The Red Collection (32 page)

The room was dark and full of deep shadows, lit only by a nightlight and the flickering of a low burning fire. There was a womblike quality to the walls, something natural and organic, and she still couldn’t work out where she was. She only knew it was somewhere new to her that felt irrationally like home too.

Maybe I was here in a former life?

Now there was a peculiar notion, if ever there was one … but, then, everything about the situation was strange and other-worldly.

Maybe I’m remembering something I dreamed once before? Now that’s complicated … a dream within a dream. Whatever next?

Whatever it was, she couldn’t deny that she felt mellow and loose and sexy.

Touching her hands to her body, she was surprised. What the devil was she wearing?

Instead of her habitual shabby T-shirt and overwashed knickers, she found the voluminous and enveloping folds of an old-fashioned brushed-cotton nightdress. Nestling into it like a small furry animal, she sighed. Who’d have thought that something so prim could also be so sexy? The long full nightgown was both cosy and erotic at the same time, and the contrast between being all chastely covered up on top, and bare and devoid of panties beneath was sinfully naughty. As her naked thighs slid against each other, her nipples stiffened and puckered, their tips chafed by the virginal white fabric in a subtle autonomic caress.

I’d rather have a man do that, but where is he? Where is he?

Someone was coming though, she knew that. He just
wasn’t
here yet. And, in the meantime, she would make her own amusement.

Picturing a pair of hands that were long and elegant, but full of suppressed strength, she clasped her breasts through the soft cotton of the gown and teased them with light squeezes. The mind image was almost supernaturally clear.

Strong hands, sleek golden skin …

Graceful fingers that were gentle but strangely cool …

Curiouser and curiouser … but also mmm mmm mmm …

When she flicked her thumbs across the hardened peaks of her nipples, the slight contact sent streaks of sensation flashing along her nerves. She could almost see that too, like little pathways glittering and silvery beneath the white nightdress and her own skin. She watched them zip and twinkle until they popped tiny starbursts in her clitoris. Of their own accord, her hips lifted and she moaned.

Ohmigod, all I’ve done is touch my breasts and I’m almost there! What’s going happen when I really get down to business? Or
he
does?

Suddenly, she couldn’t wait … she could hardly breathe.

Wriggling against the crisply laundered sheets, she hitched up her nightgown. Up and up until it was just a scrunched-up crumpled bunch under her armpits.

She was a goddess of sex. An odalisque exhibiting herself for a hundred watching eyes. She’d kicked off the sheets as she’d pulled up her nightgown and now she was on display from her chest down to her toes, her skin lapped by the warm scented air.

Breasts. Belly. Thighs. Pubis. The Full Monty.

She could smell herself too. A new perfume had blended itself into the pine, the earth and the juniper wood smoke. Her arousal, salty and pungent and also of the earth.

She stared down at her body, pale as alabaster against the luminous white sheets, the curls of her pussy a wild sandy shock between her thighs. She could see a glint of juiciness sparkling through the hair there and, shimmying against the mattress, she clenched herself, tensing up her strong inner muscles, and felt the slow honeyed roll of her arousal.

I’m very wet, secret lover … very wet. I’m ready … where the hell are you?

Should she touch herself? Or should she save herself for
him
? For a moment, she fantasised that he’d tied her hands to the bed-rails behind her head, punishing her, preventing her from stealing that special privilege.

Then, suddenly, because it was a dream … her hands
were
tied!

She was lashed to the brass rails with what looked like the cords from a couple of old-fashioned dressing gowns. How bizarre was that?

Instantly, of course, the need to touch her sex ramped up to an almost agonising pitch. Unable to suppress it or ignore it, she threw herself around on the mattress, hips circling and weaving while she tried desperately
not
to imagine her legs being fastened too.

Uh-oh, too late!

No sooner had she thought it than the deed was done and she was bound hand and foot with more dressing-gown cords. Had she ever had a dressing gown like that? Did she know anyone else who had one? Where the hell was all this stuff coming from? She only knew that her ankles were spread wide apart and there was no longer any way whatsoever to get ease from the ravening itch of desire.

