"Elizabeth...” he calls, his voice so strong, it is as if I can hold it in my hands. “Come, let me love you..."
I cannot see his face, for his hair keeps it obscured. Still, I place my hand in his and he leads me forward through the short rain shower, the grass—wet and slick—and on over the ridge, where a barn, red and empty, looms like a lost lover.
He whispers things, but I cannot hear them over the wind.
My dress flaps in the breeze and the crowd of clouds gathers and grows darker as if providing more cover for us. Even though I can't hear his words, the ominous feeling that my presence with him is somehow wrong doesn't waver. It is like a still, hot breath at the back of my neck—daring me to turn and face it.
I shake off the feeling and instead, focus on the back of his hair—strips of midnight blowing in the gusts of spring.
He doesn't turn to me, but in a louder voice, says, “Come quickly, before we are found out!"
We hurried, nearly breaking into a run at the sight of the barn.
Once we clear the barn's front doors, a clap of thunder booms throughout the huge, abandoned building, making us jump.
Laughing together, we fall to the stacks of hay scattered across the floor. Amongst the smells of livestock, hay, and rain, he slips his arms around my waist and yanks me greedily to him.
I gaze down at his chest—suddenly free of his shirt as if he had simply willed it gone. Perfectly devoid of hair, and hard with lean muscle that implores me to touch, to lick, to kiss—and I do so.
"Ahhh, Elizabeth...” he moans at each nip and lick across the canvas of his skin. “There! Oh, there!"
As his desire rises, his English deteriorates and becomes lost into strings of some romantic, but foreign language I don't understand.
Unable to withstand it any longer, he sits up, rolling away from me as he removes his shoes and pants. Within mere seconds, he turns back to me, his cock hard and strong and pointing up toward the lofts.
As thunder and rain drumming on the roof provide background music, I take his cock in my mouth and lick the purple, impatient head with quick flicks, forcing him to groan in absolute passion.
"Take ... it ... in...” he whispers hoarsely as he thrusts his cock upward, shaking with pleasure.
I oblige and take him in my mouth, tasting him and swallowing the slight earthiness of his scent. While I suck and lick, my right hand tickles his balls, occasionally pulling on them and rolling them around.
"Ohhhh, mmmm,” he mumbles.
After several long minutes of this, he can't stand any more. He grabs my head, shoves his cock farther down my throat and proceeds to empty his warm gift into my mouth.
We don't speak as he collapses back onto the hay. Overhead, the rain has ceased, and the sounds of thunder rumbling in the distance seem to administer a warning.
With a blink of the eye, my clothes disappear.
I hear his heavy breathing, coming in rasps as he sits up.
Between his legs, his growing cock bobs in the now cool air.
"Come, Elizabeth. Come, let me love you,” he says as his voice returns to normal.
Again, his voice causes my clit to tingle with quick throbs.
I bend down to him, and he eagerly takes my tits in his silky hands. Squeezing, biting, massaging, his hands cover every inch before his lips touch them. He gently licks my nipple, making it grow hard like stone, before taking it between his lips and sucking...
The act elicits a low, animalistic moan from me.
I arch my back and pull him closer—more, I want more of him.
With my cunt dripping in anticipation, soon all I want is his solid cock inside me...
The ringing of the telephone shot the dream to pieces and my eyes flapped open like a pair of old-fashioned shades. I rolled over to the clock. Ten fifteen p.m. Still Saturday and late—at least for me.
With the dream dissolved and now wide awake, I snatched up the blasted thing on the fourth ring.
"Hello."
"May I speak to Tara?” a somewhat high-pitched voice asked.
"You have the wrong number,” I uttered and restrained the urge to slam down the receiver.
"Uh, sorry."
"You have no idea how sorry I am!” I shouted into the receiver, although I knew the caller had already hung up.
* * * *
"My, Elizabeth! What a beautiful ring. I don't think I've ever seen such a marvelous piece,” Anita said as she gawked at my finger where Grandma Liz's ring rested.
