by Poppy Drake
Her eyes widen.
“There will be an impact.”
A what? Like … a car accident?
Then her gaze narrows. I can see her eyes darken even in the dimly lit tent.
“There will be pleasure.”
I rear my head back.
“As in…” I mutter, stumbling over the words. Surely not like, pleasure with a man. Surely she means I’ll just go back home alone and watch more episodes of sexy vampire foreplay.
“Pleasure, as in something the likes of which your body has never known.”
I swallow nervously, but I’d be lying if I said I hated the sound of that prediction. I’ve been so hungry for physical connection. Could she possibly know that?
Then her face softens.
“And there will be love.”
I must actually gasp because her red lips relent a small smile.
“You’re going to meet the love of your life. And you will meet him tonight!” she finally declares, clapping her hands excitedly.
I can almost hear an actual record scratch. Just like that, the spell she’d cast around me in this magical little tent is shattered. This woman is clearly a con.
“Wait. Let me get this straight. I’m going to meet the love of my life tonight. At a carnival?”
She shrugs, not losing her enthusiasm despite my obvious skepticism. “The spirits only guide me, they don’t provide specifics. But, I am absolutely sure: it will be happening tonight.”
I glance down at my watch. “It’s half-past nine. You’re telling me that in the next two-and-a-half hours I will meet the love of my life? Or are we on Pacific time zone?”
She claps her hands, looking genuinely excited. Enough for me to almost believe her. “Exactly!” She jumps to her feet, her stool almost toppling over behind her. “Now you must leave here and go! Your soulmate is here! He’s waiting for you!”
She rushes to my side, pulling me out of my chair. She can’t seem to get rid of me fast enough. I reach for a few tickets from my pocket and offer them to her. “How many tickets do I owe you?”
She shakes her head. “No, no, dear. Knowing that your life will be changed in just a few short hours is enough for me. I have never had a vision this clear! Your aura is practically on fire! I need to go find Carmela.”
I want to ask her more questions. I need more details! And I would like more information on these spirits she keeps referring to her. Ideally I would like some references on these guys before I let them decide that some random dude hanging out at a county carnival on a Saturday night is my soulmate. But she doesn’t let me ask any questions as she unceremoniously shoves me out of her tent and rushes off in search of Carmela, whoever she is.
And just like that, I am left staring at her closed tent, feeling more confused than I’ve ever been in my entire life. What the hell just happened? I decide that at the very least, this will make for an entertaining story for Samantha later and that this is probably a sign I need to call it a night.
I spin around to head back toward the center of the carnival. If anything, this whole psychic ordeal justifies me getting a fried Oreo and a funnel cake. I’ll get both “to-go,” so I can enjoy them in the comfort of some elastic waist pajamas in bed.
But just as I round the corner to head back toward the booths, something very cold, very sticky and very blue washes over me, drenching me from head to toe. The blue wave temporarily blinds me and I fall forward, fully expecting to face plant into the hard ground. I’m surprised when, instead of feeling the grass connect with my face, I connect with something else -- something that, yes, is quite hard, but far more pleasant than the ground. Though I can’t quite see, I can most definitely feel, and my hands greedily inspect my unexpected savior, roaming over a broad chest that narrows down to scored abs and a trim waist.
It’s the kind of body a woman could spend a lifetime exploring.
If she weren’t me, that is -- the slightly pathetic woman, now covered in about $15 worth of overpriced fair drink and making a complete fool out of herself.
When I look up to find the most striking pair of piercing blue eyes staring down at me with complete horror, all those fleeting moments of pleasure vanish in the night.
Oops.
Chapter Three
“Ooof!”
I look down at the woman who made that very high-pitched and surprised squeal and instantly feel the breath I exhale catch in the back of my throat.
Shit.
This can’t be real. It’s… her.
Even though a good seventy to eighty percent of her body is currently covered in the jumbo-sized blue slushy I purchased mere minutes ago, I can see, clear as day, that it’s her.
I blink a few times, not even noticing as she shrinks away, her cheeks stained red with heat.
“Uh, sorry about the … grabby hands,” she says with a shy smile as she takes a step back. “I just lost my vision on account of being submerged in blue slush.”
Her words drag me back to the moment and I look at the mess I’ve created. She’s covered with blue slush. Remembering my manners, I dig into my back pocket and pull out some napkins I had grabbed earlier, handing them to her.
“Shit, I am so sorry.” Without thinking, I take a napkin and start blotting some of the blue off her chest. When she takes an awkward step back, I realize what a creep I must look like. I hold up my hand. “Sorry, again. I don’t know why … I feel really badly.”
She laughs and I almost fall in love with her all over again. Her laugh is exactly how I imagined. Everything about her is exactly how I imagined… because that is literally what I’ve been doing for these past few torturous months.
It had started off pretty innocently enough. A dream here and there, where this mysterious, curvy brunette with beautifully thick and pouty lips would suddenly appear. Clad in a white gown that hugged every damn curve, she would appear in the distance, walking barefoot on a long stretch of beach with crystal clear blue water. I would shout for her, begging for her to come, but she could never hear me. These dreams went on for weeks until finally I laid my head to sleep one night and it happened.
