Fran Lee - Out of Her Dreams

He didn’t see the loving, gentle person inside the wild, sex-crazed nymphomaniac in his bed. He saw nothing of the resourceful, independent woman who had forged a great career out of nothing and who had her own life outside his bedroom. He saw a woman who was pathetically willing. And pathetically eager. Pathetically in love.

She had been so damn cowardly to have agreed to this farce. Too cowardly to simply tell him she loved him, afraid that he would feel disgust that she had begun to cling. She should have paid the lawsuit if it took all that she owned. At least she would not now be facing the total collapse of her little bubble of happiness. But she had taken the cowardly way. Now she was stuck in a fruitless situation with no way out except to beg him to let her go.

He had told her that women gravitated to him like bees to a honeypot. He was right about that. They swarmed to him. He would have no trouble whatsoever forgetting about her. But she dreaded the moment when she would walk out that door and never see him again, except on TV or in the movies. For she had fallen desperately in love with her temporary “husband” and the thought of meaning nothing more to him than mindless sex left her hurting and frightened.

She calmed her thoughts with difficulty and raised a face streaming with tears and whispered huskily, “Just hold me, David.”

His gut tightened painfully at the sight of her tear-streaked face and the lost look in those emerald eyes. There was no glittering light of desire in her eyes. There was no vibrant sound of wanting in that sad, trembling voice. Only a complete lack of energy. He had noticed the way she had begun to sag at the party under the constant barrage of business and promises. He should have gotten her out of that fucking party sooner.

“Let me help you out of that dress and get you something to drink. You look frazzled.” His voice was uncertain and quiet.

“Will you just hold me, David? I just want to feel your arms around me. I feel safe in your arms.”

He rose and extended his hand. She took it slowly as she stood up and he gently wrapped his muscular arms around her, burying his face in the softly piled mass of copper atop her head. “Is this better?” he breathed quietly.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Talk to me, Sam. Is it something I did?” He felt suddenly frightened. Helpless.

“No.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

“Is it something I didn’t do?”

“I don’t know.”

He drew a deep breath. “I’ve been too damn possessive. I haven’t given you your space.”

“Shut up and just hold me.”

He obeyed, enfolding her gently in his embrace and closing his eyes as he felt her small hands move so gently and tantalizingly over his back. He swallowed as he felt her lips moving against his throat as she whispered, “Make love to me, David. Like you did that very first time. Make me forget who I am and who you are and take me back to the stars.”

He swung her into his arms and walked into the bedroom and set her gently back on her feet. He kissed her mouth slowly, gently deepening the kiss until she was panting with desire. He shrugged out of his jacket and bent slowly to slide her silken panties from her, before unzipping and gently lifting her and wrapping her thighs about his hips, fitting himself to her entrance with a need that frightened even him.

He lifted her so that he could slip her sweetly delightful body over his hard, aching cock, closing his eyes with ecstasy as he buried himself deep inside her tight, hot sheath.

He struggled to maintain his calm. She was so fucking ready. He felt her body enclosing him, felt her tighten about him as she climaxed with a gasping moan of delight. Yet he held back. He paid exquisite attention to detail as he carefully replayed their first time together, his eyes locking with hers in fevered need as she seemed to be asking him for something. Something he could not fathom. He urged her from climax to climax, knowing her body well and understanding the way she responded.

He lowered his mouth to her breast through the clinging silk and he drew the erect nipple into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around the taut peak. He felt her body arch and clamp tight about him as she clung to his head and panted with her release. And when he finally allowed himself to empty into her trembling body, he could not stand without leaning against the wall, dragging in deep gasps of air.

He held her to his body for several minutes as they calmed themselves. He said nothing but used his free hand to unzip the silk dress and drag it off over her head. She wore no bra. He swallowed hard as she unbuttoned his dress shirt and shoved it back from his body with slow, loving hands. He held her eyes as she ran her palms over his chest, caressed his nipples and then reached for his belt and released his slacks to drop about his ankles.

He watched the glazed expression of delight in those green eyes and wanted to make her forget about ever leaving him. Make her want him badly enough to stay with him. He bent his head slowly to caress her mouth again, stroking her eager tongue as she closed her eyes and opened to him. He willed her to open her eyes.

He lifted his face from hers and said shakily, “I don’t plan on fading out of this dream anytime soon, Sam.” And he slowly rekindled the fire that still burned hotly within both of them.

He held her close as they slept. She had seemed somehow…distant. Panic welled inside him for the first time in months. Her lovemaking had somehow seemed almost like a goodbye. It was nothing he could put a finger on. She had enjoyed his attentions as she always had. But she acted almost as if she didn’t plan to be around much longer. And that was unacceptable. She had promised him six months. It had only been three. She owed him three more. Right?

But her words, the way she looked at him, the way she had clung to him and sobbed when she thought he was asleep, scared the shit out of him. Had he pushed her too hard? Had he burned her out? Had he made her grow tired of him? He had never felt so lost before. So uncertain. Maybe he needed to stop treating her like she was a blow-up doll and back off a little. Maybe let her have some breathing space?

That thought made him shiver. What if she decided he wasn’t what she wanted? What if she decided she didn’t need him around anymore? Maybe she had gotten tired of him constantly pawing her. Wanting her. Needing her. He was so fucking pathetic.

He buried his mouth in her fragrant copper curls and closed his eyes. No. He had to make her want to stay. And he wouldn’t let her off the hook. No matter what.

Sam lay awake in the tight circle of his arms. She knew she couldn’t go on like this much longer. She was addicted to the man but her addiction was unhealthy for both of them. There was no way she could write another word when all she wanted was to be in his arms, in his bed, every time he looked at her. It had been a mistake to come to New York. She would fly back to Chicago tomorrow, while he was busy. She would figure out what she needed to do when she got there. But she could not-would not-just continue on as his plaything. This was killing her spirit. Killing her heart. No matter how much she wanted to be with him, this couldn’t continue. She was a living, breathing person, not a toy.

Yes. Tomorrow she would leave. She would figure it out as she went. Tonight she had made love as if there was no tomorrow. And there wouldn’t be.

Phyllis finished reading the rough draft of the final novel in the series and she turned her eyes to Sam’s face. “You have made him so damn real, I almost orgasmed reading this. I am amazed that this only took you nine weeks. You’ve been like a woman possessed.” She sat up and packed the pages back into the manuscript container. Her eyes slid over Sam’s slender body hunched by the window.