"It belonged to my grandmother.” I pulled my hand away and started toward the office's breakroom.
"Looks antique. Is it?"
I shrugged, not wanting to encourage her. She stood outside my cubicle with a paper cup of coffee and a stack of papers shoved under her arm. I head for the breakroom to distance myself from her.
"Did you do anything fun this weekend?"
I stopped at the door to the breakroom and shook my head.
"I did,” she said without prompting. “Terry and I went to the movies..."
She chatted on like that for about twenty minutes. I nodded at what I thought were the right times and grinned like I cared.
For me, the weekend whipped past like a NASCAR race. I had the dream twice more—once during a nap on Sunday afternoon and again that very night. Each time, the dream unfolded the same way and both times, I didn't see the man's face.
Christ, it was more than apparent I needed to find a man ... or get out more.
Groggily, I switched to thinking about the plans for my grandmother's house. Selling it felt like such an act of betrayal. Grandma Liz loved that house, and she called it home for nearly fifty years. Still, it was very old and its condition didn't quite meet the current real estate's market appeal for flash and compactness.
The house wasn't the only thing I'd fallen in love with. The ring, out of all those my grandmother owned, was the only one she wore every single day. We would've buried it with her had it not been in her will that I receive it. And now I suddenly had the desire to wear it every day as well.
"Oh, great, it's lunch time,” Anita quipped, knocking me out of my own thoughts. “A bunch of us girls are going over to Gabbi's for lunch. Want to join us?"
Listen to Anita ramble on for another hour?
"No, thank you,” I said. “I've got a lot of paperwork to do. I'm just going to settle in here..."
"You work way too much, Owens!” I heard Anita yell as the breakroom doors closed behind me.
Hordes of co-workers bunched and shoved in the tiny space. There were never enough chairs or tables for all the employees. The odors from the food, combined with the heat, made the air both hot and nauseating. Suddenly, the breakroom started to close in on me and I rushed outside for some fresh air. The park sounded like an excellent place to have lunch.
Outside, the day's clear sky had filled with storm clouds. The air smelled thickly of rain. The park sat vacant as most people stayed indoors in anticipation of the approaching downpour.
"Grandma Liz loved days like these,” I said aloud as I sat alone in my car under the shade trees of the Nature Park. With the seat in the “reclined” position and the soft breeze floating through the windows, I drifted right off to sleep in an attempt to recapture some of my missed slumber.
"Elizabeth,” a soft, velvet voice called as if from far away.
I woke up with a jolt and right outside the car stood a man dressed in a pale ruffled shirt and stockings. Jet black hair flapped in the breeze and a ruby-red ribbon held it in a ponytail. His eyes were filled with sorrow and my heart ached for him—he seemed deeply troubled.
"Can I help you, sir?” I leaned out the car window. The man reached out his hand toward me with a look of heartbreaking sadness and just as our hands were about to touch, he disappeared.
"What in the world?” I looked around, but I was left with only a familiar burn of the fire down below. Not only had the strange person stirred my curiosity, but also my desire.
* * * *
My mind whirled when I returned to my apartment that night. Who was that man today at the park? Where did he go and where had he come from? When I woke up in the park, he was already there. How long had he been standing there? More importantly, how did he just fade away like that? Not for the first time, I pondered if I was the butt of a practical joke, or someone's projection machine. It could've been my very fatigued brain playing tricks on me. But was it?
Just as I was posing all these questions in my bedroom, he suddenly appeared as if I had called him forth.
Terror caught in my throat; words died on my lips. He was dressed the same as earlier that day but the haunted look of sorrow was gone. He smiled and reached out for me with a look that could melt butter in January and set off sparks in July.
I moved back from his touch and a look of confusion crossed his handsome face. I stared at the tight muscles showing through his open shirt and my heart hammered in my chest, despite the tingling in my clit. Oh, he was sexy and yes, handsome, but still—a stranger.
