Valentine dreams, p.1
Valentine Dreams, page 1
Valentine Dreams
Patrick Khayler
Contains a character introduced in The Present
Assistant Principal Becky moved to Houston for a new start but as Valentine’s Day approaches, she can only think about the couple she left behind and that life-changing night they allowed her to share. So when a breathtaking woman suddenly appears and melts Becky’s panties with just one hot look, newly awakened Becky can’t wait for what their next encounter might bring. Hiding her desire to be with another woman is hard enough but dodging her work duties to be with the mysterious, almost unearthly, object of her desire might just end her career. The enchantress promises Becky a Valentine’s Day she’ll never forget but first Becky has to be bold enough to seek out Valentine Dreams of limitless pleasure.
Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!
A contemporary LGBT erotica from Ellora’s Cave
Valentine Dreams
Patrick Khayler
Dedication
To my loving wife for encouraging my fantasies and to my editor for teaching me how to share them.
Chapter One
To Sleep, Perchance To Dream
Screw them and their goddamn rules! I should just pick up the phone. They’ll want me back. I know they will.
Becky took out her phone for the twentieth time and scrolled through her contacts until she found Lisa’s and Davis’s names again. Her thumb hovered above the Call button. She sighed and turned off her phone again. The “rules” had been explained to her in detail before they’d ever asked her to stay.
Rule number one, one night only.
The worst of the six rules even though it seemed the most benign at the time. Lisa and Davis, celebrating their anniversary when they’d invited her to their bed, didn’t want to be “swingers”. They wanted another person to help them crest plateaus of lust they’d never even reached for before.
Becky shifted her position in the soft chair. The thought of that night was already making her wet again. A simple conversation with Lisa about dildos and vibrators had somehow ended with Becky sucking Davis’s cock; her first orgasm; her first taste of another woman’s pussy and then, the loss of her anal virginity while tied to the couple’s bed. It had been perfection. In one night, Becky had discovered things about her own sexuality she’d never even dreamed of.
I want to feel like that again.
Becky groaned with longing. But rule number two was almost as bad as number one. The person they invited to spend the night with them had to be someone they didn’t know very well and someone they would never see again. Such a long time. She pulled out her phone again and searched for their names. Her chest tightened as she stared at the Call button begging her to push it.
They couldn’t have meant “never”.
Rule number three had seemed an impossible reach when she heard it. The person they invited had to be the other’s ideal man or woman. As she remembered how beautiful they’d made her feel, Becky felt the heat rising in her cheeks. So special. Without effort they’d raised her from the morass of self-doubt her abusive marriage had plunged her into and placed her on a pedestal. For a single night she’d been the ideal object of pleasure for two individuals who’d never shared their love with anyone before. Her hand began to move between her legs before she remembered where she was.
Damn I miss you both so much.
Becky closed down her phone and placed her head in her hands with regret. Why can’t I find a love like that? When is someone going to sweep me off my feet and make me feel like you two did? You promised my dream was going to find me, Lisa.
Rule number four—simple. Lisa and Davis wanted to make sure the person they opened themselves to was safe. Becky had taught their children for years. She knew the couple from school functions and PTA meetings but had always remained a distant, respectful teacher until that night.
If I’d known what was possible, I would have been there for you years ago.
The fifth rule proved how much they cared about the person they invited. Their “guest” was to be a reflection of their love for each other. The person they’d invited couldn’t be married or be in a loving relationship of any kind. They refused to ruin someone else’s life for their own pleasure.
Respect mixed with an equal measure of desire was the love they offered.
The last rule was simple. The guest had to partake by choice, completely aware of what was going on. Fully cognizant of the rules and what they meant. Becky had joined them of her own free will and didn’t regret her decision for a second. Returning their trust meant waiting for the call that had yet to come.
I could be your Valentine’s present to each other.
All you have to do is call.
Becky stared at her phone, wishing its silence didn't cause her so much pain. With a growl of disgust, she finally pushed it across the table out of her reach and picked up her coffee, trying her best not to look at the cell device. She exhaled with disappointment in herself and picked up her book again.
For months Becky had spent her hours after work at B&D Used Bookstore and Specialty Coffee Shop. The last of a dying breed, the small store nestled comfortably next to a huge Houston strip mall, easily missed in the bustle of “progress”. Crushed on all sides by all those things society seemed to want these days—Starbucks, Lowes, Walmart, trendy restaurants with Styrofoam food and the big chain bookstore that never carried anything she was interested in—B&D provided refuge from pressures no one else on her planet seemed to feel.
The small shop’s single glass door opened with a sweet jingle from a cluster of tiny handmade copper bells, transporting every weary traveler to any world of their own choosing. The smell of old leather and paper would clutch the most hardened browser’s heart and whisper sweet promises in their ears. It’s here. Anything you want. Rows of high shelves, separated by aisles so narrow only a single person could comfortably squeeze between them, formed a labyrinth of slumbering dreams all could search without intrusion. If you were discovered in the maze, lost in a search for a long-forgotten treasure, other patrons were happy to allow the store’s magic to envelop you completely. Another aisle would call to them until you finished your journey. The bookstore’s spells took too long to weave and were too precious to squander.
