Leaving Eden

by Kelly A Walker et al.

  When he stops moving, I move lower, sliding my aching pussy across the top of his jeans where I feel him straining for me. He curses in a growl that urges me to get rid of all our clothing and sink him deep inside me without any more foreplay. But I’m enjoying this too much to move faster.

  He has a tattoo on his lowest rib, words in Latin. The letters are a twining picture, but I can’t interpret the message. My fingers trace it before my lips follow the same path, reverently, because I feel that this has some kind of symbolism for him to manifest it so clearly in my dream. He tenses for just a second but relaxes again when my lips move downwards toward his jeans.

  I could get rid of those jeans just as quickly as his shirt, but I don’t want to yet. I’m loving every second of this torture. His hands rise again as if to push my head where he wants it. I glance at him and curl my lips in a snarl, the primal part of me taking over as lust roars through my body. His hands fly above his head and rest there, unrestrained but unmovable.

  “Don’t I get a safe word?” he gasps as he tries to move his hands from the position I’ve placed them in.

  I shrug. “Sure, if it makes your dream self feel better. What’s your safeword?”

  “Vanilla,” he answers instantly – so fast it makes me frown.

  “Why vanilla?”

  “Because that’s what you smell like, even under the stink of greasy fries and overpriced diner food.”

  Okay, that’s random for my dream brain, but I’ll go with it. I nod. “Vanilla is your safeword.” I look pointedly at his hands. “Are you going to use it?”

  His lips curl into a devilish smirk as he studies me poised over the bulge in his pants. “Not yet.”

  “Good.” With a growl, I rip open the button and unzip his jeans, revealing what I’d guessed was an amazing cock. I wasn’t wrong. Tired of struggling with his pants, I make all his clothes disappear, and he grunts with the surprise of his sudden nudity.

  “Seems like you should lose some clothing too,” he comments almost absently. I’m expecting him to play me, so when I spot the serious look on his face, I pull my shirt over my head. I didn’t even know what I was wearing, and it doesn’t matter, but I don’t have a bra on underneath. His eyes devour the revealed flesh. I feel beautiful at that moment, being appraised by a dream god.

  “You have beautiful tits,” he murmurs. His hands twitch as if he wants to reach out and touch me, but I won’t let him. Not yet. Hopefully, I have time to do whatever I want with him, and then he can touch me. First, I want to taste him.

  His hard cock stands straight up, thick and dripping already. My tongue catches the drop of cum on the tip, stroking over the head once, twice. His hips buck on the bed as he tries to push further into my mouth, but I pull back, restraining a smile. If his dream self is this demanding, I can only picture what he’s like in real life.

  I take my time, my fingers exploring before I tip my head and lick up the smooth length of his cock. He’s big, and I can’t wait to sink him inside me. My mouth goes first though, my lips closing over the tip and sliding down so slowly every muscle in his body flexes as he holds himself still. When I’ve reached as far as I can go, I adjust my angle and take him deeper until my lips are being tickled by the curls at the base of his shaft. I slide back up just as slowly, squeezing with my mouth as I go.

  Muffled curses escape him as I do it again, increasing my tempo. God, I love having this much power, having control like this. I’d never have the guts in real life, and this particular man wouldn’t let me. But now? I have him. He’s mine.

  “Fuck, Aiz.” He nearly shouts my name as his cock jumps in my mouth and my lips grip him. I want him to come now. There’ll be time enough for more, and dream men don’t have problems getting hard over and over. My fingers tighten around the base of his cock as my lips relentlessly move up and down. My tongue swipes the length and tip intermittently until he’s thrusting into me, nearly shoving his cock down my throat. He’s fucking my mouth, and I love it. His groans vibrate through my body as his muscles tense and his cock pulses with his release. His cum tastes like that dark liquor too, and I suck down every drop.

  When he’s finally spent, I pull myself up and evaluate him, releasing his hands as an afterthought. He moves more quickly than I expected. He’s suddenly rolling me over, kneeling between my legs, and pinning my hands above my head. His eyes stare deep into mine as his breath heaves from his chest.