And it was now, when somehow she’d managed to make
herself
totally vulnerable, that the unknown dream lover finally put in an appearance.

The door swung back just like in an old Dracula movie and a figure appeared in the doorway.

And she didn’t have the slightest idea who he was.

Who the hell are you, Dream Lover? And, boy, do you know how to make a big entrance!

Dream Lover was a cliché as well as a total stranger. Your actual tall, dark and handsome, but with a twist, and dressed all in black – a long coat, close-fitting T-shirt, jeans and boots.

And he had the most amazing hair!

It was almost black, yet also blond. Like ebony frosted with gold, and cut short, but not too short. A touch of wild, natural curl set off its startling pale tipping and made it appear to glow in the dim room like a halo, its brilliance second only to the fire in its owner’s gleaming, flashing eyes.

Lois blinked. There was something weird about those eyes, but their very brightness made it impossible to work out what it was. She could only stare into them, like a willing patsy totally hooked by a hypnotist’s spinning coin.

Talk about a fantasy man.

This is a dream, you fool!
Of course
he’s a fantasy man
…

But still, why the hair? And the eyes that she wished she could see better.

She must have conjured him up from the very depths of memory, from some long-lost book she’d read, or image she’d once seen. A world of faeries or earth spirits, of beings of supernatural power and alchemical attraction that she’d loved in more innocent times before she’d become a techno-geek.

But, however she’d cooked him up, God, how she wanted
him
! Between her thighs, she grew wetter, wetter, wetter …

The apparition didn’t speak, and Lois couldn’t. But still those amazing eyes pinned her to the spot, widening with an unmistakeable hunger. He immediately zeroed in on her cunt, and his fine-cut nostrils flared as if he’d smelt her. Which wasn’t surprising, because she could certainly smell herself.

And the more she stared at him, the more she thought he was a dish fit for a queen.

He really was quite something. Face broad and intelligent, and vaguely familiar somehow now. Cheekbones high, jaw firm and a mouth that was strong and manly yet ever so slightly pouty in a way that made her long to nibble his plump lower lip. Even as she hungered for him and his eyes told her he was hungering for her in return, his tongue flicked out and moistened those succulent lips. It was pointed and very pink, darting lasciviously.

Almost expiring with lust, Lois hauled in a deep breath, and began to smell Dream Lover as much as he could smell her, getting yet another surprise into the bargain.

Not for him the smells of leather and sweat. Not for him the cool blue smells of male cologne.

No, as he approached her across the cabin, soft-footed on the wooden floor, he brought with him the sweet smell of flowers.

Violets, wild roses, delicate woodland blooms … and, most piercingly and headily, the scent of lavender.

It was like swigging down a triple belt of some perfumed liqueur made by monks in the wilds of rural France.

Lois squirmed around against the mattress, the very quick of her body aching like the devil as if the sweet odour was stimulating it directly. She throbbed and throbbed, her
simmering
flesh begging for contact. Just the tiniest little touch would do it. The stranger’s mouth twisted in a slow knowing smile as he drew nearer. It seemed to light his every feature like a candle.

And still they hadn’t exchanged a single word.

While Lois watched like a starving beast eyeing up a prime rib, Dream Lover flung off his long dark coat and then knelt on the bed. Having braced herself for the bounce of a substantially muscled body hitting the mattress, she got a shock that made her gasp. He was big – tall and broad and solid – but the sheet on which she lay barely seemed dented. It was the oddest phenomenon, and Lois knew she should be frightened … but in a dream, she supposed, weird stuff like this was normal.

That was, if it
was
a dream? Some of it was far too vivid to be imaginary.

Free of his coat, Dream Lover’s body was shown off to perfection. His arms gleamed in the firelight as if they were fashioned from polished wood and strength shone around him like an aura. The golden glitter that dusted his thick dark hair was even more breathtaking in close proximity, and his close-fitting black T-shirt embraced the ripped contours of his torso. Beneath the tough dark fabric of his jeans, his thighs were as sturdy as oak branches, and at his crotch there was a fine chunky bulge.

