Page 21 of Key Of Dreams

Maya’s going to be the death of me. I pull out, only to thrust back inside hard and fast. I do this again and again. I kiss her nape and her shoulders. She’s so close to her second orgasm, and I’m holding on by a thread.

I want to see her face when she comes, the way her lips part and her eyes go wildly hazy. It’s a sight I don’t want to miss. I pull out and plaster her back to the wall, both my hands lifting her as she wraps her legs around my waist, and I dive back inside her.

She comes hard, leaving her tooth marks on my skin. Her pussy clamps around my cock like a vise, milking me dry. I kiss her passionately, groaning my pleasure into her mouth. She trembles in my arms from the intensity of our lovemaking. I hold on tightly as I move us under the water. I wash us clean, then turn the shower off and wrap her in her fluffy pink towel, grabbing another for myself before I carry her into the bedroom.

I’m lying back against the headboard recuperating when Maya gets up and puts on her robe. “I’ll be right back,” she says and disappears. I can hear her in the kitchen, rustling about. She reappears several minutes later with two dessert cups.

“What’s that?” I ask.

She hands me one and climbs back in beside me. “I made chocolate pudding with whipped cream for dessert. Not very inventive, but it’s good,” she says. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Take off your robe. I don’t want to get it dirty,” I tell her, wicked thoughts going through my head.

“Pardon?” she replies in confusion.

“Take. Off. Your. Robe.” She shrugs out of it and I pick up my spoon, scoop up some whipped cream, and let it fall onto her nipple. “I like having my dessert this way.” I lick it off, and over the next hour, I finish my dessert with gusto.

Chapter11

Clock Is Ticking

Maya

It’s day two, and the English lesson is about different types of poetry. These kids don’t want to read the classics, and I want to keep them engaged in learning, so I’ve been looking into song lyrics. They are their own form of poetry.

I picked lines from some of the classic artists like Joni Mitchell, David Bowie, and Prince, then chose some of the more modern singer/songwriters like P!NK, Tupac, and Coldplay. Making it a game of “name that song” turned it into a friendly competition, the winners getting candy bars, but more importantly, it got them talking about what the words mean to them. I hope they’ll understand that what one person hears isn’t always interpreted the same way by someone else. This leads to a much bigger discussion on communication and the lack of it in society today.

They all participated, even Josh and Calvin. Josh is a very intelligent young man and he’s got a lot to offer. Calvin surprises me when he brings up the singer Drake and his musical connection with his lyrics. The whole class opened up, and a whole new side of this boy was exposed. They discussed and laughed, and when I gave the homework for the evening, no one balked. Instead, they asked more questions, and I gladly gave them resources to help them out.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that an idea came to me in regard to Bull and his team racing against time to find the kidnapped boy before it’s too late. When we want to know where a kid is, we ask their friends. Most of the time, kids confide in their friends more than their parents. Granted, this child is only five, but still, there might be a chance that one of his little friends might know more than they think.

I have a break between third and fourth periods, so I call Bull.

“Babe, you good?” he answers gruffly.

“Yeah, but I had a thought. This might mean nothing, but I’d feel horrible if I didn’t try,” I start.

“You’re not making any sense, Maya,” he says curtly. Obviously, he’s under pressure, and I can see why.

“Kids talk to other kids, even at five. Maybe one of his friends knows or has seen something,” I tell him quickly.

“They’ve been questioned already.”

“Yes, but how? With kids, it’s about how you ask the questions. They don’t know what would be important. I just want to help.” I blow out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“What kind of questions?” he asks. He’s listening!

“Where was he taken?”

“After school, while he was playing in the aftercare program and waiting for his mother.”

“Find out the name of the current caretaker, then ask the kids if they saw him that day. Were they playing a game when they found out he was gone? Who started the game? I’m just throwing stuff out. Obviously, I don’t know enough about the situation to be specific. Kids remember colors and tones. Did they see something that wasn’t familiar?” I can hear him scratching on a notepad. “This may be all for nothing, but I needed to let you know.”

“Nah, babe. This is good. I think we would all be big and intimidating and would freak these kids out,” he admits.

“I can meet you at the school. I can give it a try?” I suggest.

“Are you sure about this?”

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