The following is a excerpt from Dreaming of Another, due to hit online bookstores March 24. Don’t want to miss it? Preorder it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Apple’s iBookstore.

Dreaming of Another

Chapter 1: The Dream

She rose out of the pool like it was a swimsuit shoot, pushing her long, blond hair against her head as water streamed down her creamy body. The turquoise string bikini could barely contain her lush breasts, and as she pulled herself from the pool, all I wanted to do was pull the loopy bows at her hips.

I didn’t need to. She did it for me—first the bow at the small of her back, releasing her tits. She had caramel-hued nipples that sat high on her ripe swells, buoyed as only a 20-year-old’s could be. I wanted to sink my face between them.

With her bikini top hanging like a necklace in her cleavage, she looked at me with her radiant, blue eyes.

I ached for her.

She approached, her hips swaying, leaving wet footprints on the hot concrete. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey—”

I couldn’t get out another word before she pulled me in for a searing kiss. I loved these kisses. They always lingered, long after she was gone.

Brigitte pulled back, swiping her finger along my chin. “Watch this, Stevie.”

Her smile was full of mischief. I tried to say something, but couldn’t. I knew what came next. My chest tightened in anticipation.

She sauntered past me. I tracked her, taking in the way her bikini bottoms clung to her juicy ass. I could practically feel it in my hands.

My thoughts were cut short as she walked right up to a guy, fit and trim. He wore a pair of swimming trunks and a shit-eating grin. Brigitte put her arms around him, looked over her shoulder at me, and winked.

“Brigitte!” I cried.

But it was too late. My girlfriend leaned into this other man as he folded her into his thick arms. Their lips met. Panic clawed inside of me.

They melted into one another, tongues swirling, hands roaming. He had his hands down the back of Brigitte’s bikini bottom. I reached down, and found myself…hard?

RAH RAH RAH! screamed the alarm.

My wife’s warm body passed over me as she reached for the alarm herself, easily shutting it down. Chrissy smelled familiar, the scent of home and happiness.

“You were dreaming of her again,” Chrissy said. She didn’t look upset, although she never did. She was just making an observation, like she was announcing that it was going to rain today.

Even still, my first instinct was to deny. “Was not.” Then quickly: “Dreaming about who?” Smooth.

Her tone was the one she usually reserved for arguing with our children. “You said her name. Brigitte.”

I winced at my ex’s name. The dream was fading fast, but I could still feel the panic as I watched her kiss another man.

Chrissy interpreted the wince as guilt. She reached under the sheets and found me hard. “And this is only morning wood?”

While I was still waking up from sleep, Chrissy was already bright eyed. She’d always been like that, more the morning person than me. Right at that moment, those intelligent brown eyes were saying, Busted.

She was right, it wasn’t just morning wood. I’d had this dream about a half dozen times, and as fucked up as it was, I woke up turned on, every single time. Still, I wasn’t ready to have that conversation.

“Okay, so maybe I was dreaming about her. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“So you swear you’re not having a secret affair with Brigitte?” Chrissy asked it with a smile. We’d had this conversation already—first seriously, then playfully.

“Like I said, I haven’t seen her in over fifteen years. As far as I know, she could have had five kids and weigh 300 pounds.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I’d looked her up on Facebook a few times, and she was just as gorgeous as ever. The act of cyber voyeurism also made me feel guilty, even though I knew that it was a perfectly normal thing to do. I didn’t friend her or anything, and I didn’t do it often.

Chrissy rolled off of me, slipped on her glasses, and grabbed her phone. I watched her work with purpose, temporarily distracted by how attractive she was. This kind of reflection usually followed my dreams of Brigitte. Chrissy and I had been together for close to fifteen years—married twelve of them. She was part of my every day, and like the stuff of every day, it was easy to take her for granted. But whenever I dreamt of my college girlfriend, I always woke up with a fresh set of eyes on the world.

And Chrissy was always the most startling. I swear, she was more attractive now, at 37, than she’d been when I first met her. Over the years, she’d gone from cute to beautiful. Her cheeks were more defined. Her petite body more womanly. Even her strawberry blond hair seemed richer.

She tapped something on the screen, then smiled brightly.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking Brigitte up on Facebook, of course. Her last name’s Falk?”

“Yeah.” Actually, last time I’d checked, she’d gotten married and changed her name to Chastain, but I didn’t want to admit that I’d looked her up.

A moment later, Chrissy found her. “Well, now it’s Chastain. Looks like she’s married herself a Frenchman. Jealous?”
“Of course not.”

“And it looks like she’s definitely not 300 pounds.” Chrissy’s brow furrowed as she flipped through what looked like pictures.

“Wow, she’s gorgeous. This is the woman you’ve been having dirty dreams about?”

I grabbed my glasses. “Let me see.”

Chrissy turned the phone on a photo of Brigitte in a bikini. Unlike my dream Brigitte, the suit was white and the woman wearing it older than the girl of twenty I remembered, but she looked great.

“Yeah, that’s her,” I said.

“Now I see why you keep dreaming about her. How can I compete with this?” Chrissy took the phone back and flipped through the album.

“There’s no competition, Chris,” I said, nuzzling her neck. She was still warm from the night’s sleep, her skin soft beneath my lips.

“Oh, my,” Chrissy said. I felt her breath catch where I kissed her neck.

“What?”

“Maybe I should start dreaming of Mr. Brigitte Chastain. Yummy.”

