Читать книгу Six Hot Summer Nights - Leslie Kelly - Страница 34

CHRISTY WAS DREAMING. She knew she was dreaming because she felt no pain. She was walking through the base on her way to the swimming pool and her knees didn’t creak, there was no persistent ache in her hips, and even her spine felt like it was fresh and new.

She took a deep breath, loving the feel of such easy movement. And as she exhaled, she saw him: Jason. Adonis rising from the depths of the swimming pool, his body all sleek and golden. She saw his scars with new understanding now. She recognized the anger that haunted his expression and added a clipped edge to his gestures. She knew the source now, and her heart ached for him.

But this was a sunlit dream, and there was no time for pain here. So when a child ran past her chasing a Frisbee, she laughed at his antics. He tripped over something, but he scrambled to his feet and ran on. If she wanted too, she could run after him. She could run and play as she’d never been able to as a child. There was no pain here. Except, of course, Jason’s pain.

She turned away from the children. She was interested in more adult entertainment anyway. So she took Jason’s hand and together they walked. They ended up on the beach, the people and the background melting away as they can in dreams. She didn’t care. All that mattered was the man beside her.

“I understand your choice,” she said. “You were probably right to stop us before.”

“Christy,” he said, the word half worship, half desperate longing.

She touched her fingers to his lips. “This is a dream, Jason. And here, I can do what I wanted to before. Here, I can give you some little release because you won’t let me in real life.”

“I wanted to. I wanted you,” he said against her fingers.

“Shh,” she whispered as she pulled her hand back so she could kiss his mouth. “Let me do this. Because I really want to.”

She stroked her tongue across his lips. He opened for her and they played together like that for a bit. His arms wrapped around her and she gloried in his strength. But soon, she wanted more and so she broke from his arms.

“Don’t move,” she said. “Not even a little bit.”

He tilted his head, his brows arched in surprise.

“My dream. My rules.” Then she grinned at him. “Parade rest, soldier.”

“I’m a marine, Christy.”

“Oh, right. Parade rest, sailor.”

“Aye-aye,” he answered. Then he widened his stance and locked his hands behind his back. She stepped back a bit to admire him. His broad shoulders, his golden skin over washboard abs, and his wonderful erection. Clothing was strictly forbidden in her dream.

Now she could kiss him at her leisure, wherever and however she wanted to. His mouth, his chiseled chin, and his neck were first. But she quickly went lower, glorying in the ripples of his chest, the tight bud of his nipples, and the way his heart thundered beneath her lips.

He tasted like sunshine and strength to her. Like every stroke of her tongue brought forth sparks of bright light that tingled in her mouth. And when she swallowed, she brought his lightness into herself, letting it warm her body and electrify her blood.

The strength came from her, though. Because in this dream, her joints were normal and movement was easy. She could do as she willed with him, without fear of spending days in aching stillness on her bed. And better yet, as she used her most powerful body, she could bring this god of a man to quivering lust. She could make him weak with hunger until he collapsed at her feet.

At least that was her plan, and so she set about doing it with leisurely skill.

She kissed down his belly, nipped at the tattooed bird on his hip, and then inhaled deeply of his musk as she finally got to stroke his erection. She was on her knees now before him, but it was a ridiculously easy position to hold. One glance up at his face told her his breath was coming in ragged pants and his eyes were burning for her.

“Christy—” he began, but she shook her head.

“Not a word, not a move, Jason. Not until you collapse at my feet.”

“But you don’t have to—”

“I do,” she said.

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding. And then as he exhaled, she felt his buttocks tighten and his body ready itself for her. Then just before she took him in her mouth, he said something that stopped her cold.

“You don’t have to do it clothed, do you? You can give me a peek, can’t you? Even if I can’t touch.”

She blinked, startled that he would ask such a thing in her dream. Her attention had been on what she was about to do, not on how she looked. But he’d made her think of it, and so she complied. Better yet, since this was a dream, she could perform acrobatic feats that would be impossible in real life.

