Dream Lover

I wake up wet; a sheen of sweat glistens on my skin and my clit throbs aching for release. I shake myself awake and it dawns on me that I want you just as much as I did ten years ago. Ten years...has it really been that long? I remember every detail with vivid intensity, although it doesn't make any sense. I've never dreamt about you, at least not a dream with any sort of conclusion. This was different. My dreams are often detailed and vibrant, but I rarely remember them; I recall everything: your voice, your touch, your taste.

It begins innocently; somehow we're in the same place at the same time: a hockey game, Stanley Cup playoffs, box seats courtesy of a promoter friend of yours. We're not even alone, although by the end of it we may as well have been. Most of the scene is a blur, except for the part that matters most. The part that has me waking unfulfilled and yearning for gratification. We're catching up: it's been years since I've seen you and something between us has changed. Nothing tangible, just a vibe, a charged air of awareness, a sense of what if? It's the end of the second period and I can't sit beside you on the leather sofa anymore. The inches between us feel electric and being so near you without touching you makes me restless.

I get up to grab a drink, but really just to take a step back. I've always known that if given the chance I wouldn't hesitate but I never expected the opportunity to be right in front of me. I walk to the bar at the back of the box and grab some ice from the cooler of beer, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling the cube melt against my burning skin. Your friends are busy discussing the game and you get up and come stand beside me. I grab a pretzel from the bowl on the bar and offer it to you. You lean down to take it between your teeth and your hand comes up to rest on my waist. My fingers touch your cheek; both caresses linger just a bit too long and in that moment, everything changes.

The noise of the crowd dims, the lights become hazy, nothing filters through my senses except the touch of your skin against mine. I don't think either of us says anything, or if we do it doesn't register. All I remember is every kiss, every caress, every moment of pleasure. Both your hands are at my hips, lifting me up onto the bar my back towards the game that's about to continue. No one notices as your head leans over my neck and you lips brush against my racing pulse, your hands slip under my shirt, gliding over my back as your lips and tongue trail down my neck. I tangle my fingers in your hair, halting your progress and bring your lips to mine.

It isn't even really a kiss, just a featherlight sweep, barley touching, but your fingers dig into my hips and your grip threatens to crush my bones; in that instant we both know it's too late. Lips part, tongues touch, teeth scrape. My legs wrap around you and your hands move under my bra. Rough fingers brush against sensitized skin and I gasp. You look at me and smile, as if to say "I've only just begun." My hands travel down your back, nails leaving marks against slick skin, my fingers grip you through your jeans. Two can play this game. Button undone, zipper down, flesh meets flesh. I look at you and your eyes narrow as I begin to stroke; it's my turn to smirk. Your eyes close, but your hands tease. Your head bends over my neck as you flick open my shirt and free my breasts; your tongue sweeps over heated skin, then your lips begin sucking on the peaked nipples. Both of us are aware of our breathing becoming short and labored but we're not concerned about the crowd. I squeeze, you bite, my hands shift rhythm, your tongue changes direction. Your fingers tug at my pants, sliding them off and your fingers circle my clit before you push one, then two into the tight sheath. I bite my lip, lest I cry out and distract your friends from the game. Both our hands are busy now, as if competing for the big prize; you win and I shudder. You bring up your fingers, offering the dewy digits and I suck on them as if you've shared some rare delicacy.

You pull me closer, forehead resting against mine as I guide you towards me, the tip of your shaft barely penetrating. Unwilling to be rushed, you push inch by slow inch, pausing to watch my eyes flutter with every movement, as if you know when my body is ready to take more, until finally you stop and look at me and wink; I start to roll my eyes and shake my head, but you grab my chin, holding my gaze: "I want to watch." Slow, long, hard, our eyes locked, while our bodies move in tandem. Your hands grip my ass, while my legs pull you closer, as if we're afraid if we let go the ride will end.

The game ends, so does the ride; a final thrust of the hips, fingers digging into strong shoulders, teeth biting into delicate flesh, a low moan, a satisfied sigh. I brush the hair from your face, as your stroke the back of my neck; no words suffice.

I fling off the blanket and reach into my bedside table, my body demands satisfaction as I think to myself: "serves me right for reading erotica before bed..."

© Briar Rose