She offered me a glimpse. It was a wedding photo. Brigitte wore a short, strapless white gown and a veil, a smile lighting up her face. She hung off a black guy in a tux—her husband. His smile as wide as hers, his teeth glossy white against his rich, mocha skin. He and Brigitte made an attractive couple, her blond hair and pale skin a nice contrast to his darker tones.

I glanced at Chrissy, who seemed to be living out a fleeting fantasy. Those confused emotions of my dream returned, only it wasn’t my ex-girlfriend in the arms of another man.

“Now I’m the one who’s jealous,” I said, forcing it to sound playful.

“Then I definitely plan on dreaming of…” She read his name. “…Marc here.”

She stared at her phone a heartbeat longer than I was comfortable with, then set it down. “Or are you going to give me something else to dream about?”

We hadn’t had morning sex in forever. Seemed like there was always a reason to get up and start the day—work, kids, whatever. But the kids were still asleep, and I could skip my morning shower.

I pulled Chrissy to me. “Mmm, I think I’d like to try,” I said.

We kissed, our glasses clicking together before we could get beyond anything but a light peck. Chrissy laughed, pulling back to remove hers as I took off mine.

“Nerd kiss,” she giggled.

Sans glasses, when we kissed again, it was anything but a nerd kiss. It was deep and wet, the kind of kiss we used to share all the time when our bodies were new to each other. She climbed into my lap, rolling her hips across my erection as we kissed. My hands automatically went to the bottom of her t-shirt, tugging it upward. Chrissy took the hint, sitting up enough to pull it off.

Topless, I stole a quick glance at her bare breasts. Small and perky, they still sat high on her chest and had even plumped up after the two kids. Chrissy had always been self-conscious of their size, but I loved them.

Chrissy slipped off of me long enough to work her way out of her panties. I took the moment to pull my shirt off, then kick away my pajama bottoms. For one hurried moment, we were back in parent-mode, trying to be as efficient as we could in the small window of time that we had.

Then Chrissy was back on top of me. She wrapped her hand around my cock and placed it against her trimmed muff. She was wet and as ready for me as I was for her.

“Ahh…” she sighed as she sank back onto me. We were out of practice enough that it took a few short strokes before I was fully inside of her. After that, though, we quickly found our rhythm.

“Why don’t we do this all the time?” Chrissy’s voice was a strained whisper in my ear.

“Because we’re dumb?” I didn’t know, but as Chrissy moved up and down my length, as her breasts dragged along my chest, I vowed not to make that mistake again.

“I bet Brigitte and Marc don’t go a month without sex,” she said.

“You thinking about Marc, huh?” I couldn’t help feeling that twinge of…something. Jealousy for sure, but also something more uncomfortable.

Chrissy spoke over my thoughts. “Only because you’re thinking about Brigitte.”

At my ex’s name, I thought of the photo of her in the white bikini. I focused on that because it was easier than the other. Her curves had only accentuated over the years. Between her narrow waist, wide hips, and full breasts, she was more of a wet dream than a real person.

I thought of the time we were together, the summer we’d shared. Brigitte loved to fuck more than anyone I’d been with, before or since. She gave everything when we were together and demanded that I do the same. I remember one afternoon, just before sophomore year began. We had access to her parents’ summer home for a week—without her parents—and I don’t think I had as much sex in between all my previous lovers combined, including a very active freshman year. She’d ride me to several orgasms until I came, suck me back to life as she told me how amazing my cock felt in her mouth and how she couldn’t wait to take it in her ass, and then we’d go again. Her pussy, her mouth, her tits, her ass, nothing was off limits. It wasn’t just that. She didn’t just grant access, she welcomed it.

And her enthusiasm wasn’t limited to just my cock. I squirmed at the thought, my cock hardening despite the tumultuous memories that stirred.

Chrissy felt it, but misinterpreted the reaction. She stared down at me with an expression I couldn’t read—something between amusement and disbelief. “You really are thinking about her, aren’t you!?”

“No.” It wasn’t a lie.

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “I bet Marc can really manhandle Brigitte. You didn’t see the photo of him shirtless. Mmm…”

She was just teasing me, but nevertheless, it felt like a fist had tightened around my gut. It made me queasy, but then there was that timid excitement that I would never understand.

“I’m going to have to study that picture if I want to start dreaming about him,” she said.

I thought of Brigitte again—me fucking her from behind as she screamed my name. Only suddenly, it wasn’t Brigitte going crazy on my cock, it was Chrissy. And it wasn’t my cock at all, but Marc’s.

I ran my hands over her body, cupping her ass—urging her to ride me faster. Panic seized me. I was about to come. I tried to fight it back, but I knew I couldn’t.

“Chris,” I groaned, lifting my hips to meet hers. Her pussy slid wet and snug around my cock. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the sensation. I saw Marc there, his ebony skin glistening, sleek and powerful, driving forcefully inside my wife.

“Oh, Chris!” A heartbeat later, everything went weightless. Everything stood still. And then I was exploding inside her.
Chrissy moaned quietly above me. She bent low, pressing her body against mine as she rode out my orgasm. “Yes, baby,” she sighed. “Oh, yes…”

In the soft moments after orgasm, we kissed again, slow and languid. I hugged her to me, stroking my thumb along the small of her back.

“Well, that was fun,” Chrissy said. “Let’s do that more often.”

---

 

This is an excerpt from Dreaming of Another, due to hit online bookstores March 24. Don’t want to miss it? Preorder it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Apple’s iBookstore.