Woman of His Dreams - Part XIII
Welcome to Part 13 of "Woman of his Dreams"! If you're new to my dark little erotic tale, you can find the start here!
Enjoy, and remember, dreams often have a life of their own...
~AC
Anthony looked down at the keys in his hand.
“How’d you get in?” he asked the woman in the bookstore, closing the distance between them. She seemed so familiar. He knew her. When he stood near her, she smelled like jasmine.
“Who gave you a fucking key?” she countered and snatched at his fist.
She pressed against him, her body hard and muscular, breasts sharp behind a reinforced bra or bustier. Her hands climbed his arm and she pulled herself up him with surprising force until she gripped his closed hand and pried it open. He caught her shoulder and they struggled against each other, hard edges rubbing, an intoxicating friction building heat between them.
He considered hitting her just before her knee rose with precise malice between his legs. Lancing pain stabbed all the way to the crown of his head. He staggered back, surrendering the keys to her.
“You’re that scumbag bookworm,” she spit out, the words barely penetrating the red whine of agony. He knew her, he thought between spasms.
“No,” Anthony managed. “But I work for him. Who’re you?”
He thought she might kick him again, but she answered, “Cassie’s all you need to know. There’s a court order. You can’t touch this place.”
He straightened himself up, the pain diminishing geometrically. “Oh? Nobody told me.”
“This was Uncle Whit’s store. He left it to me. The bankruptcy court had no right to sell it.”
He studied her, still trying to place her. She wore white make-up, he guessed, to give her skin that extraordinary pallor, glamor Goth, the neckline of her black lace blouse low and tattered above a short, red satin skirt and smoky hose. Once he looked at her legs, he could hardly look away from them.
“Hey,” she said. “You can go now.”
Anthony actually felt himself blushing, caught like a naughty boy. “Listen, not so fast. Maybe we can make a deal. Yeah, I work for the guy who bought this place, but that’s not why I’m here. Maybe if you help me, I can help you. He’s not a bad guy.” The lie only stung a little. Charlie and Uncle Mac would butcher a puppy for the right book.
He saw he’d intrigued her.
“Oh?” she mocked his exact tone. “Do tell? What is it you want?”
Fuck. Did she really just lean over and show half her breasts to him?
“A book,” he said. “There was a book here?”
She looked around at the overfull shelves, the messy stacks on every horizontal surface, then back at him, her eyes amused and contemptuous.
“Not those.” He felt like an idiot, like his speech centers had been seized by some parasite that made him stupid and inarticulate. “It’s called Tales. Very old. Do you know the books that your uncle sold? Anything about them?”
Did she flinch? He pressed.
“Look, this book. It’s...”
“Listen, bookworm,” she interrupted. “Maybe I know what you’re talking about, maybe I don’t. What can you do for me?”
“MacIllan will listen to me. He writes off bad buys all the time. Even if you don’t … even if there’s some problem, I can get him to quitclaim this deal.”
“Not what I meant, bookworm.” She rested her hand on her hip, and her eyes burned with mischief and hunger. “What can you do for me now?”
“You need some money?”
She made a pfft noise and, with a sweep of her hand, scattered three little piles of books from a table. She hopped up and sat facing him. White cream flashed above dark stockings. He couldn’t quite see if she wore panties.
“I know your book, Poindexter. Your Tales. I know all about it.”
He looked from the pale gate of her thighs up to her face, and he believed her. “Take off your clothes,” she said. She watched him unbutton his shirt, her eyes black and cold as a winter sea.
“What’s that?” She reached for the bandage on his side and he caught her hand. Cassie slapped him hard across his cheek and he released her. “Never say no to me,” she told him and slapped his other cheek harder, trailing a nail. Blood ran in a thin stream from his cut cheekbone.
She fingered the bandage and the wound pulsed under her touch, then her hand trailed down and scratched his tightened stomach. “Get ‘em off. Strip.”
His fingers trembling a little, Anthony unbuckled his jeans and stepped out of them. She spread her legs wider and he caught a glimpse of white silk. “Nice boxers.” She ran a sharp nail around his waistband. “You like it, don’t you?”
She surely saw the hard length of his cock behind the thin curtain of his shorts. He saw no reason to lie to her so he nodded.
“Say ‘yes, ma’am.’”
“Yes ma’am.
“Keep the boxers on for now. This isn’t about you. Get on your fucking knees.”
Somewhat to his own surprise, he knelt. She caught his hair in her left hand and pulled, looking down at him, exquisitely beautiful, irresistible.
“You’re going to lick me until I say stop. Then I’ll tell you all about your fucking book.”
Enjoy, and remember, dreams often have a life of their own...
