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She lay naked on her stomach with her legs parted, her eyes closed, and her hands spread on either side of her head. The man lying on top of her whispered against her ear, "You are so beautiful ... so sexy. You feel so good ... so hot ... so tight ... so slick. I've never felt this way with anyone else. I can't get enough of you ... I love you so much."
His words danced over her skin like a silken caress. A riot of emotions raced through her. She felt loved, desired, adored, and free to be as wanton as she'd always longed to be with him. "I love you too," she moaned. "I hunger for you. Feed my hunger. Fuck me!"
He laced his fingers through hers, kissed the back of her neck, lowered his powerful hips against her butt, and slowly, deliciously stroked his thick, hard length deep into the center of her slick need. The fire in her belly raged and spread lower, coming to an aching, burning stop between her legs.
Raining kisses onto her neck and filling her ears and heart with hot words of love and lust for her sensuous, dark body, he stroked deep and hard into her, branding her body and claiming her body and her heart as his alone.
She had waited so long for these sweet, wonderful moments so full of passion and delight. A wave of need, love, and lust crashed over her. The fire in her core became a raging inferno, consuming her. Her body on fire, she cried out, shattering into a million, blissful, blazing pieces around his plundering cock.
"Oh, baby! Yes!" Nipping at her neck, he lowered his full weight onto her body, squeezing her fingers so hard her hands tingled. He thrust hard and deep ... so deep her toes curled. Arching herback, she gasped with a combination of joy and pain as he came, filling her with his seed.
She lay smoldering under him, gasping with pleasure, her heart racing, savoring the knowledge that there was nothing between them ... no inhibitions ... no condoms. There was just their love and their desire for each other.
"I love you so much, Jefferson."
There was no response and in a moment, his big, hard body no longer pressed down on hers. She turned, opened her eyes, and groaned--as the dream faded.
Sharde Donovan lay alone in her bed, her nightgown soaked, her panties damp, and her heart aching. She turned and buried her face in her pillow, bitter tears stinging her eyes. She could not go on like this. Something had to give. Either she had to find a way to catch Jefferson Calder's eye, or she had to make a clean break and move on with her life.
That would mean leaving her job as Technology Manager at Calder Technologies. She'd been with the company for nine years. She loved her job, but her increasingly graphic and erotic dreams were a sign she was but a breath away from becoming obsessed with a man who saw her as nothing more than his efficient technology manager/confidant. As things stood now, she had absolutely no chance of ever becoming the woman Jefferson sought out when he wanted to make love. Calder's woman. That's what she longed to be. During the nine years she'd known him, she'd dated and been intimate with a few men, but always found herself comparing each lover to Jefferson. She sighed. Small wonder none of her relationships had blossomed into anything lasting or worthwhile.
She rolled onto her back and slid out of bed. She walked into the bathroom, tossed her nightgown and panties into the hamper, and stared at her reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. Bare of make up, the face that stared back at her was golden brown and smooth. Her lips were full, her eyes hazel. With make up and a little help from complimentary lighting, she suspected some men might consider her "cute," but far from pretty.
Cute women didn't land hunks like Jefferson. Gorgeous men like him ended up with the sexy, sultry women uninhibited enough to make the most of their sexuality to get what they wanted. While she had no desire to slink around collecting men like trophies, she did want Jefferson. The question was how much she wanted him and what was she prepared to do to get him.
She sighed and walked to the shower. She stood under the cool water. Okay, Sharde. Playtime is over. You have one month to turn his head. One month. If he doesn't notice you're a blasted woman within that time, you give your notice and you walk away. And you don't look back.
Her thoughts drifted to the last time she'd been alone with him, two weeks earlier. She tightened her lips. You're not spending another blasted Super Bowl Sunday with him being treated like one of the boys. And there will be no more "dates" that aren't dates. When March Madness rolls around, if he hasn't shaped up by then, he can get another "boy" to sit and watch all those college basketball games with him!
