by Desiree Holt
Blake: Do you ever have unexplained dreams?
Dreams? Ohmigod! For a moment she thought her heart stopped beating. Did he somehow know she was dreaming about him? No, not possible. She wiped suddenly damp palms on her thighs.
Booklady: We all dream. Right?
More silence.
Blake: I mean, special dreams. Never mind, forget what I said.
Forget it? Is he kidding?
Booklady: I have dreams.
She typed fast—before she could change her mind.
Booklady: Maybe we could get together and talk about them?
What the hell was she doing? She’d sworn off men, didn’t she remember? But somehow, some way, Blake Massie reached into her closed-off heart. She sensed he’d suffered pain, too, maybe worse than hers. Besides, how much trouble could she get into with an entire Internet between them?
Blake: Talking like this is fine. I like it.
Lord, he was even more antisocial than she was.
Booklady: So what shall we talk about?
Pause.
Blake: If I ask you something, you won’t get mad and disconnect, will you? Or stop bringing me my books?
Butterflies beat gently in her stomach, and an unexpected sense of anticipation rolled over her. Her most recent dream popped to the forefront of her mind, making her body heat and her pussy throb with need. With need? Holy crap!
Booklady: Depends on what it is, but I don’t get offended by much.
Wait. Did she say it right? Too late to change. She’d already sent it.
Blake: Do you ever indulge in fantasies?
She stared at the screen, her mouth dry. Could he see into her mind? Hands trembling slightly she answered.
Booklady: Sometimes. Do you?
Blake: I think it’s something people who live alone might do.
Blake: But lately my fantasies have been about you. That’s why I asked you about your dreams.
Nina jerked back and almost shoved the computer away from her. What should she say? Do? Shut him down?
No, no, no, a little voice inside her protested.
Booklady: Do you mean, are my dreams like fantasies?
Blake: Yes. Personal.
Oh, God! Before she could answer him he sent another message.
Blake: I dream about you. I see your picture on your website and pull you into my dreams.
Holy shit! Was he obsessing about her? Cyberstalking her? No, Grange would have warned her. He would not have encouraged her to pursue even this limited relationship with him. For some strange reason, she trusted him.
Before she could stop herself, she typed.
Booklady: I dream about you, too. Only I don’t have an image of you in my mind. I can only imagine it.
She swallowed hard and added….
Booklady: Maybe next time I bring the books to you, I could come inside. I’ll even bring a bottle of wine.
Her entire body flushed with heat, her breasts aching, her cunt throbbing and wet. Could the reason be all this time without sex? No, this man definitely affected her. A lot. Would he accept her offer?
Blake: How do you feel about games?
She froze. Games?
Booklady: What kind of games do you mean?
Her excitement edged up with his words. Of course, she could say or do anything as long as it was all on the Internet.
Blake: Have you ever been blindfolded?
His answer sent a thrill of forbidden pleasure racing through her. Immediately, the scenes from her fantasies slammed into her. Was he somehow in her head, her dreams? What should she answer?
Booklady: Um, sort of.
Blake: I don’t know what ‘sort of’ means. But if you want to come to my house, we’ll be playing a little game. Grange will have to blindfold you.
Good Lord! Go to a stranger’s house and allow herself to be blindfolded? What did this man have in mind? And why was she so tempted? Of course, he wasn’t really a stranger. She’d been delivering his books for months now, and they’d been exchanging messages for several weeks. And of course, there were those dreams. Thinking of them made heat flush through her.
Before she could type an answer, another message appeared.
Blake: I promise no harm will come to you. You have my word. You could pretend it’s part of a fantasy. Would that work for you?
Would it? She reminded herself how far she had gotten trusting another man’s word.
But is happened five years ago. Go ahead. Take a chance. Live a little.
Booklady: Why can’t I see you?
Pause.
Blake: Let’s get to know each other better first. Don’t you like surprises?
Booklady: Only if they’re good ones.
Blake: I hope this will be a good one.
Blake: Will you give it a chance?
Nina chewed her thumbnail as emotions whirled within her. She was a little bit scared and a whole lot tempted. She had a feeling Grange would protect her if she’d misread the situation. She couldn’t tell anyone. They’d think for sure she’d lost her mind.
Do it! Take a chance, for God’s sake, the little voice in her head shouted. Do you plan to live like this forever?
She typed her answer before she could change her mind.
Booklady: When?
Blake: Let’s not wait for the book delivery. How about tomorrow night?
Booklady: Can’t. Big shopping day. The store will be open late.
Blake: Then Saturday. Before I come to my senses and chase you away.
She could get on board with that sentiment.
Booklady: Eight o’clock?
She waited for his answer, body tense.
Blake: White wine.
She laughed.
Booklady: I actually was going to bring you bourbon. I can’t imagine you as the wine type.
Blake: Oh? What type do you think I am?
Booklady: I guess I’ll find out.
Blake: Saturday night at eight.
Booklady: At eight.
Nina stared at the screen for a long time after he signed off. What on earth had she gotten herself into? Well, whatever happened, she’d finally decided it was better than feeling dead inside as she had for so long.