Lois’s fingers itched to explore him, but her bonds were disturbingly real in an imaginary situation. She simply could not move, and Dream Lover’s velvety, tantalising lips curved at the sight of her struggles. His hand, so conveniently
un
fettered, reached out towards her body, hovering for several seconds over her breast, before dropping to the full curve and cupping it. Lois hissed through her teeth, as his
long
thumb settled against her nipple as if it belonged there. His skin was as cool as she’d imagined it to be …

Her hiss turned to an outright groan as he flicked and tickled her; her mystery man smiled, his passionate mouth widening in a smile that was impish and knowing. With slow calculation, he strummed her again and again, and the compulsion to thrash about and rub the skin of her bare buttocks against the sheet beneath her grew stronger and stronger by the second. She tried to stay still, because for some bizarre reason it seemed important to show a little decorum, but it was hopeless. Wriggling like a strumpet, she knew she’d never looked sluttier in her life.

Why can’t I just ask you who you are?

She opened her mouth to speak, but Dream Lover put paid to all questions by tweaking the nipple quite hard now, rolling it between finger and thumb, plucking at it and pulling at it, making it stiffer and pinker than ever. He cocked his gilded head on one side as she bucked against the mattress, attempting to widen her thighs and entice him with her sticky melting sex. She’d never behaved like this before, even in her wildest moments, and her own wantonness both appalled and excited her, goading her aroused body to even greater heights of shamelessness.

Please … please …
she begged him silently, still unable to speak.
Touch my cunt. Stroke me with your fingers … Fuck me! Please, please, fuck me
now
!

The golden-frosted head cocked again, and he grinned like the sun.

You heard that, didn’t you, you bastard? You read my mind!

Maybe mind-reading was standard operational procedure in dreams? Anything was possible. Watching her face, Dream Lover continued to play idly with her breast for a while, all
the
time watching her face with the intensity of a scientist.

I can’t take much more of this
.

Lois watched his face for an acknowledgement, but Dream Lover just regarded her benignly as he went on with his fondling.

But Lois didn’t feel benign. She wanted to kill him, or fuck him, or even both. Between her legs tension gathered and gathered and her head seemed to be floating it felt so light. Her brain was emptying of thought. She was about to come.

Just from having her breast touched? Surely not? But anything seemed achievable in this wonderful warm place.

But just when it seemed almost about to happen, Dream Lover withdrew his hand.

‘You bastard!’

So near, yet suddenly so far, Lois found her tongue at last, and Dream Lover’s brow puckered. What was he thinking? Planning some devilish new sexual torture for her, no doubt. He snagged his sinful lower lip with his Colgate-white teeth, and his brilliant eyes sparkled with mischief.

Lois blinked. Surely not? It had suddenly dawned on her what was peculiar about those eyes – they were two different colours. The right one was a sharp, electrical sky blue and the left one was as warm and brown as Armagnac.

She was just about to remark on this unexpected phenomenon, or just simply beg him to fuck her now she’d finally got her voice back, when, without warning, Dream Lover scooted back to the edge of the bed, and then reached down to unbuckle his heavy boots. After kicking them vigorously away across the room, he plucked at the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it out of his waistband with equal impatience. A second later it flew away on the same trajectory
as
the boots, and she was gifted with the sight of the most awesome male pulchritude. Muscles rippled across his chest and abdomen as he moved, bunching and relaxing beneath skin the colour of honeyed sandstone, almost too beautiful and magnificently male to be real.

Well, I’ve never wanted to worship a guy before, but I do now
, she thought hazily.
What are you, some kind of magical deity? A prince of the world of dreams … a perfect lover?

Coming to her again, he lay over her, his chest hard and smooth against her nipples, while the coarse workaday cloth of his jeans was equally rough against the bare skin of her belly. Lois blushed furiously as he pressed his hard crotch against her mons. She was soaking wet down there and it would surely seep through his jeans and he’d be able to feel it.