“Get rid of your pants, dream darling,” Nash commands. I do it because I want them gone just as much as he does. In seconds, I’m sitting naked in front of Nash, his jean-clad legs on either side of mine. I push my ass against his thick, firm length. He bites my neck gently, causing me to cry out.
“It’s your turn this time,” he murmurs in my ears. “The professor can play along if he wants to. It really looks like he wants to.” My eyes fly open. Nash isn’t lying. Reece is hard; his dress pants strain with the shape of his arousal. A guttural groan leaves me as he spreads his legs. It isn’t intentional. I think he’s just giving himself room, but it reveals the outline of his cock against his inner thigh, rigid through the soft cloth.
Nash bites my neck again, hard enough it might leave a mark if we were awake. His hand curls around my breast, his palm rubbing over my taut nipple. The friction steals my breath, especially when his other palm widens across my abdomen and his fingers dip toward the curls covering my mound. My pussy is already swollen, my lips clearly visible, especially with my legs spread so wide. When his fingers start to trail downward, I almost close my legs, but Nash brings his calves over mine, hooking them in place. It’s not tight. I feel like I could get loose, but I don’t want to.
His fingers trail slowly through my curls, sliding to either side of my clit but not touching it. When they coast lower, they encounter the hot wetness he’s created. His hips thrust against my ass, probably involuntarily.
“You’re so wet. Isn’t she, Professor?”
Reece bobs his head jerkily, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing. His gray-blue eyes fasten on the juncture between my thighs and his hands grip the arms of the chair so tightly, I worry it might break.
“Wouldn’t you like to see him touch himself?” Nash whispers in my ear. I nod, my hair bouncing against my face and my nipples tightening almost to the point of pain. I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
“Take off your pants, Reece,” I command, but I don’t disappear them. I let him think about it and wait while he unzips them slowly. I forget how to breathe as he grasps his cock at the base, his stare ravaging every visible part of my body.
Nash’s fingers slide between my folds at the same time, and I almost come right there. I’ve forgotten this is a dream because this is what I wish for my life - if I could actually make it work. But who could make something like this work? I’m lucky I have the dreams to satisfy my crazy urges.
“So wet and ready,” Nash murmurs again as his fingers continue to play my nipple and tease my clit. He coats one finger in my wetness and slides it upward, pressing against the nub with enough pressure that I start squirming in his arms. When I can’t take it anymore, he moves his finger back down and thrusts it inside me. My pussy clamps around him, eager to feel something inside me. If it’s not the thick cock against my ass or the one in front of me, I’ll take the fingers.
Reece’s hand slides up and down his hard length slowly, rhythmically, as Nash plays my body like an instrument, toying with, and then edging away from my clit when I think I’m close. My climax repeatedly rises inside me, the likes of which I’ve never felt before – not even with the help of porn and a vibrator. These men are like crack to me. I want them both.
“Please, Nash,” I whimper as my ass continues to grind against the man behind me and I hold the gaze of the man in front of me. Nash’s breath is ragged in my ear. His teeth occasionally graze my neck, driving the pleasure higher. Reece watches us, sweat breaking out on his brow as he holds off his own orgasm. I want to sit forward and take him in my mouth while Nash drives into me from behind.
Nash groans and Reece’s hand tightens on his cock, pre-cum beading its tip, and I realize I said those words aloud.
“Fuck,” Reece swears. The word on my calm professor’s lips makes me shudder in pleasure.
“Next time, darling,” Nash drawls in my ear. He shoves two fingers inside me while his thumb flicks my clit, and I can’t hold off any longer. I come, shattering with the force of the climax he built over and over. I force my eyes to stay open, eager to see Reece lose it, and he does. He spurts all over his leg, his head thrown back and his groans vibrating through my body. God, he’s hot.
Nash kisses the bites on my neck, and I close my eyes for just a second. When I reopen them, they’re gone.
