STAIRWAY TO MY DREAM LOVER. . .as told by Tess

Ever since I was old enough to notice that guys aren’t always a pain in the ass, I’ve heard about their big, bad wet dreams. Like that’s something women should aspire to, if only they could.

Get real. When I’m conked out, my libido isn’t exactly snoring. And the proof of that was the night of the infamous poker game at my dad’s house (Chapter Eleven in Close to Perfect for those of you who haven’t read it as yet), when I had the mother of all erotic dreams. It started when Josh was driving us back to his house. I was asleep in the passenger seat of his car and my mind was right back to where it had been the first night I came to his place. At that time I started imagining (some might call it hallucinating) about the original couple that had lived there in the late eighteen-hundreds. It’s all in Chapter Four of Close to Perfect, but I’ll give you a little peek:

Ahead was a wide stairway leading to the second floor, the master bedroom.

Tess went to that first step. She looked up. The landing was washed in the day’s waning light, the doors closed.

Even so, her mind saw a room dominated by a four-poster with lacy linens, mosquito netting, and a fireplace for cool nights.

Had that night, more than a century ago, been sultry and still as the master carried his new bride up these stairs to his room? Tess believed it was. She imagined that man lowering his wife to her feet, so that he might open the French doors leading to the veranda. Fragrant, moist air would have wafted inside. Faint voices of the workers would have been heard.

Not that it mattered. Those men would hardly have dared to come near this house while the master was enjoying his bride.

But she would have known those workers were outside, and that would have added another layer of tension to this night.

Tess imagined the questions running through that woman’s mind. Would they hear her moans as her husband aroused her? Would they know she was naked, her flesh bared to a man who would use her as he willed?

Would they guess when his mouth suckled one of her nipples, while his long fingers so aptly invaded her, driving deep to prepare her for more? That moment when she would no longer be a girl, but a woman. That moment when her husband finally mounted her.

Would she spread her legs widely then; would her gaze be on this man who was muscled and hard above her, while the featherbed was achingly soft below?

Did she gasp as he finally entered, breaking through any barrier that kept them separated, that stopped her from being his?

Did her body at last dance with her husband’s as she wrapped her legs around his lean hips, and threw back her head, then opened her mouth as she cried out again and again and –

You get the picture. That night as Josh carried me from his car and across the front porch of the house and up the stairway to my bedroom, he and I were starring in that dream that would’ve made a triple X-rated film seem downright tame. There was bondage (he did me this time, unlike the time I did him with my cuffs on his yacht in Chapter Fifteen), voyeurism (the servants barged in wanting to ask the master something or at least that’s what they claimed in my dream) and there was even some spanking (Josh is laughing now).

The dream was hot, to say the least. And it gave me some very good ideas that I tried out when Josh and I got back together at the end of Close to Perfect. (And here you thought we stayed at my dad’s house for another round of poker? No freaking way.)

Next time we’ll both tell you what happened after our official story ended and the fun really began.

(Image by IMSI)