Page 17 of Sombra
Four
Kim - Dreams
Iopen my eyes, groggy and confused, to a strikingly masculine face inches from mine.
Is this my imagination?
I blink. No, he’s really here.
A strange tremor rises up from my insides, out my spine. I’m not sure where the sensationcame from. He’s thrillingly close, and it’sawesome.
As Tavo unbuckles the seatbelt, he bends over me, and I become statue-like, holding my breath, not wanting to break the spell. His minty breath entices me, and his scruff isright there, begging for me to reach out and pet his chiseled cheek. Stick my finger in that cleft in his chin. Admire him. But he’s not just a treat for the eyes,he smells sublime, like warm leather in the woods. Like rough reins that were put away cleaned and well-oiled after use.
I’m in that unsure state between awake and dreaming, where nothing makes sense. I know how to buckle and unbuckle my own seatbelt, thank you very much, but having him so close?Hot tamale. My central nervous system, wits, wires, and general operating procedures scramblelike someone’s thrown water on my electrical panel. It’s kaput.
Speaking of water, drool sticks to my chin from my snooze, and I attempt to discreetly wipe it off on my shoulder.Great. Surelythatis the way to influence people and win friends.
I bite at my lip and let him unbuckle me, but I’m so confused. As an example, for some reason I’m surprised to still be in a car.
Because of the dream I just had.
I thought I was … elsewhere.
“We’re here, guapa,” he answers in an undertone, using his handsome Spanish accent, and gives me a crooked smile featuring model-perfect teeth. He’s really a thing of beauty. “You fell asleep. It must have been the engine. Come out and meet my family.”
Tavo works so close on the seatbelt clasp that I watch his chestmove up and out, then down and in, and it’s hypnotically sensual. I could easily stare at him breathing all day instead of any Tasty video.
He’s pretty darn tasty.
I squash down thoughts of jamming something in the seatbelt to ensure it never works so he has to do this every day.
And he keeps calling me guapa—pretty girl. I know I don’t look anywhere near as impeccable ashim, since I’m disheveled after traveling for the better part of a day. Nevertheless, the compliment warms my belly.
If I’m honest, it makes me warm in other places, too.
Actually, if I’mreallyhonest, I’m already warm there. And needy.
Because of that dream.
In it, I lay naked on a white fur blanket in the dark. A feather traced down my body, between my breasts, undermy stretched-out arms, along my legs, and up to my center. The soft tip skimmed my skin, waking up all the needlepoint sensory receptors on my skin. They were alert. At attention.
Ready.
But then the dream changed. A finger grazed my skin, following along my arms, down my torso, up the inside of my thighs.
That finger started rubbing. Gently circling my O zone like I was adelicacy and the lightest brush was all that was needed to send me to the ultimate climax.
My lady bits flooded with sensation. My attention heightened, narrowed, focused in and down so that all I wanted, all I really wanted, was that release.
I wasso closeto coming.
But now that I’m awake? I’m still almost there. One more rub. One more thrust, and I’m done. I need to easethe throbbing between my legs. If I could just crest this tension, pass through it and let it journey through me, I’d be well on my way to the best O I’ve ever had. The dream is real, vivid, and I want it to be my reality.
Apparently not. I’m slumped in an unfamiliar car in an unfamiliar country, with saliva on my face, being attended to by an underwear model in the bright afternoon sun.
Just short of an orgasm.
Awkward.