I’m awake, and I’m alone.
I WENT BACK to sleep after I woke up alone, too sad to actually get up and do something. The dream lingers, and I find myself wanting them – actually wanting the men I imagine in my dreams. But the dreams are my ideal version of them. Would Nash actually let Reece watch? Would they both be so into me in real life? So far, I haven’t gotten any indication besides that one random request from Nash.
And what about Devon? I can’t stop thinking about him. Sometimes I think about him in the same positions as my other dream men. Other times, I worry. What if he tells Blain where I am?
I shiver as I lie there, fear making me feel something other than desire for the first time in a while. I haven’t felt much since my parents died. No, we weren’t close, but I’m the reason they killed themselves.
I get out of bed, feeling my muscles drag like I have the flu, but I don’t think I’m sick. I’ve seen this happen before; I’ve felt this. My parents would get like this after they both lost a job - a general apathy sucking all the physical and mental energy from them. I’m certain they decided to give up after one of those episodes – after they found out what Blain did to me. They beat themselves up for not knowing what was happening to their only child right in front of them. They’d invited him into our house; we’d have him over for supper after church on Sundays – even though neither Blain nor I attended service and my parents only did it to halt small town rumors. But Blain was like that. He could charm an old lady out of her pocketbook and leave her thinking she’d done a good deed.
I sit on the edge of the chair that Reece sat on in my dream, my insides heating again as I remember the images. These dreams don’t fade. They’re the only thing keeping me from feeling nothing, from caring about nothing. But what does it matter? It’s a fantasy – something I’ve created in my mind.
I’m still trying to decide whether I want to get dressed and go to class or work when there’s a knock on the door at the same time as my phone dings with a text. I sigh. It’s probably Nash at the door, looking for the rent I don’t have.
8
NASH
Holy fuck. That was the hottest dream I’ve ever had. My cock is still hard when I’m thrust rather harshly from one of the best sexual experiences of my life – dream or not. I slide my hand to my aching dick, and it only takes a couple pulls for me to come all over myself.
I wish it were Aislynn’s small, smooth hands instead of my own. I’ve been the only one to get myself off for a while – except that other dream where I woke up with the sheets wet like I was a randy teenager again. I’d always thought the college girl was cute, but I have to be at least ten years older than her. The age difference stopped bothering me after the first dream. I have to have her. I have to see if she can be that demanding and hot in bed because I know no other woman is going to measure up until I find out.
I didn’t expect it from Aislynn. She’s shy. I never see her with any friends. She used to smile before she left for her parents’ funeral. Now, I never see it anymore. I’ve found myself wanting to do more than just fuck her, which is strange for me. I swore I wouldn’t let another woman get close after I left for Afghanistan and came back to find my wife in bed with a stranger. The alcohol helped for a while. Now, I avoid both – liquor and women. But Aislynn is different. She’s a drug fueled by my dreams. It really isn’t fair to place the expectations of my subconscious on her, but something weird is happening here. After some of the shit I saw overseas, I don’t believe in black and white anymore. This world is more than we know. Some things are beyond our comprehension.
The book that I was reading before bed is
still half open by my head. I close it gingerly, hoping Aislynn won’t hate me for crinkling the spine just a little. Just like the first dream I shared with her, I don’t remember going to sleep or deciding to sleep. It seemed like I was pulled from the waking world right into the dream – which could have been dangerous if I’d been anywhere but my bed.
Two things hit me at the same time as the spray of the water from my shower as I step in. One is the professor. Is he real, like me? Does he remember the dreams? The other is what Aislynn said right before she kept me from asking more probing questions. Is someone after her?
I get ready for the day quickly before sitting down at the computer to order a more advanced security system for the house. I’ve meant to do it for a while because my tenants are mostly old ladies and single women, but any danger to Aislynn, real or not, is what finally prompts me. After that, I stare at my front door. I haven’t heard anyone leave yet this morning, and my apartment is right by the main entrance to all the other apartments.