  “What the fuck was that?” he asks quietly.

  I arch an eyebrow at him. “An orgasm? I hope? I’m sure you’ve felt one before.”

  He shakes his head just slightly, his eyes clouding as they rove my face and my naked chest. I give him his moment of control, planning on taking it back. “Not like that,” he whispers almost reverently. His eyes sparkle as they land on my wrists held between his strong hands.

  “Is it my turn now?” he asks, shifting so that I can feel the hard length of his renewed erection pressing against my thigh. Heat courses through me – almost painful. My pussy renews its aching throb as my nipples tighten. But I shake my head.

  “Not yet,” I whisper. I plan on twisting him around again so I can slide all that hot length inside me and ride him like I’ve been planning this whole time, but a shrill noise interrupts my plans.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?” He can’t hear the noise, of course. This is my dream, and that’s my alarm.

  I pick my head up and give him a peck on the lips. “Next time.” He and the hotel room disappear until there’s nothing but my lumpy mattress on the floor, a pile of dirty laundry, and my cell phone shrieking in my ear.

  “Fuck,” I mutter again, glaring at the time. No matter how long I think I have, it’s never enough. I’m late already. I want to stay in bed and deal with my lingering, unsatisfied desire, but I have to follow through with the appointment I made. I press a hand against my clit, trying to still the aching need, but it doesn't disappear.

  I’m so tempted to go back to sleep. With men like that in my dreams, I’m not sure I ever want to get out of bed again.

  4

  AISLYNN

  Even though I try to hurry, it still takes forever to get ready. My stomach is growling, but all my food has spoiled. All my clothes are dirty, and I have to dig into the piles for something that at least smells clean. My hair is still wet when I finally run out of my apartment door, only to stop short once I fly down the stairs.

  Nash is leaning against the small bank of mailboxes, staring at his phone, when I enter the foyer. Just seeing him makes desire curl low in my belly, and I can’t help but run my eyes up and down his powerful frame, astonished by how accurate my mind made him in my dream. I expect him to offer his usual indifferent greeting – not mean, but not engaging either. Instead, he lifts his head and stares at me. Those hazel eyes feel like they’re stripping me naked.

  Heat crawls into my cheeks, and I hurry past him with a mumbled good morning. My hand is gripping the doorknob when his deep voice shivers over my shoulder.

  “In a hurry?”

  My heart starts beating faster. I’m tempted to run outside, but I shouldn’t be a bitch just because I had a sex dream about him. It’s not his fault. I force a shrug. “I’m late for a meeting.”

  He seems to consider this a moment. “Want a ride?”

  “What?” My voice comes out as an embarrassing squeak. My gaze flies to the parking lot. “On that?”

  I don’t actually see him move, but I can feel the heat pouring off him as his demanding presence crowds me against the door.

  “I have a car too. It’s in the garage.”

  “Hmmm.” I knew that, I’d just forgotten for a moment. I start to shake my head, but a quick glance at my watch makes me reconsider. If I wait for the bus, I might miss the entire appointment. If I walk, I’ll arrive sweaty and dirty with my hair plastered to me. “Really, you don’t have to,” I start. I trust Nash in some ways – or at least trust him to the point where I’m sure he won’t d
rag me off under a bridge somewhere. I don’t know him that well, but I’ve lived in his building for the entire school year. I’ve seen him rescue kittens out of the tall tree in front of the house and threaten the drunk guys that get too close from the bar down the road. But I still don’t want to put him out.

  “I offered,” he says simply. I swear I hear him inhale like he’s sniffing my hair.

  Finally, I shrug. Anything to get away from this awkward moment where I want to turn and push him against the wall. I seriously doubt he’d let me do such a thing when we’re not in my dream. I don’t have any power out here, and there’s no reason for him to actually be attracted to me.

  “Fine,” I say, “but no bike.” My body can’t handle being pressed up against him after that dream. I don’t want to spend the whole way to campus rubbing up against him like a dog humping his back.

