Only In My Dreams: A Time Travel Anthology

by Sahara Kelly

  As if by magic, she was astride his lap, clasped to his chest, body to body, skin to skin.

  His cock was hot and thrusting, already throbbing at her entrance. She rubbed her pussy along the length, feeling her wetness soak him, watching his eyes with their lowered lids as she moved.

  A flush mounted his cheeks as he gripped her more tightly and pushed—strongly—finally filling her with his cock. Their bodies grazed each other as she sank all the way down, her clit rubbing against the flesh at the base of his cock.

  All the while, he kept his finger tucked inside her, intensifying every single step of this dance.

  “Your breast. Give me your breast. I hunger to suckle you.” The words were harshly muttered, even as Nohnohsot’s mouth opened with need.

  Seated on his lap, it was easy for Gandewitha to slide a hand between them and raise a breast to his waiting lips. Every inch of her was alive to his touch, nerves singing the song that nature had designed just for lovers.

  He sucked her, tonguing her taut nipple, pulling strongly on her as a babe would suck life from its mother.

  And he moved with her—within her—stroking her inside and out, using his strength to claim her, possess her and take her with him on the ride to ecstasy. His teeth sank gently into the skin of her breast, tugging the nipple, stretching her to the point of pain. Combined with their movements and the feel of his finger against so many screaming nerve endings, Gandewitha surrendered.

  The flame of her climax rose within her, a flood of fire deafening her to everything but the sound of her heartbeat as it thundered toward orgasm. The river swirled past them unnoticed, tossing spray into the moonlit darkness like jewels against the soft black pelt of a bear.

  She arched her neck backward, caught in the tension rippling through her as the first spasms hit—her mouth fell open and she cried out, screaming her passion into the night. Wave after wave rose within her abdomen, billowing out to encompass her entire body.

  Nohnohsot was with her, clamping his arm around her like a band of stone, shuddering as his own orgasm claimed him.

  Gandewitha could feel the hot spurts of his seed, doing nothing to douse the fire, but fueling it to even greater heights. His groan and his gasp against her nipple forced her onward, two bodies moving as one, two souls sharing the most uniquely magical experience that life could offer.

  Her soaking passages gripped him, milking his seed, pulling it deep into the caverns of her womb where she knew it belonged. Her ass spasmed around his finger, hard, rhythmic contractions echoing the release she rode to such incredible heights.

  Stars burst around them, lights filled Gandewitha’s brain and she simply let go, following where her body led, following Nohnohsot’s movements blindly, wanting nothing more than for this moment to never end.

  It was always thus. Unsurpassed passion between two lovers made for each other. Each time was as the first time, yet better than the time before.

  And as she finally spiraled downward, the eruption fading, the muscles relaxing, Gandewitha knew the truth yet again. There would be no one in her life—ever—like Nohnohsot.

  Her soul mate for eternity.

  She breathed rapidly, dragging breath back into lungs starved for air and leaned into him, resting her damp forehead against his. They were both silent for a few moments, content to touch, to relax, to enjoy this warm aftermath of their passion.

  Then she lifted her head and touched his cheek gently with her palm. “I love you…”

  *~~*~~*

  Ned swore he could feel the touch of her hand on his cheek as she spoke those three little words in his dream.

  “I love you.”

  Dazed and extremely aroused, he awoke fighting with his covers, trying to grasp where the hell he was and where the hell the woman he’d just fucked had gone to.

  In his dream, he’d come. In reality, he hadn’t and he was hurting—badly. So badly his body shook with the need to explode into…her. Stumbling from the bed, Ned shuffled the few steps to the elegantly appointed hotel bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped underneath, gasping at the initial douche of cold water.

  It did nothing to calm his heat. His head was full of images, dusky skin, laughing eyes, a passion the likes of which damn near blew his mind. He could still feel her, smell her, taste her spicy sweetness in his mouth.

  Under the pounding stream of his shower, Ned Harper reached for himself like a horny teenager and gripped his painfully hard cock in one water-slicked hand, leaning against the wall with the other.