I still remember every part of the dream where I was finally able to experience her: feeling her soft alabaster skin, smelling the faint scent of her lavender perfume and luxuriating in her warm breath against my neck as her lips skimmed over me. I remember it perfectly, because it’s the same fucking dream I’ve had over and over and over again for the last three months.
At first I had thought this dream woman was someone I had seen in a movie or maybe an acquaintance I had met in passing. I looked online through hundreds of headshots of actresses and models and public figures — never able to find the brunette with the soulful brown eyes and dimpled cheeks of my dreams. My frustration had been peaking, and I began to dread falling asleep. It was torture, only being able to dream of this mystery woman. And each dream had always ended the same damn way: the minute our lips connected, I was thrust back into reality, awake in my bed with a hard cock and the woman of my dreams cruelly taken away.
Or at least that’s how it had always been, night after torturous night, until ... today.
Here she is.
“Oh no! Shoot! Shoot!”
Her frantic words pull me out of my head to see her frantically shaking out her boot. Blue slush drips out and I can see her light pink sock stained as well.
Fuck.
“I am so sorry. Tell me how I can help you.”
She pauses, as surprised as I am of the desperation in my voice. Shit. I sound so pathetic. Pull it together, Cole! I clear my throat and try to not let my eyes linger on her white shirt, which, thanks to my drink, is now completely see-through. Speaking of dreams… I can hardly pry my eyes away from those perfect tits. How are they literally better than my wildest fantasies?
“Can I get you a shirt, or something?”
She looks down and then back up. Her cheeks turn impossibly pinker. “Oh my God! Oh no! Oh dear God, nooooo!” Sh
e covers her arms over her chest and her eyes transform into two round saucers.
“Oh, it’s not that bad, I can barely —”
“No!” she interrupts, her voice a hysterical whisper. “It’s not that. Well, it’s that. But it’s also that my ex and his girlfriend, or fiancée or whatever, are right there. And I think they saw me!”
I can see she’s clearly panicking. I look behind me to try and catch a glimpse of who she’s looking at. When I do, she smacks my arm and pulls me back. “No! Now they know I’m looking!”
She crouches behind me, trying to use me as a shield. I can’t say I mind it at all, the way those grabby hands of her clutch onto the back of my t-shirt as she tucks in behind me. We’ve only just met, but I’m already certain that this woman can use my body any damn way she wants.
“I think they’re coming!” she cries out, her panic more evident by the minute. “Dear God, what have I done to deserve this? Was this because I lied about donating to that pig rescue charity? I feel badly! I just really love bacon!”
She continues to mumble to herself, only pausing when she sees that the guy she identified as her ex, and his very pregnant girlfriend, are standing just a foot away. I hear her inhale a sharp breath before stepping out from behind me. She has her arms crossed at her chest, more out of a desire to look strong than to cover her exposed pink bra.
“Jared,” she says coldly as she looks at the guy. Then she turns to give a frigid reception to the pregnant woman with him. “Savannah.”
The girlfriend’s hand comes up to rest on her visibly pregnant belly and the move causes my dream woman to inhale a sharp breath. Shit.
Jumping into action, I wrap my arm around her and pull her toward me. I hold out my free hand. “I’m Cole. The boyfriend. How’s it going?”
The ex looks surprised and pauses a second before shaking my hand. “What’s up, man? I’m Jared.”
I nod, and give his hand a firm shake. I’m bigger than him, taller by at least half a foot and I’m sure I could bench his weight. I let him feel it.
“Cool.” I gesture back to the woman I met just moments ago, yet have already claimed as my girlfriend. At least for this moment. At least in my dreams. She feels so damn good, tucked into my side, her arms hugging around my waist. “How do you guys know each other?”
He looks shocked and his mouth gapes open for a few seconds. “I’m Chrissy’s ex-boyfriend. I’m sure she’s mentioned —”
I laugh, cutting him off and turn to Chrissy, whose name I now finally know. It’s beautiful, like her. “Wait, is this the guy you told me about? The one who had the, you know …” I let my voice trail off and Chrissy catches on and nods, playing along and giggling.
“Oh, yeah, man. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. Hey, I hope that genital rash cleared up for you. Anyways, me and Chrissy have to get going. Super great to meet you, though.”
And before he can answer, I turn Chrissy around and we head down the mainly empty corridor of vacant tents where I can help her dry off a bit more before heading back into the carnival. As we walk away, Chrissy leans into me, exploding into laughter.
“I seriously cannot believe you just did that!” she shrieks. “Did you see the look on his face? I wish I had a camera!”
When we get toward the end of the alley, I turn to find Jared and his girlfriend long gone. Good. I didn’t want to have to embarrass that guy any more, but I have a feeling he deserves it.
I spot a vendor selling tie-dye shirts and I stop to grab one for Chrissy. I hand him a twenty dollar bill and pass the shirt to her. “We can maybe find you a portable bathroom to change your shirt.”
Chrissy looks behind us and gestures to a vacant booth with red velvet curtains draping across. “I know of an empty booth. I can do it there.”
