Page 83 of Give & Take

In the dream, I told Raph all the dirty things I wanted to do, that I’d been too scared to tell him before. I told him I wanted him to watch me getting changed through my window. I wanted to know he was getting turned on looking at me. I wanted to see him unravel through the glass. To stroke himself as he watched me.

As the dream progressed, we were doing other things. He had me on my back, his thighs next to my face.

Holy shit.I begged him to let me suck his cock.

I brush my hands over my breasts, exposing them to the cool morning air.

I open my mouth as if he’s right there.

Me, loving that. I’ve never loved giving blow jobs. I’ve always felt demeaned by them. And yet there I wasbegging for it. As he thrust himself in my mouth, cupping the back of my head, he told me I was his dirty girl.

His perfect dirty girl.

Ilovedit.

Now, I let one hand roam low, gliding over my pubic bone.

I know why the sex in the dream was so incredibly intense.

It was because despite what I told him last night, Ididtrusthim. I trusted him in the dream like I was handing him my whole beating heart, trusting him to keep it safe. And that surrendering, I discover too late, is apparently my personal aphrodisiac.

When I dip my hand into my panties, I’m wet.

I could really have him. I could, right now, reenact that dream. Raph would be game. He’s made no secret of that.

The thought sends a frisson of need through me so powerful I find myself sitting up, panting, then swinging my legs out of bed, a wrestling match going on inside me between my head and my body.

My heart and my…other parts.

I lie to myself. I tell myself we can fool around and this can still be innocent.

But standing up doesn’t clear my head. It just brings me physically closer to the object of my need. I grip the curtains, refusing to be a peeping Tina once again.

Except…I picture him standing there rumple-headed, shirtless—naked maybe. Waiting for me.

“Fuck me, Raphael,” I whisper through the glass. “It won’t mean anything.”

Even through the haze enveloping me I know that’s a lie. There’s nothing meaningless when it comes to Raph.

Stop thinking about this. You have to stop.

And yet I don’t. I walk to my bedroom door, sliding the lock in place.

Then I open my curtains, feeling dirty and sexy and shameful all at once.

And powerless to stop.

Raph’s blinds are closed, thankfully. Or at least, they’re lowered, the slats only lazily turned so I can’t see inside. I can only see dark lines where his space is.

He’s sleeping, I’m sure of it.

But my runaway brain imagines he isn’t. The bad, sex-starved part of me pulls off my t-shirt.

I’m a lonely, horny housewife. A caricature.

And now I’m standing only in my panties, fully on display should he pull the blinds open.

Just the thought of that sends more heat between my legs. The wetness there expands, soaking the fabric, making me moan.

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