Like all B&D regulars, Becky had discovered the bookstore never yielded its secrets to the uninitiated or casual browser. As if designed by Daedalus himself, the shelves formed a complex maze of twists and turns without apparent rhyme or reason. Without Ariadne’s thread to guide them, the novices always found themselves back at the store’s entrance, regardless of how many times they chose a different path. The master bibliophiles knew better. The center of the maze held a secret. Persistent explorers, if they carefully memorized their steps, would eventually discover that the literary construct emptied onto an aromatic sanctuary of silence dedicated to relaxation. Unlike the rest of the bookshop, only this small shrine dedicated to the preparation of caffeinated beverages was lit by natural light that poured from a small skylight. Woven Turkish silk muffled the explorers’ footsteps as they approached a circular one-person kiosk.
Enclosed within it, an ancient copper espresso machine hissed fine clouds of steam as it glistened behind unmarred black granite countertops. The remaining space showcased handmade pastries beneath crystalline glass bell covers. Soft sunbeams fell upon the three worn tables surrounding the central coffee station. Four comfortable chairs heaped with plush cushions surrounded each table, allowing Becky to melt instead of simply sitting.
“Can I refill your coffee, Ms. Becky?” a familiar voice called.
The sound brought Becky’s gaze upward. She pushed her small black-framed reading glasses higher on her nose and brushed her long brown hair over her shoulder. Mr. Beadle was old and stooped but he was far from frail. His smile was warm comfort and always welcome. Without fail, his long-sleeved shirt was wrinkle free and nearly blinding white, unbuttoned at the collar without a tie. His pressed black slacks and English patent-leather shoes didn’t change but never looked worn. He took meticulous care of everything around him, from the coffee he made to the clothes he wore, his attention to detail obvious to anyone who chose to notice.
Today he wore a blue barista’s apron that declared “Books Love You Unconditionally”. Becky had never seen him wear an apron with the same quote twice and wondered for the umpteenth time how each one always seemed to be speaking specifically to her.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Beadle,” Becky answered. “I have to be going soon.”
His smile was as bright as the patch of sunlight lighting the maze’s hidden heart. “It’s ‘B’ like the letter, Ms. Becky. Just B. I have a new mixture I just brewed. Dark Costa Rican with a hint of Kona. If you sip it slow, you’ll swear a Sumatran bean slipped in there somewhere but I’ll never tell.”
It was impossible not to grin with him. “Okay, B. I’m curious now. One more and then I have to go.”
Mr. Beadle retrieved her coffee cup from the table and began walking back to the coffee kiosk. After a few short steps he stopped in his tracks. His shoulders seemed a little more slumped and his voice became wistful. “You know, Ms. Becky. That look you had on your face when I walked over is why I stayed open even after D had passed.”
Becky searched her memory, trying to picture the look he was talking about. “What do you mean?”
“You were somewhere else.” His voice became even softer. “Far aw
Becky watched him walk away, not knowing what to say. Was it “thank you” or “sorry for your loss”? Nothing seemed appropriate. Silence was better. Becky wanted a love like she imagined B had had. Never-ending and infinite. Lisa had promised her it was out there, somewhere. Waiting for her alone with tender lips. Sometimes she could almost believe it. At other times, even the idea itself was too far away to imagine.
I’m so alone here, Lisa. Where is the love you promised?
The smell of roses tickled her nose. A waft of vanilla or a hint of sweet chocolate. A raging fire on a cold night, wrapped in a lover’s arms. The comfort of a tingling memory she could no longer recall. Warmth suffused her skin and tried to pull her into another place and time, feeling as if some unseen being’s gaze had graced her lonely flesh.
A lover’s breath.
Becky looked up as if shocked. The stacks of books stood silent. The air was still but infinitely fresh and invigorating. Nothing moved.
“Here you are, Ms. Becky.”
Mr. Beadle’s voice shifted her back to B&D again with a start. He set a fine china cup and saucer in front of her. The scent of roses was gone, as if overpowered by the aroma of dark coffee filling her nostrils. The heat had left her skin, leaving a vague chill without explanation.
Where are you?
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Ms. Becky,” Mr. Beadle’s voice soothed. “You look like something just walked over your grave. Are you all right?”
“What?” Becky tried to clear her head. “What? No. I’m fine, it’s just… I just…”
“Just what, Ms. Becky?”
I don’t know. “Nothing, Mr. Bead…I mean, B. My mind wandered away for a minute there. I was thinking of something…” Before she spoke again, Becky met his kind eyes, which were now filled with concern. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“That happens here sometimes. D always said ‘just roll with it’.” He smiled brightly as he spoke. Either the comment itself or his wife’s memory had suddenly restored happiness to his world.
Becky perused the room with trepidation. She reached for her coffee before she realized how badly her hands were shaking. Self-conscious, she moved them back to her lap before her nervous tell was revealed. “I’ll try, B.”
