Every night, Wilson dreams about his dream lover in a serial dream. All he knows is her name—Charli. Is she the perfect woman, a figment of his imagination, he wonders, or is she a real live flesh and blood soul mate waiting to be claimed.
Every night, CJ, dreams about a dream date with her dream lover, Mitch. He is everything she ever wanted. He has the face of an angel and the body of a god. Could he possibly be real or is he a fantasy in a fantasy dream?
What would happen if their dream lovers really were real and they met them?
She stared at him with her beautiful, aqua blue, siren-like eyes. When the next song played—a slow, dreamy song—he looped his arms around her backside, his hands joining at the delightful sway of her back just above her sweet behind. Sighing, she snuggled in close, her breasts pushing against his ribs. Rather than dancing, they remained stationary, their feet unmoving as they swayed to the music. Her chin lay upon the lapel of his sports coat and her forehead rested against his cheek. Her lips—those beautiful full red lips—nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her warm breath filling him with a plethora of carnal urges.
Their bodies melded together in erotic perfection. The inevitable friction of their dancing aroused the erogenous areas of their bodies and sent warm fuzzy sensations to his maleness. His erection was obvious—she had to know it. His lips journeyed down to hers. Taking advantage of the momentary separation, his hand adjusted his manhood upward for comfort at the moment their lips met. His tongue traced the seam between her lips searching for the combination to gain entrance. She trembled when his wet tongue slipped between her lips and embraced hers. With his tongue swirling over hers, he pushed his hardness into her abdomen.
Did she push back? He thrust again. Her moan tickled his tongue as she pushed back into his hardness. Soon, pressing into each other at three second intervals, he slipped a hand from around her and grasped a single breast. She gasped and jerked away. The heat in her eyes was evident. He nearly fainted when without warning she grasped him through his slacks and squeezed. So good—it felt so fucking good.
While he watched, a sensuous, but coy smile formed on her lips. Her other hand traced around his neck and pulled his ear closer to her mouth. The warmth of her breath in his ear sent erotic messages to his swelling pride. She squeezed his cock and purred in his ear, “I want you so bad. Please make love to me.”
Mitch’s eyes widened. “Where?”
Her eyes twinkled, reflecting the stage lights. Her wide smile turned from coy to naughty. “You’re the man. You decide. I just want this.” She squeezed him tighter. “Buried inside me.”
Her soft, long, reddish brown hair lagged behind her gorgeous face when her head shook exaggeratedly. “That would take too long.” Her eyes seemed to plead as her strident voice mellowed, “Let me clarify what I said. I want this.” His rigid cock pushed back when once more she squeezed it hard. “I want this prick—your prick—buried in me, right now!”
She must have sensed his confusion for she continued, “How about the men’s or ladies room, or what about the kitchen? It’s one thirty, the kitchen’s been closed for three hours. Other than the band and the help there’s only a handful of people here. I’ll bet we could find a neat place to make love in there.”
When he didn’t answer, she took his hand. “C’mon, let’s go see.”