"Elizabeth?” he asked hesitantly, cautiously as if I were dangerous. He reached for me again, the heat in his eyes shooting across the air to me.
Although I retreated, certain parts of me wanted to feel his hands touching me—anywhere, everywhere.
What am I? Crazy?
"Who are you and what are you doing in my home?” I whispered around the dry lump in my throat. I coughed to dislodge it, to get myself under control, but it was as if his very presence ignited a fire across my skin that only he could put out. “Get out!"
Another look of confusion crossed his face and then his eyes, large and green as the emerald in my ring, watered with tears and he vanished.
Suddenly, I felt alone in the dark room, along with a desperate need to have him near me. His presence lit up my space and gave off a warmth I definitely wanted to get closer to.
But how much closer?
Shoving the thought aside—and refusing to answer it—I could not move away from the bed. I stared at the ring for some explanation—some answers. It simply sparkled in the moonlight.
* * * *
After a dinner of cold pizza and soda, I sat alone in my living room, again pondering what to do with Grandmother's house. Coffee and a piece of cake from the corner coffee shop awaited. Paying for overpriced coffee when I had more than enough at home seemed silly, but I didn't have the cake. So I conceded.
The telephone rang.
"Hello.” Even to myself, I sounded tired.
"Hey, it's me,” shouted Corrine over the ridiculous chaos in the background. “Listen, you've got to get out more. There's this guy I work with named Joe, and he's got a degree from Cornell. A bunch of us are over at Sted's. You want to come over?"
I had the same thoughts about getting out more, but I didn't tell Corrine she was right. “You know, I think I'm going to stay in tonight,” I said, feeling like a heel, but not wanting to depend on my baby sister to help me get dates. “How about another time?"
"All right, but later, he might be taken,” Corrine said back, the boisterous noise in the background nearly drowning out her shouting. “You don't want to lose him like you did Harold."
She had to bring up Harold. The very retro man of my past. Four years and eight months past, to be exact. As long as he got what he wanted, he was happy; I could be asleep during sex for all he cared. I got tired of being a hole in the mattress, so I dropped him like a really bad habit.
"Thanks, Doctor Phil,” I retorted to the blaring music and hung up the phone. Why go to a bar and meet men, when I could find such hunks at the park?
* * * *
Dawn slid across the morning sky like a curtain of crisp, cerulean blue. I sat awake in bed, reading the newspaper and enjoying the occasional breezes that came through the crack in the window. I kept having problems sleeping. The dream was constantly haunting me—teasing me. Every morning, I would awake with the familiar throbbing and very wet panties. This morning was no different.
I absently found myself at the park almost every day, waiting to see the man again. Unfortunately, I had no luck. What I planned to say or do once I saw him again, I had no idea. Still, the urge to find him prevailed.
Finally, near eight o'clock, he appeared.
"Elizabeth."
He smiled as I groggily opened my eyes. He reached out with both hands—as if begging for my touch—and his smile increased into an outright grin.
The fact his image was nothing short of a mirage or ghostlike didn't distract me from his physique. The broad shoulders and the well-defined thighs the thin material of his breeches failed to hide immediately caught my eye. The breeches also failed to hide a rather generous bulge dead center. As my gaze languished on it, it throbbed against the fragile fabric as if auditioning for me.
He watched as my eyes made their way up to his face. He licked his bright pink tongue across his sensuous, full lips. My breath caught in my throat. His gaze was so full of love and open lust, I could feel myself pant out little puffs of air.
He whispered, “Elizabeth, come love me.” He opened his arms wider and waited. “I am lonely and lustful..."
The voice, warm enough to cut butter in February, sounded familiar...
"I ... I'm sorry.” I sat up in bed and covered my nakedness with the sheet. “I ... I'm not sure I am who you want me to be."
My mind wanted a resolution; my body wanted his touch—if there could be such a thing.
"Elizabeth, do not be coy. Did I not give you the ring you wear on your finger?” He moved closer to me with a look of mischief.