Mr. Beadle turned with a laugh and began walking away before he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be at the front register if you need me. Just holler.”
Becky didn’t answer, checking behind her again before her gaze flashed across the aisles once more. What was I thinking? Of course there’s no one there.
There never is.
Becky kneaded her hands together until they stilled, then took a sip of her coffee. It tasted heavenly as it tickled her palate. Ultra-dark roast with a hint of something else too far away to recognize. Sumatra maybe? She smiled as the thought skittered away and lowered her eyes to her books, trying to remember what she’d been reading.
Irish Faery Tales: The Emerald Isle’s Promise. Becky finally understood why her mind had left her. She’d been reading about rolling verdant hills, fairies and leprechauns. Impossible things. Lisa and Davis were real though. Lisa had tried to convince Becky fairytale love existed but, as Valentine’s Day threatened to find her alone again, she was rapidly losing faith.
The move to Houston had been exhausting. Trying to figure out what she was supposed to be doing as the new elementary school assistant principal was sapping the last of her strength and she wasn’t even sure if she was doing a good job. As she beat herself up, her thoughts suddenly careened away to unwanted places, swerving toward the promises her ex-husband had whispered so long ago and the misery he’d inflicted. Another fairy tale with an unhappy ending.
A warm tickle scampered down Becky’s spine. The air changed and thickened around her. Fresh. Clean. New.
“A beautiful woman should never look so sad.”
The voice was a sweet, warm glaze poured slowly across every inch of her exposed skin. Roses. A touch of vanilla? The hairs on the back of Becky’s neck stood up in warning. Or was it something else? Startled from her misery, she looked in the direction of the sound.
If beauty had a name… The woman sat on the edge of her chair one table away. She stared at Becky intently with her legs crossed and her hands resting primly on her knee. Becky had never seen someone sit with such perfect posture and still appear both demure and comfortable at the same time. Her long red hair seemed like a brilliant fire lit solely for the purpose of imbuing her emerald eyes with the unearthly glow. Blood-red, impossibly moist lips turned upward at one corner of her mouth in an enticing grin.
Everything the gorgeous woman wore was red and yet the exact hue seemed to defy logic. A mirage of ever-changing shades just beyond explanation, daring you to name them before they evaded you again. A single swath of fabric passed behind her neck before it merged with the décolletage, diving deeply into stark-white cleavage carved from marble. Each of her tiny freckles seemed exactly where it should be, as if placed one at a time by a master artist with unmatched skill lost to time. Without pause, the skintight dress continued downward, flowing across every curve of her buxom figure as if painted on rather than worn. The lower hem barely reached her knees before snow-white legs emerged unblemished and pure, terminating in polished heels strapped loosely to dainty ankles. Only the small tattoo on her left breast marked her as human. A heart pierced by a tiny golden arrow.
“What?” Becky tried to find her voice as she gazed at the masterpiece before her. “Are you talking to me?”
“Hmmm.” The woman placed a ruby fingernail against her chin. She stretched out her neck and peered to either side, scanning the stacks of books slowly with concern before her eyes, sea-green oceans of infinity, lit on Becky’s questioning gaze again. She leaned forward slightly before dropping her voice to a bare whisper. “It appears so. I don’t see anyone else.”
“I… Ahh…” Becky had lost her power of speech. Her mouth was parched. “What did you say?”
The woman twirled her ankle slowly and stared as if sizing up her prey. “Well, and I’m paraphrasing here, I said you would look so much prettier if you smiled more. Of course, it would be difficult to improve on the woman I’m looking at now. Just a thought.”
Becky’s racing heartbeat had become palpable in her throat. She looked around the bookstore nervously. Is she hitting on me? Her eyes swung back to the woman but she was too flabbergasted to utter a sound.
“Well?” The woman raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“What?”
The auburn eyebrows furrowed with concern, pinching the stranger’s eyes to mere slits. “You like that word, don’t you?”
Becky felt her face grow hot before the flush rushed across her chest. “What? I mean…” She was suddenly acutely embarrassed by her behavior. “I mean ‘well’ what? I didn’t understand the question.”
“You’re very cute when you’re blushing, you know that?” The woman chuckled and then whispered again, “Are you going to invite me to your table or are we going to shout across the room all day?”
Becky’s tongue was wrapped in cotton. She reached for her coffee and drank hurriedly, burning her mouth in the process. “Shit!” She blotted her mouth with her napkin and searched madly for something cold to drink, twice as embarrassed as she’d been just a minute before.
“Here.” The woman stood and offered a cold bottle of water. “I haven’t opened mine yet. You should be more careful. I could never forgive myself if you burned those pretty lips.”
Becky reached out and accepted the drink with nervous hands. I don’t remember her having anything on her table. The woman in red was tall and perfectly proportioned, her hips full without being large, her bottom just round enough to tease, begging to be held. Her perfume was wonderful. An indefinable floral mixture, soft and distant but calling at the same time. Becky suddenly wanted to stand and smell her neck. To taste her skin. I can’t believe this is happening.
