Completely Cheated
I
never truly realised until then that it’s absolutely true; a look,
shared between strangers across a crowded room, can lead to so much.
I
can barely remember what the party was for. Certainly everyone was
there in their finest, dolled up to the nines and acting like each of
them was the centre of the world. Social butterflies and every bit as
insubstantial, their features leaving no trace in memory, only the
faint impression of swirling, bright dresses, sharp suits and
sparkling jewellery, soundtracked by laughter, the clink of glass on
glass, and the relentless buzz of conversation.
That
moment, though- that second - is ingrained.
Our
eyes skimmed past each other, then simultaneously did a double take
and whisked back to lock hard onto each other’s gaze. The
atmosphere suddenly grew heavy and pressed in, and as though fork
lightning had just shot out and hit its mark, the air seemed to
sizzle between us.
Through
the evening, we gradually worked our way closer to meeting,
traversing the circles, keeping one eye on the other, sharing small,
exclusively-shared upraisings of the corners of our mouths as we
noticed that we were both doing the same thing.
We
finally met, coincidentally, introduced by someone else. His gaze was
so magnetic I didn’t even hear his name. Without breaking the look,
his lustrous eyes holding mine helpless, he reached for my hand and
raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. The warmth
of his hand on mine stunned me, and for the rest of the conversation,
there was nothing else I could think of.
Our
introducer finally left, and I found my hand once again taken in his.
It was dry and soft, and exerted sufficiently masterful pressure that
I’d begun walking with him before I noticed myself doing it. We
were away from the crowds in a trice, and I ran silently with him
through corridors until we reached his room.
Once
through the door, time stopped.
He
immediately pulled me close, and raising my face in both hands,
kissed me deeply, leaving me in no doubt that anyone who’d ever
waxed lyrical about ‘weak at the knees’ had somehow been lucky
enough to experience this kind of feeling before I knew it was real.
I staggered back slightly, coming to rest against the towel hanging
from the peg behind the door, still slightly damp and scented of him
– a rich, wild spice – and he followed, pressing forward until
our bodies were touching from head to toe and I could feel the warmth
of his skin through his clothes.
As
though I’d been drowning, I pulled away, dizzy and gasping for
oxygen. I reached for him, fumbling with buttons and fastenings and
he grinned lazily, flashing a stunning smile, and caught my wrists,
holding them away. With a twinkle, he murmured “Slow
down…make this count”,
the hint of accent in his words sending my senses reeling.
With
suave, measured control he undressed me (where had my wedding ring
gone?) and all my hang-ups were forgotten as I caught a flash of
delight shining from his eyes. There was something else there, too –
satisfaction, perhaps, at his conquest, but I no longer cared.
He
laid me down across the bed and kissed me again, gently but firmly
holding my grasping arms against the cool sheets, whilst desire
rocketed through me, lifting me, straining every muscle to be closer
to him, in contact, his skin burning against mine.
My
breathing ragged, I pulled back and looked at him, losing myself in
the depths of his eyes, as I was equally certain that I could feel my
own pupils dilating. I couldn’t contain myself and let out a
half-whispered plea - “Come
on!”,
and to my delight, he responded immediately, catching my urgency and
removing his clothes in a few, swift, fluid movements.
He
was perfect. Deeply tanned, sculpted and broad shouldered, with only
the tease in his eyes and the rapid giveaway of his pulse, thrumming
in the hollow of his throat, to give him away. He trailed his
fingertips across my shuddering skin, eliciting a tiny, inadvertent
squeak, and then grabbed me, powerfully sliding me underneath him,
tightening his grip as I gasped and arched my back to meet him,
clinging to his strong arms and lost in the scent of his hair as his
kisses traced down my neck to my collarbone.
The
bed shook violently, bucking me into the throes of wakefulness. The
dark air blanketed me as I felt the prickle of sweat begin to cool on
my skin, and felt the well-rehearsed movements of my husband turning
over in bed.
Resentfully,
I turned my back to him and lay, eyes watching the darkness, twisting
my wedding ring around on my finger (now reinstated by reality),
wondering about the technicalities of dream-cheating, and whether it
made it worse if I *tried* to get back to the dream to finish what
had begun.
Eventually
my mind gave up, and I drifted off with the spectre of dark, shining
eyes and glinting charcoal hair floating in my mind’s eye.
I
stood in a cold, tiled room full of toilets, each in their cubicle,
but none with a door.
Checking
each of them in turn, I found to my dismay that their state of repair
left much to be desired. Several had no seat. None had toilet paper.