  He closed his eyes and his grasp became her inner muscles, welcoming and tight, the warmth of her body encasing him as he began to stroke. His maiden, his Native American dream woman. Just a look and he was hard, a brush of her breasts and he was ready to explode.

  He wanted her with every fiber of his being—and in his mind he took her, strongly and fast, his hand mimicking the snug grip of her body, massaging him with a savage urge to take him with her as she came.

  It didn’t take much of this to send Ned over the edge. He groaned long and loud as he finally orgasmed, spurts shooting from his cock to mingle with the rush of water cascading over him.

  Jesus H. Christ. Breathless, he rode the wave with her still fixed in his mind. She was so real, so…so…everything he desired. His body contorted with pleasure, the aftermath almost painful as his muscles finally began to uncoil and release the pent-up tension that had racked him and driven him to this absurdity.

  Slowly, panting, Ned regained his equilibrium, still stunned by the dream and the woman who had damn near possessed him to the point of madness. At least she’d stayed human this time around.

  Was he losing his frickin’ mind? What was it about this damn place that had set his sleeping brain onto a course that led straight to her? He snorted at his own fanciful absurdity and reached for the soap. He had no idea what time it was, but he was in the shower, so what the hell. Might as well use it.

  At last, clean and smelling of something flowery, Ned wrapped the white hotel robe around himself and went back into the bedroom of his suite. Outside, it was still dark and the clock next to the bed digitally informed him it was barely five am.

  He sighed. Now what? Television? Coffee? Email? All of the above? None of the above? He wandered to the little sitting area and noticed the newspaper still on the table from Friday morning. Snapping on the table lamp, he slumped into the chair and picked it up. Perhaps something was going on today he could check out. The weekend was free, he had no meetings scheduled until Monday and would be flying back to Boston on Tuesday.

  Idly he thumbed the pages, wanting coffee but figuring it was just too damn early to waste the one packet of grounds allotted him by the hotel gods. He made a mental list of things he wanted to do…the Smithsonian, definitely. The National Gallery. That ought to kill a day, at least.

  He could, if he left now, make it into a tour of the White House. Nah. From what he’d heard, he could get a better look at the darn place at their website. It was nice looking at it from the outside, but he wasn’t about to spend hours in line with a gazillion tourists snapping endless photos and battling with their digital cameras to get that “perfect” shot.

  He’d had enough of the U.S. Government over the past few days to last him quite a while. This weekend would be for him to explore some of the other interests in the nation’s capital.

  Yawning, he tossed the paper onto the low table and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

  The Smithsonian would be his first stop, definitely. Ned stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles and rested them next to the paper. If the weather was good, maybe a stroll through the Mall, those wonderful architectural monuments…the fountains…the reflecting pool…

  Sexually sated, clean and wrapped in soft Egyptian cotton, Ned Harper sank back into his interrupted rest.

  Chapter Three

  “You must be kidding.” Gaia stared at Maxie.

  “Look, I know it’s kinda out t
here. But it was all they had.”

  “Really?”

  “Honest.” Maxie thrust the costume at Gaia. “It’ll fit you fine and with your legs…” Her voice trailed off suggestively.

  Gaia grimaced. “Yeah.” Dangling from one of Maxie’s hands was a pair of yellow tights. “I’m gonna look just super in those, aren’t I? Highly paid models wear them all the time. Not.”

  “Well, actually I’m thinkin’ that the rest of you is going to be so damn eye-catching nobody’ll notice them.”

  Gaia sighed and reached for the feathered bird costume, turning it this way and that, trying to figure out which bits went where. “Didn’t they have a designer swan or something? Like the one that woman wore to the Academy Awards? You know, where the head was over the shoulder. At least I would have looked semi-human.”

  “The point is to not look human, sweetie. The point is to look like a bird.” Maxie nodded encouragingly. “And this’ll do it, for sure. You’ll have people coming up to you for photographs and stuff and then you can educate them about the endangered species.”

