Ocean's Touch

by Denise Townsend

  Meredith spread her knees wider, giving herself better access to her clit as she pleasured herself.

  She could see herself, on her knees before Dylan, grasping his hips with both hands as she sucked his cock into her mouth, then drew back, sucking all the way along that hard length.

  Her hips bucked, an orgasm already dancing at the gate after both her dream and now her waking fantasy.

  She pictured herself pulling him out of her mouth, only to lave her tongue over his balls, sucking first one, then the other into her mouth.

  His fingers in my hair, pulling tighter…tugging me up…my mouth back on his cock…

  He’d fuck her mouth, then. Not rough, but not gentle either. She’d look up at him, their eyes locked, as he thrust in and out between her lips…

  Meredith’s finger worked her clit as she felt her pleasure build from a dull ache in her pussy to a need that made her frig herself harder, wishing she had something with which to fill herself…

  I’d feel him grow frantic, his hands in my hair, my mouth full of his cock…

  And then she imagined his groans as his orgasm tore through him, his hot come filling her mouth…

  At the thought of tasting Dylan—of him releasing for her, into her—Meredith’s own orgasm ripped through her. She cried out into her pillows, the pleasure bowing her spine. Then she collapsed, spent and panting.

  Having indulged her body, her mind began to react.

  Gah, she thought. I’ve wasted the whole morning on a fantasy.

  Meredith wasn’t against masturbating; in fact, she did it quite often. But she always felt indulgent afterward, like she was giving into some antediluvian part of her brain that cared only for pleasure.

  So she swung her legs out of bed and stood, stretching out her strangely aching body.

  Walking to her en-suite bathroom, she realized just how sore she was. Like she’d run a marathon overnight.

  Must have been tensing my muscles in my sleep, she thought, pausing by the head of the bed. Who knew erotic dreams could have that effect?

  She continued to walk toward her bathroom, but was distracted by an anomaly in her normally pin-neat bedroom.

  Why on earth did I leave my clothes lying there? Meredith wondered at seeing a pile of brown and green clothing lying on the carpet near her bedroom door.

  I must have really been out of it last night, she thought, walking to pick up her dirty clothes. Although that helps explain the dream. I was overtired, overstressed…

  But all thoughts of dreams and stress flew from her mind as her hand made contact with her clothing.

  The bundle was wet and heavy, as if it had been recently soaked.

  Meredith froze, before lifting the sodden pile slowly to her face.

  It smells of the sea, she realized, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Meredith had no idea what to think about the wet clothes. She knew that last night had to be a dream—there’s no way she would do that with a stranger, let alone swim in the Atlantic using magic. It was ridiculous!

  What if I’m losing my mind? she wondered, for about the fortieth time, as she parked her car rather sloppily in front of a little art gallery in downtown Seal Harbor.

  You’re not losing your mind, she told herself. You were overtired last night. Wandered too close to the ocean and fell down. You got soaked, and chilled, and probably a touch of fever. Which explains the crazy dream.

  She shivered despite the warm sunshine of the fall afternoon. But it had been so real…

  Shaking her head as if to clear it, Meredith stepped out of her car and walked up to the gallery. Pushing her way in through the front door, she smiled at the grey-haired proprietress—one of the local graund dames—and then automatically scanned the room for any other patrons.

  Oh no, she thought. That’s the last thing I need…

  The “last thing” in question looked up to catch her eyes on him, and he smiled broadly in response. As if on cue, she felt her breath whoosh out of her body as her knees trembled like a schoolgirl’s.

  Alexander Ladislaw was, possibly, the only person more inappropriate for her to lust after than mysterious dark strangers on beaches. He was a very rich man, having made a fortune in his twenties with a series of patented biotech inventions. The vast majority of America knew him from his Time cover as “The Man Who Built A Better Mousetrap,” but he had an entirely different reputation in Seal Harbor. Part of that reputation was based on the fact that Alex had abandoned his lucrative business career in the tech industry to pursue his real passion—painting. People couldn’t understand why anyone would give up making all that money, although Meredith now knew enough about finances to understand that, at this point, Alex’s money probably made itself on the stock market and through other investments.

  Nevertheless, Meredith couldn’t be completely naïve to the other aspects of Alexander’s reputation. Around the area, rumors abounded of Ladislaw’s dissolute lifestyle—the stream of women, the parties, the kink. In fact, locally he was known as “the Marquis,” after the Marquis de Sade. Meredith thought the nickname more than a little ridiculous, not least because there was a big difference between a playboy and a sexual sadist.

  And yet, even the term “playboy” struck Meredith as somehow wrong. There was something about Alexander that had always struck her as too serious for such frivolous dismissals. She knew he was no monk, but neither could she imagine him surrounded by gaggles of girls in bunny costumes.

  He’s so intense, she thought, feeling like a rabbit being pursued by a raptor as he crossed the small gallery space to greet her. He’d be that intense with a lover…

  Where did that thought come from? she wondered, as she walked forward to greet the man in question, extending her hand to meet his for a shake.

