more.
Booklady: You’re behind me. Naked.
Her fingers trembled as she wrote the words.
Booklady: You always blindfold me with a silk scarf. Why can’t I see your face? And you always have a T-shirt on. What’s the deal with not letting me see you?
Where did he go? Did I lose him?
Blake: It’s more of a fantasy this way. You said you liked fantasies.
Booklady: But I want to see you.
Blake: Later. Maybe. After….
She frowned.
Booklady: After what?
Blake: Nothing. Go on. What’s next?
Booklady: You wrap a big bath towel around me to dry me off then pull me around so you can kiss me.
Blake: Is the kiss as good as the ones we shared last night?
She smiled.
Booklady: Almost. It’s better in person.
Blake: Then what?
Could she actually write this?
Booklady: I, um, drop my towel and go to my knees. I wrap my fingers around you and…you know….
Blake:
Blake: Having a hard time saying it? I like the touch of shyness about you. Really.
Booklady: You aren’t mad?
Blake: Because you had a dream about sucking my cock and can’t put it in words? Sweetheart, your shyness is part of what I love about you.
; Wait. Did he say love? Don’t get excited, Nina. He didn’t mean love love.
Booklady: Thank you.
Blake: No, thank you for sucking my cock until I came. I’ll bet I enjoyed the hell out of it.
Ohmigod! Think, Nina. Don’t run like a scared rabbit.
Booklady: You did.
Then before she could change her mind, she typed….
Booklady: I’m glad I made you feel good.
Blake: I’d feel a lot better if it was real rather than a dream. And don’t sign off. I’m only stating a fact. I don’t want to scare you off. Regardless of what we dream, in real life we’re going to take things slowly.
Thank goodness. What did she say now? Before she could organize her thoughts he wrote again.
Blake: I like making you feel good, too. But the dream always seems to end before we get to the finale.
Booklady: Mine, too.
More pausing.
Blake: You’re still coming over tonight, right? You promised.
Booklady: Of course.
Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.
Blake: Will you do something for me?
Booklady: As long as it’s not too outrageous.
Blake: Will you bake some cookies for me?
She stared at the screen, not sure what she was reading.
Booklady: Cookies?
Blake: Uh huh. I like the picture of you on the website serving cookies. I want some for myself.
She laughed.
Booklady: Any special kind?
Blake: Whatever you like best. Surprise me.
Booklady: Okay.
Blake: Eight o’clock tonight.
Booklady: Eight o’clock.
She signed off and closed the program before she said anything she might regret later. She drained the glass of water and got up to refill it, rubbing the cool surface against her flushed cheeks. Internet sex! Holy crap! Would she be able to see him tonight without being totally embarrassed?
She replayed the conversation in her mind, actually hearing him say the words. His voice, deep yet rusty, called to something very primal inside her. She knew if she let him, he could break her heart. Did she have the strength to heal it a third time? Could she even survive?
If you don’t take the chance you might miss out on the best thing to come into your life, a little voice whispered in her brain. Go ahead. Do it.
Anticipation racing through her, she opened her cupboards and gathered the ingredients for sugar cookies.
***
All through his therapy exercises the next morning, Blake replayed the IM conversation over and over in his head. How odd was it his dream began in the exact spot where hers ended? He’d never believed in anything remotely paranormal before, but how else to explain what was happening? They definitely had a connection, wherever it had come from. Whatever he was feeling for her was more than he’d ever felt for any other woman, including Caro.
Thinking about it helped to distract from the pain as Grange put him through his paces. What if the therapy didn’t work? What if he decided to check out surgery for his burns but he’d waited too long? What if she saw the real him, the aftermath of the fire, and took off the way Caro had?
But what if she’s different? What if you back away from her and miss out on the best thing to come into your life?
Would tonight be as good as last night? Or maybe—just maybe even better.
Chapter Seven
Two days until Christmas.
Nina checked her watch for the umpteenth time. She couldn’t believe how the day had dragged, despite a steady stream of customers. All day long, she’d found herself reliving the past few weeks, savoring every rich detail. More than one customer asked her if she had something on her mind.
Um, yes, but nothing I can tell anyone about.
Thanksgiving had been the beginning of something new and exciting, something she was almost afraid to examine. She spent time at Blake’s house every night. Fragments of the previous evening danced through her mind while anticipation for the hours to come built steadily inside her.
The second time they were together, he’d allowed her to remove his jeans and hold his cock in her hand. It had been as big and thick as in her dreams. She couldn’t stop touching his stiff shaft until he told her in a strangled voice he hoped she planned to do more than hold it. When she’d taken him in her mouth, his taste had been even better, more pungent than in the dreams.