“Very well,” she said. Then she rose up before him. She was dressed in her usual yellow sundress. Nothing fancy, but this one had a zipper in back. It was a simple matter to reach behind and slowly pull down the zipper. And then she let the dress drop off her shoulders to pool at her feet. Even in dreams, she wore a full support bra and panties. Though this set was made of black lace that stood out against her stark white skin.

“You have the most gorgeous body,” he breathed. “Great breasts, and your waist is perfect. And turn around. Please turn around. I’ve been staring at your ass for two days now and all you’ve worn are skirts or loose shorts. Let me see it for real.”

She straightened, surprised by his words. Had he really been looking at her butt? Really?

She stood before him, slowly stretching her arms above her head. She watched his eyes flow over her breasts and he licked his lips. Slowly she turned around, but twisted enough to see his face. Damn, his eyes definitely dropped to her bottom.

“Permission to touch?” he asked.

She grinned. It was thrilling to have a man look at something other than her oversize breasts. “Granted, sailor.”

His hands found her bottom immediately. And though he’d gotten to her fast, his caress was anything but. He stroked slowly over her hips before cupping her ass. Just to see how he’d react, she slowly bent over.

He groaned, and the sound seemed to travel straight from the depths of him, enough to make her arch.

“Christy,” he whispered, and she felt him step forward.

She leaped away because here she could do that without wincing. “Back into position, sailor!” she cried.

He froze, and the look on his face was comical. “But—”

“My dream. My rules.”

He frowned at her and returned to parade rest. But he seemed downright confused as he shook his head. “I must have a really twisted subconscious.”

She smiled and returned to facing him. “You mean my subconscious, sweetie.” She popped her bra and pulled it away. His eyes practically bugged out of his head. “And why wouldn’t I want to dominate a ripped marine?” She hooked her thumbs under the straps of her thong and shimmied it down.

His penis twitched as she moved. She knew he was holding himself back, but his gaze all but burned her wherever it touched. And it did touch her everywhere.

“I take it back,” he said. “My subconscious knows exactly what I like.”

“Really?” she said as she teased him. “Does it like this?” She lifted her breasts, one in each hand. She began to knead them, pretending to get herself really hot. Except, of course, it wasn’t pretend. Especially as she widened her legs and began to stroke herself. She’d never done that in front of a man. Couldn’t even imagine doing it anywhere except for right here. Right in front of a man who could overpower her in a second, but chose—by her command—to keep himself absolutely still.

She didn’t come. That wasn’t what this dream was about. And though she was definitely worked up, she wanted to touch him. So she eventually returned to her knees in front of him.

She stroked his penis, loving the velvet feel of his skin, the thick pulse she imagined in her hand, and the wet slide of moisture at his tip. She could see the sunshine where she touched him. A light that seemed to come from inside him, but flowed hot and hungry into her. It was desire, she realized. Hot, wicked hunger for her. And maybe some love, too. There was some emotion there that went beyond sex. She was sure of it even if she didn’t examine it too closely. Whatever it was, she wanted more, and so she bent her head and took him in.

She played with him then, however she wanted. Stroking his penis with her tongue, caressing his ass with her hands. Soon, his body was shaking. She knew he was close and she wanted it all. Right now. Sunshine and desire, all mixed together in this dream, and she demanded every iota of what he had to give.

She felt him erupt.

Bliss!

She drank it all and felt filled with light.

CHRISTY WOKE with a cry that quickly changed into a gasp of pain. After such lightness of heart and body, it was a cruel trick to dump her back into her real body. She tried to move, feeling how stiff every joint was, and wincing as both knees crackled.

She glanced at her wristwatch. Barely 2:00 a.m. She grabbed the glass of water and pills she’d left on the nightstand and swallowed them as fast as possible. She was pushing the dosage. She’d hoped to sleep through until morning. But she hadn’t, and no way could she last until morning awake. So she took the pills and lay like a corpse in her bed. Sometimes, if she didn’t move at all, the pain eased enough for her to sleep.

