Truth - Romig Aleatha - Страница 49
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Next, her yoga pants were eased past her ankles, exposing her black lacy panties. The barely visible material was but a scant hurdle on the road to their destination. Nevertheless, a streak of panic ran through her, like ice on overheated skin. Goose bumps formed on her arms and legs. The sudden alarm intensified everything, from the sound of their breathing to the touch of his hands. The small lace barrier was another direct violation of his rules. She watched his expression as his fingers traced the delicate trim. In the center, inches below her bellybutton was a small, black, satin bow. His strong hands encircled her hips as his thumbs teased the tiny adornment. She was a present – a gift, wrapped only for him. He didn’t speak, but his chest rose and fell, as his breathing deepened. She sighed with relief, when the tips of his lips turned upward into his handsome, devilish smile.
The panties were gone.
“This isn’t real. This is a dream.” She wasn’t sure if the words were in her head or if she’d spoken them aloud.
They must have been said aloud, because Tony responded. “Do you want it to be a dream?”
She shook her head, no.
No, she didn’t want it to be a dream? Or no, she didn’t want it to be real? She didn’t know. “It isn’t real.” Claire repeated, a little less confident of her words or her ability to speak.
It felt real. The fragrance of his cologne filled her room, as only she filled his sight. It was that all-encompassing gaze, the one that removed everyone and everything from the world, leaving only them. The heat radiating from his amazing body was overwhelming; she wondered if it could burn her. Yet, she wasn’t concerned. This wasn’t the man who hurt her. The man in her dream was the one she loved and loved her. Her mind searched for reason. He’d proclaimed that love again, in the living room. Now her subconscious wanted to fulfill its desires. She submitted to the dream. Fighting would take too much energy. Even her unconscious knew her energy would be better utilized in other ways.
His clothes were also gone. When had he taken them off? Time can be so elusive in dreams...
He was talking; asking questions and voicing appreciation of everything before him. Nevertheless, his words didn’t register, only the rhythm of his deep sensual tone. That cadence, along with the strong beating of his heart, within his massive, heat-radiating chest, calmed and excited her. Claire listened and nodded, even though she was unsure of what she authorized.
Her senses were on high alert. The amazing sight of him, unclothed, his distinctive scent, the warm commanding touch of his hands, the sound of his sexy breathing, so close to her ear, and the taste of his soft lips, produced gasps and moans. The unrelenting provocation generated overwhelming desire. She heard her own voice, pleading for more. Yet, she wasn’t conscious of speaking. Everything was in another dimension. Involuntary actions and reactions overtook her mind, words, and body. When had fantasy ever taken her to this height?
His hands felt so real, as they caressed her skin. Each touch intensified the electric sensations and passionate desires. She’d been fighting these images all night. She couldn’t do it anymore. The man of her dreams didn’t take, as the real one could. He asked, as Harry had done.
That was it, Claire reasoned. Her subconscious created a combination, an amalgamation of sorts. When the husky voice requested permission, her body screamed with need, “Oh god yes, please!” His smile, too, seemed real. Reaching up, she longed to touch his face. Unlike the night before, her fingertips connected their target. She caressed the smooth, freshly shaven skin of his cheeks and wove her fingers through his thick black hair. Her sensitive nipples pushed toward his chest. Instead of feeling them against his warm skin, Tony bent down and suckled the vulnerable hard tips. Again and again, her back arched. She wanted everything. It had been so long.
What truly wakes one from the depths of sleep? Was it external, like the sound of a ringing phone and noises from the street below? Or was it internal, like the twisting in your stomach from ravenous hunger? Snuggling into the soft, smooth sheets she thought about food. When had she last eaten? Slowly her consciousness took over, and an unreasonable fear filled her being. It was the fear that when she opened her eyes, she’d no longer be in Palo Alto, but in her suite – in Iowa.
Trying unsuccessfully to subdue the rising panic, Claire did the only thing she could. She opened her eyes.
Relief escaped in a deep exhale as she viewed the inside of her room, in Amber’s condominium. She rolled toward her clock, 5:17. Was it that early? She closed her eyes. No, it wasn’t that early... it was that late. She’d slept the entire day away. Pulling back the covers she revealed her clothed body. The only piece of clothing she no longer wore was the large t-shirt currently lying on the rug near her bed.
Walking toward her bathroom she remembered her dream. She stopped and took a moment to survey her room. Nothing seemed out of place. Yet, hadn’t she fallen asleep on the couch?
When she was young, her mother told her she would sometimes sleepwalk. Perhaps, that’s what she’d done. Turning on the warm water of the shower she decided to freshen up before dinner. Removing her clothes she inspected herself in the mirror. There were times when she was with Tony, that her body displayed evidence of their intimacy or his domination.
Her skin appeared untouched. Nevertheless, her body felt ... she wasn’t sure how to describe it... content? The unrelenting tension she’d been experiencing since Harry’s first video game session was gone. Satisfied – yes, that’s how she felt, content and satisfied. It was as if she’d been thoroughly taken, filled and pleased, by a memory.
Claire stepped under the soft hot spray. When the water struck her nipples she flinched and shielded them from the assault. That’s strange, she thought. Why am I so tender? As she poured the shampoo into her hand, she briefly inhaled the fragrance of Tony’s cologne. Her next breath was filled with the scent of flowers.
Claire shook her head as she massaged the floral cream into her hair. Her imagination was working overtime. She needed to compartmentalize Tony away. Hopefully, she had dinner plans with Harry. He could help her leave the world of fantasy and concentrate on reality. She wanted to tell him about Tony and about the bombshell of him not being the sender of the box. There was something else too... stepping from the shower, onto the soft mat, she tried to recall.
As she dried her skin, she remembered. It was Tony’s grandmother. She wanted to research Sharron Rawls... Something in the mirror caught Claire’s attention. It was her pile of dirty clothes. She picked up the camisole and the yoga pants. Hadn’t she been wearing under wear?
The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love, and to be greater than our suffering.
—Ben Okri
Chapter 19
Early 1985...
Marie didn’t want to care this much, not about anyone. Then why was she sitting in her nightgown, at three in the morning, watching Ms. Sharron breathe? It wasn’t like she was anything to most of this family, other than hired help – and she sure as hell didn’t have a family of her own.
The breaths came, inconsistent, with a rattle. If the doctors could just stop the damn rattle.
Marie sat in the high-backed Queen Anne chair and wrapped her arms around her knees. The doctor, who’d been to the estate earlier, said the IV medication would fight the infection. Marie just hoped Ms. Sharron was strong enough to be the battle ground. What good was a strong army if the earth crumbled under their siege?
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