  His smile doesn’t do anything to stall my rising heart rate as he pulls keys out of his pocket like he was waiting for permission. I try not to look too deeply into it. I’ve seen him give the older woman who lives on the first floor a ride a couple times. He’s also helped me carry my trash and groceries before. He leads me through the small apartment office to a door which leads to a garage. I’ve never been in here. Looking around, it appears to be just where he keeps all the stuff he uses for maintenance. There are two units in the building that he’s still working on getting up to code.

  The car is an older SUV. It’s seen better days, but it’s nicer than the last vehicle I owned. There are stickers in the back window, a reminder that he used to be in the military. I don’t know if he finished his time or if he was discharged, but he has the look of someone who’s seen things they can never forget. His need for control might also stem from his time in the service.

  Nash clears his throat behind me, and I jump, realizing I’m blocking the way down the short concrete steps. I mutter an apology and hurry to the right side of the vehicle, my cheeks burning. When he slides his bulk into the driver’s seat, he seems to steal all the air inside the cab. The car is clean, but I’d expect nothing less from the guy who keeps the best-kept house in the neighborhood. I cringe as I think about my apartment and how messy it is.

  “What was that look for?” he asks as he starts the car.

  “What look?” He just stares at me. Fuck. He’s not letting me off the hook. I fidget with my hair, pulling it over my shoulder and trying to control the wayward curls in a loose braid. “I was just thinking about how I need to clean my apartment. It’s probably the messiest place in the house. My car was never this clean,” I add as a way to link my completely random thoughts. The car smells like some kind of air freshener – pine perhaps, but he smells like soap – just fresh.

  “I’m sure the Castro’s apartment is the messiest,” he says conversationally as the garage door opens behind us and he maneuvers the truck past his motorcycle. He puts his arm behind my seat and leans over that shoulder to see while he’s reversing, and my breath gets caught in my throat as I realize how close he is. Images from my dream rush back into my mind, and I’m painfully aware of how my stupid alarm interrupted us.

  “You were in the military?” I ask quickly, needing anything to distract me. It does the job of distracting him as well. He turns away from me and pulls the vehicle onto the road.

  “Yep. I did my time.” His voice definitely doesn’t invite further conversation, so I just nod and play with the hole in my backpack. Pretty soon I’m going to need a new one, but I won’t be able to afford it. It’s in danger of popping open at any time.

  He’s quiet for several minutes. We aren’t far from the campus. I used to walk all the time, and it was one of the reasons I chose this apartment. But I just never have the energy, or time, anymore. I’m always sleeping in late or too tired to walk, so I take the bus instead. Thankfully, it will only take a couple minutes to get there. Being this close to Nash is making me nervous.

  “You don’t go out much, do you?” he asks abruptly.

  “Not much reason to. I don’t really drink.” I shrug. No reason to go into it. He’s not asking for my life story, probably just trying to make polite conversation with my lame ass.

  “I don’t either,” he says, surprising me.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Go out or drink?”

  “Either,” he replies with a shrug. I suppose the lack of substance use fits his controlling tendencies, but a man like him has to get laid often. I wonder if he has a couple booty calls stashed away.

  “Here is fine.” I point to the road next to the psych building, eager to get out of the vehicle. It feels awkward and charged as if something changed in him since last night. I’m sure I’m just imagining it though. I’m good at that.

  He pulls the truck over. I fumble for the handle, but his voice stops me. “Would you like to go out sometime – with me?” He almost sounds shy, but that can’t be the case. He’s not a nervous man.

  The question surprises me so much that I look back at him as I’m halfway out of the car. “You? Want to go out with me?”

  Confusion lights his eyes. “Why does that surprise you so much?”

  I shrug. Isn’t it obvious? “Because you’re you…” I make a vague gesture to all of the muscles and his ruggedly handsome face and then point to my frumpy, makeup-less self. “And I’m me.”

  His hand snakes out and catches mine where it’s poised on his dash to lower myself the rest of the way to the road. “What exactly does that mean?”