  Gaia straightened out the bits and pieces. “This one isn’t even endangered. It’s a heron, for God’s sake.”

  Maxie snorted. “You think anybody’s gonna make an issue of it? Besides—” She had the nerve to giggle. “I think it is endangered. I reckon it’ll be the only six-foot one with legs like a movie star on the Mall today.”

  “Someday I will pay you back for this. It won’t be pretty.” Gaia bravely stepped behind a curtained off part of the small staff tent and began to struggle into the thing.

  “You’re a doll. I knew you’d come around.” Maxie passed the tights over the partition. “Don’t forget these.”

  Gaia groaned. “Gonna look great with sneakers, huh?”

  “The Heron Aerobic Genus.”

  “You have neither soul nor mercy.”

  There was silence inside the tent for several minutes, interrupted only by the huffing sounds coming from Gaia as she fought to get her legs and arms into the right holes. It was a cleverly made costume, no doubt about it, but a pain in the ass to get straight.

  Finally—and even wearing the long yellow tights—she emerged, holding her head in her hands. Metaphorically speaking.

  “So. Whaddya think? Have I got my tail feathers in a twist?” She grinned at Maxie, too excited about the day ahead to worry much about the fact she was dressed like a rather large bird and showing more leg than a turkey on Thanksgiving.

  “Damn, woman. If I had legs like that, you’d have to fight me for those feathers.” Maxie gazed enviously at Gaia’s thighs. “Only you could make those tights look sexy.”

  “Yeah, well sexy isn’t the word that comes to mind when you look at the rest of me. I’m starting to feel rather sympathetic toward our feathered friends.” She turned and nearly knocked over a pile of flyers. “Shit. You’d better help me get this stupid head bit into place, then point me out of here before I bring the house down around us.”

  “You’ll be outside. Lots of room and nothing to knock over.” Maxie lifted the tubular headpiece, avoided taking her own eye out with the long beak and settled it onto Gaia’s head.

  “Unless I accidentally cold-cock a couple of kids.”

  “With feathers? I doubt it.” Maxie arranged the appropriate parts over Gaia’s eyes and mouth. “Can you breathe okay?”

  “Would it matter if I said no?”

  “Quit bitchin’, babe. When your picture graces the cover of the Post on Sunday, you’ll thank me.”

  “It itches.” Gaia whined dramatically.

  “So scratch.”

  “Can’t. My hands, in case you didn’t notice, are strapped beneath these wings. The itch I mentioned is inside the costume where I can’t reach it.”

  “Wriggle then. Tough it out, Gaia. Do it for the birds.”

  “This whole costume thing is for the birds, if you ask me.” She waddled awkwardly to the opening of the tent and tentatively stuck her beak through, which allowed her face, just below it, to see outside. “Hey.”

  Her cry of outrage did nothing but bring another giggle to Maxie’s throat.

  “Hey. There’s people out here in really nice costumes.” Gaia was irate. “Look. There’s a cool swan over there. And an owl. And a frickin’ eagle, goddammit…”

  “Now, now.” Maxie’s voice was soothing. “You got here a bit late, that’s all. And they grabbed the ones that fit them. You’re far too skinny for the owl one. The eagle one is meant for a man, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

  Gaia pouted. “Excuses.” She turned, catching her beak on the tent and yanking her headpiece sideways. “Fuck.”

  “Gaia, get the hell out of her. Go.” Maxie shooed her forward. “Do your thing. There’s more at stake here than your itches and your ego.”

  Indignantly, Gaia straightened her feathers, yanked her beak back where it was supposed to be and stalked out of the tent.

  Maxie was gonna get hers. But good.

  However, Gaia’s cheerful nature reasserted itself very rapidly when she became the focus of attention for several awe-struck four-year-olds. Not to mention getting more than a few appreciative glances at her legs, yellow tights notwithstanding, from the roving eyes of male passers-by.