We walk toward the booth, where a sign hangs across: MORIANA, FORTUNE TELLER.
“Are you Moriana?” I ask, gesturing up to the sign.
She laughs, and shakes her head. “Nope, but I met her earlier. Interesting gal. Give me a second, yeah?”
I nod and she ducks into the tent.
As she changes, I replay the last few moments in my head. I have no idea how the woman I’ve dreamed of has suddenly turned up in reality. But fuck it, I don’t even care. This has been such a whirlwind, and I don’t want it to stop … ever.
Chapter Four
I pull off my ruined shirt and toss it onto a nearby cushion. Not that I care much. Hell, I would ruin ten thousand shirts if it meant I could have this guy call me his girlfriend. Even if it was all pretend.
Which reminds me… I don’t even know this guy’s name.
Without thinking, I pull open the curtain to the outside where he’s waiting. “Sorry, I forgot to ask your name.”
He doesn’t immediately answer and his eyes jump down. I follow his gaze and realize I’m not wearing my shirt. All I have on is a slightly stained hot pink bra and my jeans.
Shit.
I’m about to throw the curtain back when his dark, heated eyes catch mine. My body stills when our eyes lock and suddenly it feels like all the oxygen in the world has just… evaporated. I can’t move and my body experiences some kind of chemical reaction as a pool of hot, liquid heat settles in my core.
This feeling is unmistakable.
I want this man.
And more importantly? I want to be done feeling sad and sorry for myself. I want to move on from stupid Jared and stupid Savannah.
And it’s in this moment that Samantha’s bartender logic comes echoing back into my head. Girl, the only way to get over someone is to get under someone new.
And who better than with this mystery man who is not only shockingly gorgeous but who also has a killer sense of humor and went out of his way to help me out? Why not repay him for his generosity?
With my mind made up, my body follows its lead. I stretch my hand out, grabbing at the fabric of his lapel, and pull him inside the tent. He stumbles, but catches himself. We pause for the shortest of seconds until he realizes exactly what my intentions are. And when he does, everything moves into light speed.
Our mouths come crashing together as our hands rove over each other’s bodies. His thumb skims over my pebbled nipple, causing a moan to escape from my lips. He takes full advantage and darts his tongue inside my mouth, both exploring and claiming at the same time. I lean into him, pressing my core against the substantial bulge in his jeans. He growls, I purr. We’re animals, thinking only about pleasure. I haven’t come from a man in more than six long months.
I need this release.
I don’t even know how loud we are, or if Moriana ever plans on coming back. None of it matters. I feel his fingers play with the clasp of my bra and I step back to help remove it. His eyes never leave me, watching me with heated desire.
“You’re beautiful.”
I’ve heard those words before, but never like this. Never spoken with such ferocity and intensity. Instantly, I believe him. It makes me want him so much more.
I slip off my bra, letting it slowly hang off my shoulders before shrugging it off onto the carpeted floor. He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, before stepping forward and cupping my face delicately in his hands.
“Is this real? Are you…” He pauses as if he can’t believe what he’s about to ask. “Are you real?”
He looks so vulnerable. I wonder why he would think I wasn’t real. A question perhaps for another time. I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m real,” I whisper against his lips.
He lets out a long breath and wraps his arms around me, hugging me. It feels so intimate for a hook-up. And then I remember I don’t even know his name. But before I can ask again, he transforms before my eyes. Gone is the tenderness, replaced by his feral side, which makes my legs quake with desire.
He kisses me. Hard. His hands tunnel through my hair, pulling me closer against him. My own hands reach for the hem of his shirt, needing it gone, not wanting any barrier between us. He compl
ies, tearing it off his head in-between frantic kisses. His fingers then go to my jeans as mine find his. We clumsily pull and tug until our jeans are unbuckled and unzipped. We step apart, kicking off our pants before finding each other once again. His skin is so warm and I can’t resist feeling the hard curves of his abs beneath my finger tips before dipping my hand beneath the elastic waist of his boxers, finding his cock hard and thick and ready.
When my hand wraps around him, he sucks in a sharp breath as he lowers his head and envelopes my nipple with his hot mouth. His tongue swirls, sending slivers of pleasure right through me as I stroke his length, already moist with desire.
He moans my name as I increase the pace and I regret not knowing his. But it’s too late for all that. All we care about now is our pleasure and our release.
So lost in the sensations of his hot mouth on my nipple, I barely notice when he slides my panties down to my thighs. But I sure as hell notice when he slides his hand between my legs and his thumb presses gently against my clit, sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. I cry out, falling against him as he continues his gentle assault. I keep my hand wrapped around his cock as he pleasures me, loving the grunts and moans that escape his mouth.
He curses, a long, drawn out fuck as I nip my teeth against his shoulder. “I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he says, his voice almost unrecognizable and gravelly. “But I want to fuck you so badly.”
Dear God, this man could make me orgasm a thousand times over just with the sound of his voice.
Jared had never been vocal in the bedroom. And something about the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on telling me he wants to fuck me is enough to almost make me come right then and there, with his fingers almost inside of me.
This is all so dirty. So unlike boring old Chrissy.