A few were overflowing or gurgling ominously. A building urgency sent
me running through the room, which suddenly expanded until the whole
world was full of useless toilet cubicles. Finally I found one which
seemed promising. I flung myself in, and shut the door firmly behind
me, turning to sit down and…
…discovered
myself clawing my way painfully back into consciousness, doubly
disappointed by my dreams and absolutely busting for a piss.
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Considerings
Twitter - https://twitter.com/LRConsiderer
Lizzi is a Deep Thinker, Truth Teller and Seeker of Good. Works a normal job and has a secret life as the writer at Considerings. Wife to Husby and Mother to two Neverborns, now dealing with the challenge of primary infertility. She is a frequent instigator of silliness and loves to entertain with words.
THAT was amazing! Oh I adore your writing, Lizzi! And yes, more than a few times I've awoken from just such a dream, disappointed I couldn't crawl back into dreamland. GAH - I would say more but I'm commenting from my phone and it's so...grrrr.
ReplyDeleteGREAT guest post, Marcia!
Who's got a smut blog?! Where the heck have I been! Nice story Mistress Lizzi. May I call you Mistriss Lizzi? lol
DeleteHOLY FUCKING WOW.
ReplyDeleteYou want to write erotica with me and Tamara? I'd love to have you on our smut blog.
Well this Miss Lizzi was not something I expected from you, but I like it. I second Starr's motion.
DeleteWait...there's a smut blog? Where? What ? When?? point me to the link.....
DeleteWait...there's a smut blog? Where? What ? When?? point me to the link.....
DeleteWOW! I love this story...and boy you are one heck of a great writer! SIMPLY AMAZING!
ReplyDeleteFabulous! Love the story and can, oh so relate to having an wonderful dream rudely interrupted! Loved it! ~Audrey
ReplyDeleteI hate it when I have to pee in my dreams. ;)
ReplyDeleteGreat work with the guest post assignment!
Yes, agree with you both - need to pee in dreams is bad.
DeleteWell done, Lizzi. :)
I always knew you had the heart of a pervert! :D Great writing...I think you're missing your calling. Write romance novels and make some serious cash!!! Now I gotta go take a piss. ;)
ReplyDeleteYou are amazing, girl!
ReplyDeleteExplain to me why the wonderful dreams can never be revisited. Nightmares, now, one can slip back into as easily as if you were rolling into warm waters. Sigh.
YOUR WRITING, THOUGH! I didn't even HAVE this dream and I want to get "back" to it! Apparently you SHOULD be writing erotica!!!
ReplyDeleteLizzi, I had to read this 3 TIMES!! Oh my, I had to check and double check again to see if this was something from that fifty shades book OR you are just having the time of your life...and then a dream? How many times have we all {because we know we have} experienced something similar and totally woke wanting more???!!! I think I need to "screen shot" this LOL Great piece :)
ReplyDeleteThat was fantastic Lizzi, you are such a gifted writer.
ReplyDeleteI felt like I was reading one of those romance novels my mother used to read when I was younger, you know like the ones with Fabio gracing the cover.
It does amaze me how much dreams differ from men and women, because for me that would be more of a nightmare than a dream, but throw it some hot babe treating me like her bitch and I would be as happy as a pig in slop.
you're 50 shades of dirty bird.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love it.
Wow, Lizzi! You'd make an awesome romance writer :) Truly sucks that you didn't get to finish the dream. How did your hubby feel about that? lol.. Great post!
ReplyDeleteGreat choice Marcia! Thanks and love your blog!
Lizzi... I despise waking up from those kinds of dreams... lol... I would feel cheated... at the moment I would take dreaming for a short time even :) Really great post :)
ReplyDeleteOh my...my inner puritan is blushing. ;) JK. I hate waking from those kinds of dreams...
ReplyDeleteLizzi, what in the world are you doing here? You should be holed up in a room writing the sexiest best novel that ever women reading this wants to read. You are brilliant. I'm being very serious. Why aren't you writing a novel?
ReplyDeleteExcuse me, while I close my eyes to meet the tan dark warm muscular man you had... and replay this scene over and over in my head. Accept for the waking up and peeing part- nobody wants THAT to be replayed!!! lol
ReplyDeleteFifty shades of grey? Nah, I'll take Lizzi!!!
So erotica is another string to your bow. It got my hormones flowing (although it doesn't take a lot!)
ReplyDeleteThe wondrous depths of the unconscious; care to attempt an interpretation?
I have been sitting here staring blankly trying to figure out what to say here. I looked back twice to make sure it was you that wrote this and, yep! It's you!
ReplyDeleteIs there any limit to your talent? I say no. Definitely no.
Spectacular.
I didn't know you had a smut bone in you. I'm wow-ed...and in need of some phone time with the husband, if you'll excuse me.
ReplyDelete