Rochelle Alers - Sweet Dreams

Preston stood up and untied his pajama pants, letting them fall down his waist and hips, pooling at his feet.

His gaze met and fused with Chandra’s as he stepped out of them. Her breath quickened and his erection pulsed when he noticed the outline of her hardened nipples against the white tank top.

He stared at her, wanting to commit to memory the cloud of dark hair around her face, breasts that were fuller than he’d expected and the look of indecision in the eyes staring back at him in anticipation.

The mattress dipped slightly when he placed one knee, then the other on the bed. Lying beside Chandra, Preston turned to face her. “How are you?”

A tentative smile trembled across her lips. “I’m good, Preston.”

He ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Are you ready for this? If not, then we can sleep together without making love.”

Shifting slightly, Chandra draped her leg over his. “I’m ready.”

ROCHELLE ALERS

has been hailed by readers and booksellers alike as one of today’s most popular African-American authors of women’s fiction. With nearly 2 million copies of her novels in print, Ms. Alers is a regular on the Waldenbooks, Borders and Essence bestseller lists, and has been the recipient of numerous awards, including a Gold Pen Award, an Emma Award, a Vivian Stephens Award for Excellence in Romance Writing, an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award and a Zora Neale Hurston Literary Award. A native New Yorker, Ms. Alers currently lives on Long Island. Visit her Web site at www.rochellealers.com.

Books by Rochelle Alers

Kimani Romance

Bittersweet Love

Sweet Deception

Sweet Dreams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for thy love is better than wine.

— The Song of Solomon 1:2

Dear Reader,

I would like to thank you for your enthusiastic response to the Eatons and their extended family. You were introduced to Belinda in Bittersweet Love and Myles in Sweet Deception. Now for those who want to revisit the

Eatons I give you Sweet Dreams, the latest installment in the miniseries.

All of us dream, but do we remember them upon waking? Not only does Chandra Eaton remember her sexy dreams but she also writes them down. Then the unspeakable happens when she misplaces her journal and none other than Preston Tucker, Philadelphia’s award-winning dramatist, finds and reads her erotic fantasies. They even become the plot for his latest play. More than sparks fly when she and Preston bring the dreams to life!

Look for Denise Eaton to take center stage in October 2010 when a former lover finds Temptation at First Sight.

Yours in romance,

Rochelle Alers

The sound of labored breathing competed with the incessant whirring of the blades of the ceiling fan overhead. The crescendo of gasps and moans overlapped with the rhythmic thrum of the fan as it circulated the humid tropical night air coming through the screened-in jalousie windows.

It was a scene that had played out nightly countless times since Chandra Eaton had come to Belize to teach. Her right hand cupped her breast while the other fondled her mound, as she surrendered to the surging contractions rippling through her thighs. Arching her back, she exhaled as the last of the orgasm that had held her in the throes of an explosive climax left her feeling as if she’d been shattered into a million pieces.

She lay motionless, savoring the aftermath that made it almost impossible to move or draw a normal breath. When she did move, it was to reach over and turn on the lamp on the bedside table. The soft golden glow cast shadows over the sparsely decorated bedroom.

Biting her lip, Chandra sat upright and picked up the pen lying atop her cloth-covered journal. Unscrewing the top, she closed her eyes for several seconds. The tip of the pen was poised over a clean page before she sighed and collected her thoughts.

Dream #139—October 2

I could smell him, feel him, taste him, but as usual he wouldn’t let me touch his face.

His hand feathered over my leg, moving up slowly until it rested along my inner thigh. My breathing quickened, filling the bedroom with hiccuping sounds. I was so aroused that I hadn’t wanted prolonged foreplay. I’d screamed and pleaded for him to make it quick. His response was to place one hand over my mouth, while he used his free hand to guide his engorged erection inside me. The heat from his body, the rigid flesh moving in and out of my body made my heart stop beating for several seconds.

He was relentless, pushing and receding. And then, slowing just before I climaxed, I’d pleaded with him to make love to me and then I begged him to stop. I felt faint. But he didn’t stop. And I let go, abandoning myself to the pleasure of a sweet, explosive orgasm. Instead of lying beside me on the mattress, he got up and left. It was as if he knew it would be our last time together.

Chandra reread what she’d written, and then smiled. It was uncanny the way she was able to remember her dreams with vivid clarity. They’d begun the first week she arrived in Belize, and had continued for more than two years. They didn’t come every night. But when they did, they served to assuage the sexual tension that came from not sharing her body with a man in nearly three years.

The dreams came without warning. She had begun to see them as a release for her stress and frustration. She didn’t know who the man was who came to her when she least expected it, and she didn’t care as long as he provided the stimulation needed to give her the physical release so necessary for her sexual well-being.

Smiling, Chandra closed the journal, capped the pen, turned off the lamp and slid under the covers, lying on the pillow that cradled her head. Minutes later she closed her eyes. This time when she fell asleep, there were no erotic dreams to disturb her slumber.

Chandra Eaton slumped against the rear seat in the taxi as the driver maneuvered away from the curb at the Philadelphia International Airport. She felt as if she’d been traveling for days. Her flight from Belize to Miami was a little more than two hours. But it was the layover in Atlanta that had lasted more than eight hours because of violent thunderstorms that left her out of sorts. All she wanted was a hot shower, a firm bed and a soft, fluffy pillow.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, she’d spent more than two years teaching in Belize. She’d returned to Philadelphia twice: once to attend the funeral of her eldest sister and brother-in-law, and three months ago to be a bridesmaid in the wedding of her surviving sister, Belinda. Now, at the age of thirty, she’d come home again. But this time it was to stay.

Her father called her his gypsy, and her mother said she was a vagabond, to which she had no comeback. What no one in her family knew, her parents in particular, was that she’d been running away from the tragedy that had befallen one of her students, followed by her own broken engagement.

Thankfully, her previous homecoming and this one would be more joyful occasions. Belinda had married Griffin Rice in June and two months ago her brother Myles had exchanged vows with Zabrina Mixon-Cooper after a ten-year separation. She also looked forward to meeting her nephew for the first time.

“What the…”

She opened her eyes and sat up straighter, her heart slamming against her ribs. The cabbie had swerved to avoid hitting another vehicle drifting into their lane. Her purse and leather tote slid off the seat and onto the floor with the violent motion, spilling their contents. Bending over, she retrieved her cell phone, wallet, passport and a pack of mints. Then she checked the tote to make certain her laptop was still there.