Or other times—and apparently this was one of them—the pressure to move built up and she knew she’d have to go for option two. It was a ridiculous thing to do. She knew that. Her father hated it and her mother usually hid in the bedroom when she did it. But every doctor she’d spoken to about it had shrugged and encouraged her to pursue whatever worked. She had tried to wait it out. Sometimes that worked. But not tonight. She was too keyed up after the day—and the dream—spent with Jason.

So, option two. She supported herself and managed to get out of bed, stabilizing her swollen feet beneath her, and hobbled as carefully as she could to the bathroom. She tried not to bend too much as she walked, keeping her knees to a very easy angle and her spine stiff with almost no rotation. It wasn’t so much the bright flashes of pain. Those happened intermittently, and she’d long since learned to accept them. It was the gnawing ache of every step, every breath, every movement.

Her joints were swollen and they didn’t want to move. Predictably, the worst was in her knees. After all the biking, she knew that might happen. But there was pain in her ankles, which led to swollen feet and the like. If she let it continue, the ache would tighten up her shoulders which would lead to a raging headache. Option two was designed to head that off at the pass.

She made it to the bathroom and plugged the tub. She ran the cold water then hobbled her way to the kitchen. She’d already made the ice just in case. It was the first thing she did when coming to a new place, and so she had plenty of ice cubes stored up.

It took a few minutes, but soon she was dumping the ice bucket into the water and waiting while the tub finished filling. And then, her ice bath was ready.

She stripped out of her nightgown, tossing it aside. Then she stretched herself across the tub, lifting a leg, poising herself for the drop. It was always best to submerge fast. Inch by inch never worked.

She took a few deep breaths, the pressure to act building in her mind. There was something that clicked deep inside her when it finally reached a certain level. Pain, pressure or just neuroses, it didn’t matter. It was time.

She dropped herself into the ice water.

She gasped, her mind going white in shock. Her entire body seemed to seize up, drawing tight to her spine. Even her breath shrunk to nothing as her diaphragm froze.

Cold. Mind-numbing cold rolled into her consciousness. As if her whole body were lost to one long scream of agony. But if she waited long enough the scream faded. It grew distant, like a train whistle shrinking into the background. And with it went all sensation. What remained was silence. And blessed numbness. She felt nothing but the lingering impression of pain somewhere so removed from her blanked mind as to be completely unimportant.

Silent.

Cold.

Done.

CHRISTY BLINKED BACK to awareness, realizing that her teeth were chattering and her fingertips were blue. She didn’t have a clock nearby, but she knew it had probably been ten minutes or less since she submerged. Either way, it was time to get out.

The lower half of her body was numb—which was the point—so she had to maneuver with weak and trembling arms. At home she had special railings installed so she could drag herself out safely. But this was temporary quarters on base. She could still manage it, but it was harder than she thought. Her legs were heavy and barely responsive and the sides of the tub were slick. She managed to haul herself out, but when her right foot was supposed to take her weight, it didn’t. She half slid, half fell, her arms going every which way and the—

Ow! Her head impacted hard with the toilet and she cried out. Then she was on the floor, still stunned, one arm pinned beneath her, and a throbbing just behind her eye.

Ow. Ow. Ow.

She lay on the floor panting, annoyed that all the work of having a pain-free lower half had just been destroyed by a throbbing headache. And now sensation was returning to her lower body. Hell.

Then she heard it. Jason calling her name. Had he been banging on the door? She didn’t know.

“Christy!”

Definitely Jason. She tried to call back, tell him she was fine. Her voice came out as a croak. And then it was too late.

The door crashed open and he was there, his face going white as a sheet as he looked at her: naked, bloody, and half sprawled on the floor of the bathroom.

Shit.