Chapter Five
Nina leaned her head back against the bath pillow and tried to relax. She’d closed the store promptly at six, hurrying the last minute shoppers as much as she could. Friday had been nonstop, and today almost as bad. Or good, depending on one’s point of view. But she was determined not to rush herself getting ready for tonight. For two days, she’d lived on the edge of anticipation. She hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed. Nor would he.
At the moment, she was soaking in a tub full of fragrant bubbles, wet hair piled on top of her head out of the way. The butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach on Thanksgiving seemed to have acquired more friends, and their dance had become more frenetic. She hoped this wouldn’t turn out to be another Thanksgiving filled with hope only to crash and burn by Christmas. She didn’t think she could take it again. She closed her eyes, ordering her body to relax.
“You look especially beautiful tonight.” His gravelly voice stirred her blood as it always did.
“Thank you. Only I don’t have any clothes on.”
He laughed, a low husky sound. “But that’s how I like you best.” He kissed the silk scarf over her eyes. “This is all the clothing you need.”
“Will I ever get to see you?”
“When the time is right.”
It was the same answer he always gave her.
She was lying beneath him, his body caught on his forearms to keep his weight from her. She could feel his arms on either side of her. Reaching up, she touched the familiar texture of his beard, inhaled the familiar fragrance of sandalwood. She thought she could get drunk on the feel and scent of him alone.
His head moved, and in the next moment his warm lips closed over a taut nipple, tugging it into his mouth. Heat rushed straig
ht to her pussy, already wet with her juices. She moved her hand over his powerful shoulders as he paid careful attention to her pebbled bud, finally moving to the other one. By the time he lifted his head from them, she was writhing against him, urging him to pay attention to her other parts.
She’d come to love being with him. His tenderness, his ability to carry her body to unbelievable heights—whether a fast hard ride or a slow sensual one. Until he came into her life, she’d been so closed off, unwilling to open herself to pain and disappointment again. But it hadn’t taken long for her to trust him, to believe him. To know he meant everything he said.
If only he’d let her see him.
He moved down her body, his tongue tracing a pattern lower and lower, making lazy swirls around her navel then down toward her the nest of her pubic curls. Her legs were spread wide open, his broad shoulders pressed against her inner thighs. He flicked the tip of his tongue over her clit, back and forth with light strokes making every nerve in her body jump and her cunt spasm with need. Even her skin was ultra-sensitive. When he blew on it, little tremors skated over the surface.
With his tongue, he drew a slow path the length of her slit, down and back, pausing at the top to tease her hot bundle of nerves again.
“Touch your breasts for me,” he rasped. “Let me see you pinch your nipples.”
She cupped her breasts in her palms and grasped each nipple between thumb and forefinger. As she gently squeezed, he thrust his tongue inside her, and she—
Water sloshed over her face and filled her nose. Holy shit! She’d slipped down in the tub, submerged over her head, and she was holding her nipples. Her heart raced, and her pulse beat a rapid tattoo everywhere, especially in her pussy’s hot channel.
Oh! My! God!
She let the water out of the tub and climbed out, wrapping herself in a bath towel. When she stared at herself in the mirror, her face was flushed, and she saw the flutter of her pulse at the hollow of her throat. For almost three weeks, she’d had the same dream every night, with slight variations. The problem was, she always woke herself up before reaching an orgasm. Before her lover’s cock was buried inside her. Before wrapping her legs around him and feeling him deep inside her body.
Are the dreams he mentions like mine?
And if they were, who was the woman he dreamed about? Was it her? Did he have a lover he’d left behind in his self-imposed isolation?
Enough with this. Why don’t I hit the Off switch for my mind and get ready?
Obviously, she couldn’t go to Blake Massie’s house in the shape she was in. He’d take one look at her and know exactly what she’d been doing. She turned on the shower full force and stepped beneath the spray, running the water cold enough to freeze all her body parts at first then warmer, so she could wash her hair.
The bottle of wine she’d chosen sat in her fridge, chilling. She hoped the festive bow she’d placed on it wasn’t too much. But she had the feeling she was about to change her holiday season, and a little festivity might not be too bad.
Not too bad at all.
***
What am I doing? I must be crazy.
Blake sat in the big chair in his bedroom, replaying the Instant Messages in his mind. He checked his watch for possibly the hundredth time. Seven o’clock. The day had dragged by as if it had forty-eight hours in it. At least once every hour he started to send Nina a message to cancel the entire business. Tell her he was sorry, he’d made a mistake.
But each time he’d talked himself out of it. He’d come this far. If it did end up being a mistake, he could email her his orders in the future, and she could keep delivering them to Grange as usual. Only, for the first time in two years, he had an actual desire to interact with another human being. And not just anyone, but a classically sexy woman who intrigued him beyond imagination.
She hadn’t objected to the blindfold. Would she change her mind once she got here? Would she insist on Grange being in the room with them? Would he? Would she be frightened of him? Intrigued?
God! What am I, sixteen?
In an effort to still his racing imagination and quiet his nerves, he closed his eyes.