I want to see her, to see if she gives any indication that what we had together was shared or if it’s all in my head. Am I finally going crazy? Post-traumatic stress manifesting in a bizarre manner? Everything within me, those instincts that protected me through mortar fire and blazing automatic machine guns, says I’m not.
Making a decision, I pick up the book I borrowed from her and walk to her apartment. I almost finished the entire book last night, but it’s not what I wanted. I wanted to know if there was a way people could share dreams, not interpret them. If I interpreted my dream, I would say I’m just horny and wouldn’t mind another guy watching. It’s an interesting look into my psyche, but I don’t think it’s just me that wanted that other guy there. To be honest, the idea doesn’t freak me out like I thought it might. After being cheated on, I realized the only way to have an honest relationship was to talk. If that’s what Aislynn wants, then she can have it – as long as she's not doing it behind my back.
I almost punch the wall I’m passing but stop myself just in time. I channel my anger into the gym and physical work, I remind myself, not the walls. The dreams are messing with my brain. I’m already thinking of Aislynn and me as a couple. She rejected my thinly veiled attempt to ask her out the other day. I thought I was too broken to have another girlfriend, and she’d said something similar. The ghosts in her past are just as real, maybe more, than mine.
My hand stops before knocking. The walls are paper-thin, something I couldn’t change without tearing down the old house, so it just has to be dealt with. I don’t mind it so much. When Ms. Castro’s husband came back and I heard her screaming, I taught him a lesson and talked to her about it. It’s her decision if she wants to be beaten on, but not in my house. I don’t tolerate that bullshit. Thankfully, she agreed and thanked me profusely for helping chase him away. She still cooks for me every Sunday. It’s the best food I ever get.
The paper-thin walls reveal to me that Aislynn is awake and moving around. I hear the chime of her cell phone right as I knock.
I’ve always loved her hair. It seems like it has a life of its own. This morning, it forms a cloud of dark, kinky curls around her face. Her face is paler than usual, though, and her blue eyes are haunted as they stare first at her cellphone and then at me as she opens the door.
“Something wrong?” I ask, barely biting off the darling endearment that I used in last night’s dream.
Aislynn’s full lips pull down into a pout. My treacherous body twitches even though she’s visibly upset. Still, I haven’t been able to get the vision of those plump lips wrapped around my cock out of my mind since the dream in the hotel room.
“My professor canceled class. He never does that. Not that I’m complaining, but…anyway, what’s up?’
She’s so adorably nervous, but I’m like a dog with a bone. “What’s your professor’s name? Why did he cancel?”
“It’s my advanced Theoretical Psych class, and I don’t know. The school just sent a general notice. Maybe he’s sick.” She shrugs, and I debate whether to push it, but I’ve probably got enough information to do some digging on my own without coming across as a nutcase. Her eyes flicker to the book in my hand – my supposed reason for checking on her that I had completely forgotten about.
“Did you bring my book back?”
“Yeah. I read most of it, but it wasn’t quite what I was looking for.” I look over her head at the apartment, but it’s as messy as it was yesterday – not clean like in the dream. I don’t know what that means.
“What are you looking for?” she asks, leaning against the open door with her cheek pressed against the side of it. My eyes trace her face and then travel up and down her body. Her curves are perfectly presented in the loose boxer shorts and t-shirt. When her nipples harden on my way back up, my cock rises to half-mast. I’ve seen that body naked – those fantastic tits and that full ass that I want to grab as I ram into her.
“Nash?”
I shake my head. I feel horrible. I used to be that way, but not anymore. I’m not a young buck trolling for women to fuck anymore. I’m older now. I want more, even though I’ve denied it for years because I thought I was too fucked-up to be able to take care of a woman.
“Sorry, I got distracted. I was looking for more information on whether dreams can transmit messages, not just be interpreted.”