  I turn my head to look at him out of the corner of my eye. “I’m just…” I start and then stop. I know my lack of confidence isn’t attractive, but it’s something I’ve been dealing with since my last, horrible relationship. Every time I think of having faith in myself, Blain’s voice echoes in my head as if it were my own subconscious. “I’m kinda broken,” I mutter as I finish sliding out of the truck. Nash stares at me, his hazel eyes serious. He's probably thinking of an acceptable reply to my ridiculous, over-informative admission, but I don't want to hear it.

  “Thanks for the ride!” I manage to get out before I shut the door. It’s not like I won’t see him again, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing as I walk away from him. It was so much easier in my dream.

  5

  AISLYNN

  Thoughts of Nash disappear as I prepare to speak with Reece’s colleague. Dr. Gallus keeps an office on campus. He’s listed as an adjunct professor, clinical psychiatrist, and interim guidance counselor. I didn’t think they even had those in college. If I ever finish my schooling, I’ll have the option to do something like he does – at a lower level since I didn’t go to med school. At the moment, I can’t imagine myself actually finishing, though, so I push the thought away. I have to get through school before I can make any decisions.

  The psychiatrist’s office is nicer than any faculty office I’ve ever been in. It’s carpeted, and comfortable couches are positioned parallel to each other. I barely hide a yawn looking at them as the door opens and a masculine voice tells me to enter. The doctor is a plain-looking man about Reece’s age. I can see them hanging out together. He has a friendly smile when he turns to greet me.

  “Aislynn, welcome. I’m Dr. Gallus. I’ve just been looking over your academic file.” He moves back to the desk and turns his back to me to pick up a folder.

  I yawn again as he takes a seat across from me, trying to stay awake. Why am I always so exhausted?

  “Tired?” he asks, and my eyes fly up to see him studying me. His eyes are brown, just like his hair.

  I open my mouth but can’t remember the question. “What?” I ask stupidly, inwardly cursing my horrible first impression. I’ll be lucky to leave here without a prescription.

  Reece’s friend looks slightly amused, which is better than irritated. “I asked if you were tired.”

  I shrug. “A little. It seems like I always am.”

  Dr. Gallus sets the folder down on the table between us as I sink back into the cushions, wishing I could sleep righ
t there. It’s very comfortable. “Professor Blacklow is concerned you might be dealing with some situational depression considering how your participation and attendance has suffered recently. That can make you feel tired.”

  I shrug again. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I am a psych grad student, after all. “Maybe I am, but I won’t take drugs. I just need to get through this term, and then I can focus on working over the summer. I think that will take some pressure off me.”

  “Do you want to talk about your parents' deaths?” he asks slowly, likely thinking it’s a hot topic for me. It’s not really, though. I wasn’t even that surprised.

  “Not much to say,” I reply on a long exhalation. “They died. They’re gone.”

  “Were you close to them?”

  I barely stop myself from shrugging again. Sometimes, I feel like my shoulders are going to pop out from all the work I give them. “Not in later years. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever been emotionally close to them, but it got worse in high school. We never really made up before I left for college.”

  “Did something happen in high school that caused the rift?”

  I play with the hole in my backpack again. This is the hot topic button. “Professor Blacklow said we could just talk about what’s going on right now?”

  Dr. Gallus takes a deep breath. He has that look about him – that look that says he really wants to help. Unfortunately, some well-meaning doctors sometimes only make things worse. I can’t handle him dissecting my psyche right now. I’m already hanging by a thread.

  “For now," he relents. "So, how are you sleeping? Dr. Blacklow says you have an interest in dreams. Do you dream when you sleep?”

  My cheeks flame before I can stop them. “Yeah, I dream. I sleep fine. There aren’t any problems there.”

  “What do you dream about?”

  “Stuff,” I say, not willing to reveal that my best dreams involve naked men and sex. I really don’t need another diagnosis, and I can’t bear the information getting back to Reece. There is confidentiality and all that, but I know that doctors gossip.