  Alexander’s grip on her hand was firm—he always shook a woman’s hand the same way he did a man’s. It wasn’t aggressive or painful, but firm and strong—an acknowledgment of equality that she appreciated. His skin was pale, and his eerily green eyes crinkled in a smile.

  “Meredith,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to see you.”

  To her annoyance, she felt herself blush, although she knew she shouldn’t be surprised at her reaction. Ladislaw had always had that effect on her. Even Teddy had once commented on how nervous he made her, to her horror.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you too,” she said, and she meant it. There was something about him that she found almost absurdly attractive. Alex was a handsome man, with a long, patrician nose; a wide, sensual mouth; and slightly hooded eyes that could look either friendly or foreboding, depending on his mood. Today, a neatly trimmed goatee framed his lips. After a moment’s consideration, Meredith decided she liked his facial hair. It made him look even more mischievous, if that was possible. For that was the wonderful paradox of Alexander Ladislaw. On the one hand, he was one of the most brilliant and fiercely intellectual men she knew. On the other hand, he had an impish quality that she found irresistible. He was both Apollo and Dionysus, and if she was honest with herself, she’d always admired the way Alex never denied either of his two identities.

  Even his style spoke of his two sides. A few years older than her, his very dark red hair had receded just enough to make him look even more serious and intellectual than he already did. But he wore it in a longish-style, just brushing his collar at the back, that told everyone he didn’t take himself too seriously. He always wore impeccably tailored clothing that was just the right combination of formal and relaxed. Everything about Alexander conspired to make him look like he belonged anywhere, from boardroom to bedroom. And that’s what she really found attractive about him. He radiated a calm confidence that was mesmerizing, while every movement he made somehow spoke of an innate sensuality.

  Physically, he was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and almost sinfully narrow hips. For a split second, she imagined all that smooth white skin against her own…

  “Are you looking for something to buy?”
he asked, interrupting her reverie.

  “Sorry?” she asked, knowing full well she was blushing again.

  “I was just asking why you’d come along. If you were looking for something to buy.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Well, you know I enjoy art,” she replied. Actually, he knew very well that art was one of Meredith’s great passions, one she wasn’t able to indulge in nearly as much as she’d like. They’d talked extensively, almost every time they’d met at a function or a party, about the art world. Alex had been surprised to discover that not only did she have a lot of knowledge, she also knew many of the contemporary artists that were his own inspirations. She’d even let slip at a function only a few months ago that, in her dreams, she flew around the world attending the gallery openings of the most cutting-edge, controversial artists. In reality, however, he knew damned well she stayed home to attend to her dead husband’s affairs, contenting herself with the folk art and tourist fare on show at their local galleries.

  In other words, Alex was fully aware he was pushing Meredith’s buttons by asking her if she was out to buy something.

  “Um…” She paused, undoubtedly gathering her diplomacy about her. He couldn’t help but focus on that lush little mouth of hers. “No, actually, I’m not buying. Today. But I like to see what’s out there…”

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  “Are you buying?” she asked, those perfect lips bowing in a small smile. He kept his own expression neutral. The fact was, he adored those tiny hints she gave that she enjoyed playing as much as he did. But they were so few and far between.

  Teddy repressed her like a one-man feminine mystique, Alex thought, irritated as ever at what that insufferable man had done to Meredith. I know they loved each other, he conceded. But his was the type of love that suffocates…

  “No. I’m not,” he said, dryly. “I was just in town mailing off some invitations, and decided to pop in.”

  With those words, Alex’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in concentration as he gave Meredith a long, hard look. She cocked her head at his scrutiny, trying not to feel naked under his gaze.

  “Yes?” she asked, uncomfortably.

  “You know I’ve been painting for a while now…”

  She nodded. “Yes. And you’ve been showing at some great galleries…”

  Her words trailed off as she realized she’d just acknowledged following his art career. His pursed lips became a small smile as he made that connection for himself.

  “So, why don’t you show around here?” she blurted out, hoping to move past her interest in him. By expressing more interest in him, she thought, chagrined.

  He chuckled. “Yes, well, galleries around here don’t usually handle my sort of work. I don’t paint colorful shapes, or landscapes, or children with puppies,” he said, gesturing around to the walls covered in exactly what he’d just described. “I like my art a little more…confrontational.”

  The look on his face was so sensual and predatory when he said that last sentence that her heart actually skipped a beat.

  This is ridiculous. First dreams of sex with magical men on beaches; now practically swooning over Ladislaw, of all people. The day he’d go for a boring widow like me is the day someone like me would go for a cad like him. We are fire and ice.

  But fire melts ice, some deeper part of her crooned.

  And the resulting water puts out the fire, her brain snapped, in response.

  “But,” he said, “If you would like to see some of what I do, I’m hosting a private showing at my house before everything gets shipped to my exhibition in Rome. That’s what the invitations were for.”

  Her eyes widened. She’d heard about his “private showings”. They were rumored to be to Ladislaw what Xanadu was to Kublai Khan.

  Meredith didn’t know if she could handle the pleasure-dome aspect of one of Alex’s infamous showings. If the rumors are true, of course, she told herself, remembering—but trying not to dwell on—some of the details she’d heard in passing.

