Page 3 of Touch My Shelves

Is that…an eight-pack?

I explore a bit further. Yes, indeedy, it is an eight-pack in all its bulgy glory. Damn, I need sex. I’ve only been with a few guys and sadly the experiences with them were lackluster. No fireworks. No sparks.

Several things register all at once. Tingles everywhere. I’m practically fondling the obviously male chest I ran into and he smells all sweaty and musky, which should repulse me, but instead I find it highly pleasing. Highly. Pleasing. In a sexual, I want to climb him kinda way.

Just like in one of the hot romance novels I am forever reading, I slowly look up at him through my lashes and expect to find a chiseled chin, strong Grecian nose, and windswept dark hair, while piercing, stormy gray eyes look lustfully down at me like he wants to eat me. Which he will. Several times, in fact, before the night is over.

Yeah, that’s not what happens. I need to abridge his adoring look to one of irritation and anger. Even in the low light with shadows playing over his face, I have no problem seeing—and feeling—his ire.

“What the hell are you doing? Watch where you’re going.”

His domineering voice and steely blue eyes have my panties wet in an instant. I audibly swallow, hoping my tongue doesn’t go down with my saliva.

His supple, firm lips move, but I can’t get his angry retort to match up with the desire pinging throughout my body.

This has to be a dream, right?

I’m already upstairs, asleep in my antique brass bed, and having the most amazing dream. I need to revise the music that’s playing, though, because “Lightning Bolt” by Jake Bugg just isn’t fitting the intense sexy vibe I have going with the scene.

My arm inches up his chest until I cup his cheek in my palm and brush my thumb over his lips. His scruffy beard tickles my palm, but his lips are soft and squishy. “Shhh,” I caution my dreamy man with a finger over his mouth, which due to my uncoordinated movements almost ends up in his nostril.

“Just go with it,” I say in my sexiest Jessica Rabbit voice.

The anger on his face changes to confusion. His brows pull together. “Go with what?” he asks in a gravelly voice.

I would love to hear him say, “Drop the panties, sit on my face.” Or “This is mine,” as he manhandles my personal area. Damn, I need this dream to be real.

I run my fingers up the side of his face and delve into his hair, knocking his cap off as I explain. “My dream. We’re going to kiss and then you’re going to press my back against the side of the building and have your wicked way with me. Don’t worry. I won’t feel the rough brick gouging into my skin because I’ll be consumed with your kiss. Oh, and just FYI, it’s a front clasp. You know, don’t want you struggling.”

His eyes twinkle with amusement when he replies, “Is that right?”

“Hmmm.” I grin and lick my lips as I stretch up on my toes. My hand behind his head pulls his lips nearer. I close my eyes and purse my lips, waiting for the fireworks to explode at first contact. Waiting…

One eye pops open and I find him staring at me intently.

“I usually at least know the name of the woman I’m about to deflower.”

Deflower! Oh, my God, could this dream get any better?

My fingers play with the damp hair at the back of his neck. I’m not totally grossed out with the sweaty hair, but this is dream Poppy. “Oh, that’s a good one. But I was deflowered in a barn my senior year of high school, so all’s good.”

I pat him on the chest and then get back into character. I snap my eyes closed and then open them again when I remember. “You can call me Po…” I start to reply with my name, but Poppy doesn’t sound like a woman who would have hot, sweaty sex with a stranger against the side of a building, so I change it to, “Paulina. And you are…”

“Brax.”

My lips and nose scrunch in disapproval as I shake my head. That just won’t do. “No. That sounds too made up. Let’s go with Theodore, Theo for short. And if you can manage a halfway decent British accent, that would be swell.”

Did I just say swell?

He chuckles and my clit warms to the sound. This is going to be so good. I close my eyes yet again and send a prayer to the universe. “Puhleeze don’t let me wake up before I come and, if it’s not too much to ask, can he please know how to find my clit?”

Deep chuckling brushes past my ears and I frown. Why is he laughing? Did I say that out loud?

“Where do you live?” Dream Theo asks.

Again my eyes pop open too quickly, making my head spin. I’m getting frustrated it’s taking so long to get to the good parts. I huff and answer, “Upstairs.”

I dangle the key in front of his face and an idea hits me. “Would you rather ravish me in a bed? It would make sitting on your face easier,” I offer courteously. That’s me, considerate to a fault.

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