Not that she hadn’t put a man’s cock in her mouth before. But Greg, the dipshit ex-fiancé, had always insisted on it rather than asking or encouraging her. And Tom had been more interested in instructing her what to do, making her feel awkward and inept. With Blake, she craved it like a narcotic, not sure if she would ever get enough of him.
Each time at Blake’s house brought a new experience for her. Like the first time they ate a meal together. She’d worried how she would manage if she couldn’t see. Blake had solved that by feeding dinner to her between bites of his own. The food had been delicious, and she’d savored every taste, Blake encouraging her, keeping up a monologue. And kissing her between bites. He’d stroked his tongue down the side of her neck and brushed his fingers over her nipples until she’d been in such a state of readiness she nearly came sitting right there in the chair.
Being with him had become so easy she couldn’t figure out why she’d ever worried. And after each meal, they lay in front of the fireplace on a furry rug while he slowly undressed her and kissed her everywhere. Her breasts always ached for his touch, tingling when he carefully took each nipple and sucked and pulled on it. His hands caressing her thighs stirred her blood and made everything inside her melt. At some point, he would rise to take off everything but his T-shirt. When he was beside her again, she would reach for him once more and close her fingers around his thick cock. By then, he’d be so hot, he nearly burned her hand and fluid sat at the slit. She loved the quick intake of his breath when she lapped the velvety head. Her fingers closed automatically as if she were grasping his shaft right then.
Then he would tease her with his hands and mouth until she was sure she’d lose her mind with wanting. She would beg until he finally drove her up and over to a shattering release. And then it was her turn with him. He always seemed to find it such a miracle she enjoyed the simple act of pleasuring him.
Spent at last, they would lie together for a long time, lungs dragging for air, hearts beating, until he helped her dress. With every movement, every action, every shared touch, she lost another small piece of her damaged heart to him. And every night when she got home and every morning when they got up, they Instant Messaged each other.
Oh, and their dreams. They always talked about their dreams. He encouraged her, wanting to recreate the fantasy world right there in front of the fireplace. Sometimes the world between the dreams and reality blurred. They made love with words, asking questions like, “Did I do this? Did you like it? Can I touch you this way?”
Never in her life had Nina thought she’d be able to describe things to a man in such graphic detail, or listen to him do the same. Their conversation from the night before blasted through her mind.
“I love the taste of your pussy. I could give up food and live on nothing but your juices.”
“Oh, um, I’m glad.”
A rusty laugh. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”
“O-okay.”
“So, don’t you want to tell me how my cock feels to you? Do you like touching it? Holding it?”
“Yes.” Deep breath. “I do. A lot.”
“In your dream, do I put it inside you? Does your snug little cunt tighten around it?”
She had to squeeze her thighs against the throbbing in her flesh at his words. “But it always stops before….”
“Before I come inside you?”
“Uh huh. Yes.”
“Maybe we can remedy that soon.”
Oh God, she certainly hoped so.
One time she related, her
cheeks heating as she spoke, she’d dreamed he’d dribbled wine all over her body and licked off every drop. The next night, he undressed her in front of the fire and slowly dripped wine onto her skin. Then he took an agonizingly long time to lick every drop, swirling his tongue in her navel and paying special attention to her nipples. By the time he’d finished, all he had to do was touch her clit, and she went off like a rocket.
Each time they were together they explored each other a little more. Teased each other a little more. Like the night he spent excruciating minutes removing her clothes, teasing her, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. Telling her how beautiful she was. How desirable. Spreading her out on the warm leather couch and attending to her pussy with his tongue. His mouth so hot and moist her body temperature spiked wherever he touched her. Drawing it out until she nearly burst into flames. Until she begged him to let her come. And when he did, with three of his fingers wedged tight inside her, it had been like being shot out of a cannon and splintering into pieces.
What she felt for him was more than she’d ever felt for anyone in her life, such a strong infusion of emotion she hardly knew what to do with it. She could tell from the way Blake touched her, and the other things he said, she was more than simply erotic dreams come to life for him.
The question was, how much more, and where did they go from here? He still refused to let her in without the blindfold. Despite his touch and his words, she always had the feeling there was a piece of himself he kept locked away. Neither of them had discussed their past. With the approach of Christmas she had the awful sensation things were about to explode in her face.
Lord knows she kept trying to talk some sense into herself, reminded herself how bad she obviously was at relationships. She tried to pretend it wasn’t the holiday season, so when he told her their interlude was over, she wouldn’t associate another heartache with Christmas. But too late she realized how she was in over her head and didn’t know what to do about it.
They still hadn’t made love fully and completely except in their dreams, and she didn’t understand why. Did whatever disaster forced the blindfold on her hold him back? Was there something he was afraid of, something in this final act of possession accelerating his fear? She could feel his emotions as much as she could sense the tight leash he kept them on.