  Alex sensed Meredith’s unease, but he also sensed something else. That tiny parting of those soft lips; the darkening of her warm brown eyes as her pupils dilated.

  Arousal, he realized, feeling more like a kid at Christmas than should a man many were happy to label “Casanova”.

  When Teddy Casaubon had brought home his new bride, Alex had been immediately attracted to her. She’d demonstrated both intelligence and cleverness, a combination he always adored. And there had been something about her open smile, the forwardness of her gaze, and the loose way she’d moved those long limbs that had spoken to him of a kindred spirit. It had been with a feeling akin to horror that he’d watched Teddy’s illness, combined with the insufferable man’s repressive “values” and his even more insufferable mother, gradually suck the life out of Meredith.

  And Teddy made sure to keep her shackled, even in death, Alex thought, with a surprising amount of bitterness. He didn’t know why, but the thought of Meredith had always made him strangely passionate. And illogical.

  Teddy wasn’t really that bad, he reminded himself in what had become a litany repeated far too often. And he did love his wife. He was just a giant brain, walking around in a shell he ignored, and he couldn’t imagine any other way to live.

  It had always struck Alex as poetic justice that the body Teddy had denied so assiduously had wasted away around him. But Alex also knew that in denying his own body, Teddy had denied Meredith hers. And that made Alex almost irrationally furious.

  Why do I care so much? he asked himself, feeling that familiar rage sweep through his system. If Teddy were still alive, Alex could have throttled him at that moment.

  Meredith was still busy figuring out where to rest her eyes—they kept darting from Alex’s green eyes, to the floor, to Alex’s long fingers, to the floor—when Alex repeated his invitation.

  “Please,” he said. “I would very much like to share my art with you. I think you’ll like it. And your opinion matters to me.”

  Alex realized the truth of what he’d said only as it escaped his lips. And hearing that sincerity, that hint of something—was it pleading?—in his voice, made up Meredith’s mind for her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I would be honored to attend your showing.”

  The fiercely predatory, hungry look that Alex gave her before reeling in his expression both shocked and excited her. It reminded her of the look her dream lover, Dylan, had given her. She felt a shiver of some unnamable emotion arc up her spine.

  What, exactly, have I just gotten myself into? she thought.

  Chapter Five

  The sun had gone down hours before, and her beach was dark and chilly. Meanwhile, Meredith felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t stay away.

  It was a dream, she reminded herself, even as she remembered—so vividly!—the smell of Dylan’s sea-kissed skin, the taste of his insistent lips. Running into Alexander and seeing that strange glint in his eyes had only made her recollect her dream lover more intensely.

  Meredith—too full of nervous energy to sit in front of the fire she’d built—stood watching the waves, before she shut her eyes, remembering.

  His hands on my body…his fingers inside me…his flesh so pale against mine…. She opened her eyes, then shook her head.

  “Not pale,” she whispered. Alex is pale…

  She wondered what had thrown her so off kilter. Normally so complete on her own, so happy as an individual, she couldn’t stop thinking of both Dylan and Alex.

  What is wrong with me? she pleaded to the starry night, unsure where these cravings had come from, in a body that had been dormant for so long.

  Meredith had gone straight home after seeing Alex that afternoon, despite having other errands. Instead, she’d changed into her running clothes and had done an extra-long course—the sort she usually only ran when training for a 10K or a half marathon. But still it had felt like her body was on fire when she’d finished, and not with the usual mixture of e
ndorphins engendered by running. So she’d capped off her cardio with a strenuous round of yoga, but again she’d found herself forsaken by her desired calm. Instead, every deep stretch of her long thigh muscles had reminded her of other kinds of stretching; every ache in her buttocks as she’d raised herself in Down Dog had inspired her to picture other uses for such a position.

  It’s like I’m eighteen again, she thought disgustedly, stepping closer to the waves lapping her beach. But I’m not eighteen. I’m thirty-five. And a widow.

  Tears sprang up in Meredith’s eyes as she tried to remember Teddy’s warm calm, the way he’d always known exactly what she should do next. But all she could think of was the way Alex had looked at her…the way Dylan, in her dreams, had touched her…

  She took another step toward the water.

  “Not without me, lass,” she heard from behind her. “It’s only with me that you can swim.”

  Meredith felt her body freeze in shock, even as her blood ran straight to her head.

  That voice, she thought, afraid to turn around. Afraid he’ll actually be there? she wondered. Or afraid it’s just my imagination?

  Warm hands wrapped around her upper arms as warm breath found her ear.

  “I was hoping you would come to me,” said the voice.

  Dylan’s voice.

  “I’ve been dreaming of you, all the day,” he finished.

  Meredith shivered. With fear? With lust? She hadn’t the slightest.

  “You’re real,” she whispered. Dylan chuckled in her ear as his lips kissed her lobe gently.

  “As real as your sea,” he said, moving closer so she could feel his hard cock press against her back, through her clothes.

  “But it was a dream,” was all she could say in response.

  His lips paused in their slow perusal of the shell of her ear.

  “I’m a dream, am I?” he asked, pressing that hard heat against her.

  “I would have sworn,” she whispered, snuggling her own ass tighter against his warm bulk.