Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Wednesday, hump day for sure. I was lying there, basking in the afterglow of what I thought was the best sex I’d ever had, and it was all a dream.
I thought I must have a ghost in the apartment, or maybe it was the late-night cheesesteak hoagie, fried chicken wings, french fries, and double-thick chocolate milkshake I had at around eleven last night.
Whatever it was, I am in heaven and wanting some more, but I can’t seem to get back to sleep.
I need to find my way back into the dreamworld where that good-looking buck of a man had my legs up on his shoulders and his head down between my legs while his tongue—which was as long as a human arm—was up inside me, touching places I didn’t know existed!
And after that he bathed me! BATHED ME!
Not a shower, not a soak in the tub, but a real sensual bath complete with bubbles, silky oils, a soft sponge, his magical hands, and Jill Scott crooning in the background.
This man, this god, lifted my big ole ass out of the bed. Lifted me! And carried me to a clawfoot tub that was six feet long and four feet wide and lowered me into water that was the perfect temperature and felt like silk.
“Ease back, baby,” he whispered. “Make room,” he said, and so I did by spreading my legs wide enough for his massive body to slip comfortably in between them.
He climbed in, his dark skin already glistening as he plunged his hand beneath the water and slowly searched for the sponge. His fingers, feather soft, brushed against my thighs and then the silky wet hairs of my pussy as he hunted, finally locating the sponge.
“Lean back,” he whispered, and I did, and he lifted the sponge into the air and squeezed it until every last drop of water beaded on my breasts and pooled in the space beneath my throat. He bent his head and licked me dry.
It went on like that forever, until he said, “May I?”
And I heard myself say, “Yes, you may.”
Slowly he moved himself over me so that we lined up almost perfectly. He kissed me deeply, and I found myself unable to resist the sweet taste of his probing tongue.
We kissed for a long time, while his hands caressed my breasts and toyed with the lobes of my ears.
When his penis brushed against my thigh, it created music beneath the warm, sudsy water.
“Please,” I muttered and gripped his waist, pulling him closer.
He slid into me then, and I arched my back to accommodate him.
We moved in perfect harmony and I heard myself whisper in his ear, “I love you.”
And he whispered back, “I love you more.”
And that’s when some fucking drunk in a Cadillac jumped the curb outside my window and slammed into the streetlamp, dragging me from the best wet dream I’d had in years!
Damn!
My eyes flew open and I saw the cracked ceiling of my bedroom and heard the static drawl of my television. I knew it was all a dream and could have cried right there from the disappointment.
“Shit!” I mumbled to myself as I climbed out of bed, slipped my feet into my worn slippers, and padded out to the kitchen.
I clicked on the light and swung open the freezer door to examine what I had left to munch on.
Well, there were my good friends Ben and Jerry, and, look, they’d brought Rocky Road along with them!
I plucked the pint of ice cream from the freezer shelf, grabbed a spoon, and settled myself down at the kitchen table and began to eat. The container was only half full, so in six bites everything was gone.
I tossed the container aside and reached for my pack of Newports. Lighting one, I inhaled deeply as I stared through the darkness and tried to recall my dream lover.