She was already so aroused the moment he touched her he knew she was ready for him. His tongue slid easily into her cunt’s hot, wet channel, her taste at once salty and sweet. She moaned beneath him and arched her hips, thrusting herself at him.
He held her in place, his thumbs pressing into her hipbones, his fingers into the rounded cheeks of her ass. He fluttered his tongue inside her, loving the tiny cries she made when he did. She was so damn responsive.
He slipped his hands around to the back of her thighs and pushed her legs back toward her breasts, opening her wide to him. He took a moment to admire the deep pink of her pussy, the rosy color of her clit, the slick wetness of her flesh. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted to give her at least one orgasm before taking his own pleasure. But when her inner walls began to spasm, he couldn’t wait.
Making sure the condom he’d rolled on earlier was still tightly in place, he rose to his knees, stared with hunger at her cunt, so open and exposed to him, positioned the head of his cock at her opening, and thrust—
“Blake? You okay in there?”
Grange’s voice and the knock on the door yanked him out of the dream. He blinked then realized he was damn glad he’d closed the door because there he sat in his boxers with his hand wrapped around his dick. Again. Holy fucking shit!
“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m great. Getting ready to shower.”
“You need any help?”
Yeah, but not the kind you can give me. “No.”
He still didn’t know why he’d done this, except maybe Thanksgiving—when his life had flipped upside down—was a time to move forward. Scared shitless didn’t begin to describe how he felt, but he didn’t plan to change his mind. In two years, only Nina Foster had been able to get him to look forward instead of backward.
“Holler if you need anything,” Grange told him. “And don’t be late.”
“Thanks, Dad,” he grumbled then realized Grange might be as nervous about tonight as he was.
Grange mumbled as he went back down the stairs, probably with good reason. Blake hadn’t had any social interaction with a woman in two years and still wasn’t sure if he should be doing this even now. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling he and Nina were somehow connected. That his dreams meant something. The Abenaki legend said the man and woman who met in their dreams were fated for each other. He didn’t usually believe in mystical stuff, but how else to explain his dreams about a woman he had yet to meet? His cock was certainly anxious to meet her in person. It was probably a good thing she wouldn’t be able to see him and his expected physical reaction to her.
Blake heaved himself out of the chair and stumbled into the bathroom, still holding his throbbing shaft. Once in the shower, he leaned back against the tile, closed his eyes to conjure up an image of Nina, and stroked himself to completion. He let the water sluice over him until he could compose himself. Maybe Nina wouldn’t see him tonight, but he needed to have his game face on in case.
Did he even remember how to talk to a woman, what to say? Maybe this whole idea was crazy. Maybe he was crazy.
By the time he finished his shower, he’d had another extended argument with himself, but he was determined to go through with what he’d planned for tonight. Wanted to do it. He dressed himself in a clean pair of jeans and a western shirt he hadn’t worn in a long time. He’d even trimmed his beard. Lastly, he stepped into his boots—getting them on wasn’t the problem—and splashed on a little of the sandalwood cologne he’d had sitting on his dresser for two years. He was lucky it hadn’t turned to vinegar.
He checked his watch one more time. Ten minutes until eight.
Okay, buddy. Now or never.
He headed downstairs, more nervous than he’d been on his first date.
***
Nina stood on the front porc
h and took a moment to center herself and calm her racing pulse. The combination of nerves and anticipation had shot enough adrenaline through her system to keep her up for two weeks. She’d dressed with extra care, choosing a pumpkin colored turtleneck—for Thanksgiving—and chocolate brown slacks, with soft leather ankle boots. Gold hoops decorated her ears. She’d brushed her hair until it shone and left it loose around her shoulders so the gold highlights would show. In her hands, she clutched the bottle of wine with the ribbon attached. She’d half expected Grange to be waiting for her as he usually was, but not tonight. What did that mean?
Stop with the questions already. She square her shoulders. Okay. Here goes nothing.
She reached out a finger and pushed the doorbell. Immediately after its harsh grating ring came the sound of boots on the hardwood floor.
The door opened, and Grange smiled at her. “Happy Thanksgiving, Miss Foster.”
She gave him a nervous grin in return. “It’s Nina, remember?”
“Of course. Nina. Come in.” He stepped back, and she walked into the hallway. Everything gleamed the way she remembered it. Even Grange, who apparently had polished his boots and ironed his shirt.
Wow! Was she the first visitor they’d had?
She handed him the wine. “Some holiday cheer.”
“Blake mentioned you’d be bringing it. And it’s even chilled. I’ll pour some and bring in the glasses.”
He helped her out of her jacket, hanging it on an old-fashioned coat rack, and indicated a small table where she could leave her purse. The scents of cinnamon and pumpkin and melted chocolate overlaid with the aromatic scent of cedar tantalized her nose.
“You’ve been cooking again,” she guessed.
“You might say it’s my hobby.” He flashed a quick grin then lifted his hand, a dark navy silk scarf dangling from his fingers. His smile faded into a look of apology. “Sorry about this.”
“It’s okay. I’m not sure why it’s necessary, but I agreed so…no problem.”
He placed the smooth material across her eyes, and she shivered as she realized it felt exactly as it had in her dreams.