Her blue eyes brighten with interest. “Messages? Like from your subconscious? That’s essentially what dreams are.”
I consider my words, not wanting her to think I’m crazy – even though I might be. “Do you think messages can be sent between people in dreams?”
She stares at me, her expression confused, nervous, and thoughtful. The scholar in her wants to know, and it’s sexy as fuck. “Maybe? It’s something we’ve briefly discussed in my theoretical Psych class, but I don’t know.”
I hold the book out between us. She takes it, her fingers trembling so slightly it’s almost invisible. “Do you dream, Aislynn?”
Her eyes widen, large pools of blue surrounded by that black cloud of hair. “Of course, I dream. Most people do.”
“What do you dream about?” I’m pushing my luck, but I have to ask.
She stares at me, her mouth half-open, before she shrugs and the mask of indifference settles over her face – the one she wears that tells the world she’s stopped caring. I’ve seen that look before. A lot of people get it when they’re fighting a war. They don’t want the world to think that they can still be hurt. Shortly after the apathy and indifference settle, they sometimes give up. I won’t let Aislynn give up. Dreamgirl or not, her light burns too bright to be extinguished. I know what she hides underneath that mask – she's a passionate woman who cares too much.
“I don’t remember,” she says in a hollow tone. I won't push her this time. She won’t be able to hide forever, but I’ll give her this moment.
“Ok, well sorry to bother you so early. Have a good day.”
And I back away before I can say something else to alienate myself. I feel her eyes on me until I reach the top of the staircase and hear her door close. I almost run back to my apartment and pull up the university directory. I don’t know whether to feel scared or excited when I find the professor of psychology – Reece Blacklow. And he looks just like the man in the dream. What the fuck do I do now?
9
AISLYNN
I’m trembling as I shut the door behind Nash and sit down at my computer desk. Is he trying to tell me something? What? Have I given away that I’ve been dreaming about him? And Professor Reece also called out sick, the first time he’s done so since I started classes with him three terms ago. The TA is going to teach the lesson, but I won’t go in if Reece isn’t there. I’ll use anything as an excuse not to go.
Instead, I nudge my desk to make my computer wake up. I have to go to work in a couple hours, but I really don’t want to.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type in the name Devon Gentry. I can still see his older
form in my mind – the way my dream turned him hot when he’s probably still some skinny guy with acne.
I try to wait patiently while the computer returns my results, but my leg is bouncing up and down, making my curls bounce too. I hated my hair as a kid, wishing my mother would help me find ways to tame it. She taught me a couple things before she told me to look it up myself. I became pretty good at researching stuff because my parents weren’t exactly the most intelligent or forthcoming. Sometimes, I wondered if I was adopted. I know I’m not, though. Certain things can make us act differently from what we are inside. Depression, mental illness, past trauma – they all steal our true identities and mold us into something different. Sometimes the outcome is better, but most of the time...
Devon has a linked-in profile which I ignore because they’re basically shit, but he also has a Facebook page. I click on it warily, and the air puffs from me in one whoosh when I see the exact image of the guy in my dream. He is good looking now; the glasses give him a sophisticated air. I quickly scan what’s revealed to the public – noting that he doesn’t have a current job listed, that Eden is his hometown, and he’s not married.
I sit back in my chair, biting my lip as my mind spins. I probably saw his picture somewhere and that’s how he ended up in my dream. I wanted someone from my hometown to apologize. I think everyone knew what was going on, but no one said a thing. Why didn’t anyone help me? I was confused; a little support could have released me from that relationship before it got as bad as it did.
I’m about ready to close the laptop when I see a picture further down. It’s his friends, and there’s Blain. My stomach turns. I think I might puke as the picture of my tormentor smiles at me from the computer. He’s older now, and life hasn’t been kind to him. His beard is patchy, he looks like he’s high or drunk, and he still has that same grin on his face – the one that says he thinks he can do anything and get away with it.
Leaving Eden Page 11