  She chatted and passed out flyers in the sunshine, discussing the importance of learning about birds and all the creatures who shared the earth. She willingly posed for photographs with all the aplomb of a costumed character at a theme park. She waxed eloquent about the destruction of the rain forest and even held a couple of teenagers spellbound as she simply and calmly explained why this was so crucial to everyone’s life. Even theirs.

  They paid her the ultimate compliment—they turned off their portable music, removed their ear buds and listened as she told them about the chemistry of the air they were breathing and how the tiniest of changes could affect them.

  Yep, all things considered, it was turning out to be a good day.

  Even for itchy herons.

  *~~*~~*

  Ned was enjoying a good day too.

  He’d wiled away several very happy hours roving the halls of the Smithsonian Institution, battling other tourists ogling the Hope diamond in the jewelry section or whatever it was called, then wandering to the National Gallery and simply letting his feet go where they wanted.

  He lost himself in the Impressionists, marveled at the Renaissance complexities and generally did all the things a non-artist did in places like this—sat and stared. The thoughtful designers had arranged tasteful seating at the apex of corridors and rooms, so Ned could rest for a bit and be face to face with a larger-than-life portrait of Napoleon Bonaparte watching over him.

  It was a tad unsettling and he moved on to the more appealing naked nymphs and satyrs of the Pre-Raphaelite painters. Not that he was a pervert or anything, but if he was going to sit and absorb artistic culture, he was enough of a guy to prefer it be naked and curvaceous while he was doing it.

  After a couple of hours, he emerged with a greater respect for the Masters, old or not. He bypassed the gift shop, narrowly avoided a flock of school kids about to swarm into the place and grinned at another man who was sidestepping a six-year-old on a mission—with a rapidly melting ice-cream cone held in front of him like a jousting lance.

  Yep. It was just another day for Washington tourists. But it was a day of relaxed pleasure for Ned.

  Heading toward the open Mall, he detected the pungent scent of food in the air and detoured past a cart where he treated himself to an ice-cold soda, a bag of chips and a hot, salty pretzel.

  Decadent, totally non-nutritious and mouthwateringly tasty. He considered going back for another one, but fought the impulse. He’d promised himself a good dinner this evening. Best not to spoil it with a barrage of junk food. He grinned as he realized his Mom would be so proud of him.

  A little way away across the grass he spotted a few tents and heard some music. It looked like there was a small fair or s
omething going on—and since he was headed that way to see the World War II memorial up close, Ned figured he might as well take a closer look. The nearer he got, the more intrigued he became.

  Small helium balloons in the shapes of birds and animals were glittering in the sky above the two large tents and as Ned approached, the music resolved itself into something hauntingly beautiful and probably Celtic.

  He wasn’t a huge fan of such stuff, preferring solid rock on his playlist when he remembered to upload something and use it. But somehow, on this day at this moment, the delicate melody seemed right. It mingled with the sunshine, danced over the heads of the crowd and settled contentedly in his ears, a peacefully delightful soundtrack to a delightful instant in time.

  Ned found himself smiling as he idled his way around, stopping at one or two tables where vendors were offering handmade crafts—Native American things that sort of looked like decorative embroidery hoops, jewelry gleaming with natural stones, even one stand displaying scarves and other fluffy things knitted, according to the sign, from virgin llama yarn.

  Refraining from asking the owner if he personally checked whether a llama was a virgin or not, Ned moved on. It was apparently an eco-friendly fair, since there were plenty of people with handfuls of flyers they handed out freely. Whether anybody wanted them or not.

  Ned found himself with four or five, each extolling the virtues of the planet, detailing the “actual” numbers of species that were endangered—the quotes coming from the handout, since apparently the government didn’t disclose the true magnitude of the problem.

  He sighed, folded the papers neatly and disposed of them in the nearest trash bin. He was all for a nice day of sun, music and a street fair. He really didn’t want to be converted by some rabid environmentalist, or forced to listen to a rant on how the decimation of the Amazon rainforest would eventually kill all life on earth.