"Please, there must be some misunderstanding..."
Before I could explain further, he leaned in and kissed me and his long, black hair smelled like violets. His lips were soft like rose petals. The night was cool against my skin as his hands traveled over my shoulders and down my back sending cold wisps of air across my skin like flecks of ice.
Gasping, I cried out, “Please, stop!"
I yanked the sheet up to my chin—I needed time to think, even if my body had already made up its mind.
"Elizabeth, you are behaving oddly. You are no virgin.” He laughed and tossed his hair over his shoulders. He leaned in once more, and touched my chin, carefully. “You still wear the ring. I am glad to see that you do."
"I beg your pardon! This ring was given to me by my grandmother!"
I took the ring off and showed it to him. The moment the ring left my finger, he vanished leaving me completely flabbergasted—and horny.
* * * *
I completed signing the papers to put Grandmother's house on the market. I felt deep down inside it wasn't the best move, but no one in the family wanted to keep it, maintain it, or pay the taxes on it. There wasn't any way I could do it alone—so I had no other choice.
The guilt was twisting inside me like knots—enough so that a hot bath was the only cure. If this didn't put me right to sleep and temporarily cease my worrying, I had no idea what would. My strained thoughts weren't just of my grandmother's house, but also of the man who came earlier into my home.
My mind continued to whirl in circles, trying in vain to answer questions that deep down inside, I knew only he could. Why did he think I was Elizabeth? Could he not see that I looked nothing like the former queen? My dreadlocks and dark cocoa skin were a far cry from the paleness of Queen Elizabeth—yet he seemed to desire me all the same.
Sure, we shared a name, but what did that matter?
As the bathtub filled with deliciously steamy water and suds, I tried to straighten up my bedroom. Then as I moved a cardboard box from my chair to the floor, I found myself leafing through photographs, books and other items I'd taken from Grandmother's house. Within the contents and buried beneath the scatter of the other things thrown hastily into the box, I rediscovered my grandmother's faded, worn diary.
Settling into my favorite reading chair, I opened the diary to the first page. Dated just shortly after her visit to London
following my grandfather's death, she wrote about her travels, the attractions she saw, what she ate, and other tourist things.
It was when I reached pages ten and twelve that she wrote of a man, one with raven hair and pale skin and eyes the color of emeralds that my curiosity soared.
I quickly kicked off my clothing as I walked to the adjoining bathroom, diary in hand; I turned off the taps and lowered myself into the bathtub. Candles lazily burned in the steamy air. The aroma of vanilla scented the space and intensified with each breath I took. The soothing sensations of the warm lather made my nipples peak and tighten into hard stones. Shuddering from delight and the tightening of my stomach, I opened Grandmother's diary and began to read again...
The rain arrived once more in London, as if its part in city lore and character must be demonstrated for the tourists. Alone in my room, for going out in the heavy shower was out of the question, I stared at the comers and goers on the sidewalk below. Inside, the steady banging of doors, clops of footfalls, and laughter continued to burrow through the thin walls and into my ears. Already closing in on dusk, the evening waited, struggling to be set free to blanket the sky.
I wanted to go to a pub and listen to conversations, perhaps even meet someone my age. But, with the rain, I felt that unlikely.
As night descended, the rain lessened, and I, feeling more brave and ready, set about getting ready for an outing. I showered, brushed my teeth, and put on my favorite blue dress. Starting to feel like having some fun, I shimmied to the mirror, and put on my latest purchase, a ring that once belonged to Queen Elizabeth.
And there he was! Raven hair wet as if he'd been out in the squall.
Immediately, he crossed the room with long strides, embraced me with strong arms, and kissed me with lustful passion...
I read until I could no longer—my grandmother's descriptions of her lover became more and more erotic, and I could stand it no longer. I allowed the diary to slip from my hand to the floor. Unable to withstand the coursing of raw fervor, I rubbed my breasts, massaging them, and imagining them as my own dream lover...
Torrid Teasers Volume 18 Page 4