~AC
"Woman of His Dreams"
Part 13
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010
Part 13
by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010
Anthony looked down at the keys in his hand. “How’d you get in?” he asked the woman in the bookstore, closing the distance between them. She seemed so familiar. He knew her. When he stood near her, she smelled like jasmine.
“Who gave you a fucking key?” she countered and snatched at his fist.
She pressed against him, her body hard and muscular, breasts sharp behind a reinforced bra or bustier. Her hands climbed his arm and she pulled herself up him with surprising force until she gripped his closed hand and pried it open. He caught her shoulder and they struggled against each other, hard edges rubbing, an intoxicating friction building heat between them.
He considered hitting her just before her knee rose with precise malice between his legs. Lancing pain stabbed all the way to the crown of his head. He staggered back, surrendering the keys to her.
“You’re that scumbag bookworm,” she spit out, the words barely penetrating the red whine of agony. He knew her, he thought between spasms.
“No,” Anthony managed. “But I work for him. Who’re you?”
He thought she might kick him again, but she answered, “Cassie’s all you need to know. There’s a court order. You can’t touch this place.”
He straightened himself up, the pain diminishing geometrically. “Oh? Nobody told me.”
“This was Uncle Whit’s store. He left it to me. The bankruptcy court had no right to sell it.”
He studied her, still trying to place her. She wore white make-up, he guessed, to give her skin that extraordinary pallor, glamor Goth, the neckline of her black lace blouse low and tattered above a short, red satin skirt and smoky hose. Once he looked at her legs, he could hardly look away from them.
“Hey,” she said. “You can go now.”
Anthony actually felt himself blushing, caught like a naughty boy. “Listen, not so fast. Maybe we can make a deal. Yeah, I work for the guy who bought this place, but that’s not why I’m here. Maybe if you help me, I can help you. He’s not a bad guy.” The lie only stung a little. Charlie and Uncle Mac would butcher a puppy for the right book.
He saw he’d intrigued her.
“Oh?” she mocked his exact tone. “Do tell? What is it you want?”
Fuck. Did she really just lean over and show half her breasts to him?
“A book,” he said. “There was a book here?”
She looked around at the overfull shelves, the messy stacks on every horizontal surface, then back at him, her eyes amused and contemptuous.
“Not those.” He felt like an idiot, like his speech centers had been seized by some parasite that made him stupid and inarticulate. “It’s called Tales. Very old. Do you know the books that your uncle sold? Anything about them?”
Did she flinch? He pressed.
“Look, this book. It’s...”
“Listen, bookworm,” she interrupted. “Maybe I know what you’re talking about, maybe I don’t. What can you do for me?”
“MacIllan will listen to me. He writes off bad buys all the time. Even if you don’t … even if there’s some problem, I can get him to quitclaim this deal.”
“Not what I meant, bookworm.” She rested her hand on her hip, and her eyes burned with mischief and hunger. “What can you do for me now?”
“You need some money?”
She made a pfft noise and, with a sweep of her hand, scattered three little piles of books from a table. She hopped up and sat facing him. White cream flashed above dark stockings. He couldn’t quite see if she wore panties.
“I know your book, Poindexter. Your Tales. I know all about it.”
He looked from the pale gate of her thighs up to her face, and he believed her. “Take off your clothes,” she said. She watched him unbutton his shirt, her eyes black and cold as a winter sea.
“What’s that?” She reached for the bandage on his side and he caught her hand. Cassie slapped him hard across his cheek and he released her. “Never say no to me,” she told him and slapped his other cheek harder, trailing a nail. Blood ran in a thin stream from his cut cheekbone.
She fingered the bandage and the wound pulsed under her touch, then her hand trailed down and scratched his tightened stomach. “Get ‘em off. Strip.”
His fingers trembling a little, Anthony unbuckled his jeans and stepped out of them. She spread her legs wider and he caught a glimpse of white silk. “Nice boxers.” She ran a sharp nail around his waistband. “You like it, don’t you?”
She surely saw the hard length of his cock behind the thin curtain of his shorts. He saw no reason to lie to her so he nodded.
“Say ‘yes, ma’am.’”
“Yes ma’am.
“Keep the boxers on for now. This isn’t about you. Get on your fucking knees.”
Somewhat to his own surprise, he knelt. She caught his hair in her left hand and pulled, looking down at him, exquisitely beautiful, irresistible.
“You’re going to lick me until I say stop. Then I’ll tell you all about your fucking book.”
Continued in Part 14
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Posted by Angela Caperton at 8/14/2010 9:42 AM 
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: dark erotica Lovecraft Angela Caperton Woman of His Dreams
Categories: dark erotica, Lovecraft, Angela Caperton, Woman of His Dreams
Tags: dark erotica Lovecraft Angela Caperton Woman of His Dreams
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