Midnight Pleasure by Mia Petrova

Another one of those dreams hit me strong last night. A dream of him. The man who had haunted me for about a week now. I have never seen him before my opened eyes, only behind my closed ones. He looked and felt like a sculpture. A gift from the gods. I was lost in that man, but he wasn’t real. Not even one bit real. That was what was killing me. The pain between my thighs was so strong it made me falter by simply standing. I was being denied the pure pleasures of that skin on top of my aching body. I was doomed.

“Kara, are you ok?” my co-worker asked from between our cubicles. “You’re so pale, Jesus. I’m almost calling the hospital here,” Maria joked with a fake smile.

“I-I’m fine,” I tried saying with a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

I was sawing my legs together at work! God, what was happening to me? My life was so normal until a few days ago. How could a body change and show abnormal signs of pure arousal so quickly? Was that even possible? Because I looked over the internet and there was nothing there. Nothing of what I was feeling, anyway. I was scared shitless. And being at work, wearing a skirt on top of it, wasn’t helping.

“Hey, boss,” Maria said into the phone. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but Kara isn’t feeling very well. Can I call a doctor? Okay. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Maria stood up and came to my side. “The boss man is calling you a doctor,” she murmured, looking very worried.

“Thank you, Maria,” I said sweetly, unable to ignore the pain and the fact that I was in need of grave help.

I waited impatiently for the doctor, trying to think of anything else besides the growing pressure in my womb. My co-workers looked very uneasy with my situation, whispering here and there. That made me mad. Why couldn’t they mind their own business?

As the pain intensified, my vision started to blur. I was scared. And then I could barely breathe. I was so hot I could feel the dampness between my thighs, and I wondered if it would drip if I stood. I closed my eyes, praying for some kind of a miracle cure.

“Thank God. She’s not feeling very good. Look at her!” stated a very terrified Maria.

I still couldn’t open my eyes.

“He’s the firm doctor.” The voice of my boss, Christian, invaded my mind. “Kara, he’ll take…”

“Don’t touch me!” I said it as pain shot through me.

At the same time an unknown male voice said, “Don’t touch her!”

“My God, she’s burning up,” Christian said.

He had simply touched my skin with his fingertips, but there was so much pain. So much need. Then that unknown voice reached my ears, and a chill ran all over my body. A soothing chill. I opened my eyes and then I...

I saw him.

There, kneeling in front of me.

The man of my dreams.

His hair was light brown and long, his eyes as green as emeralds. His jaw was like a sculptor’s work of art, and his body... Mother of God, he was big. And his arms were wonderfully tight. He wore a white T-shirt and black pants. A large medical bag sat on the floor next to him.

“No,” a moan escaped my mouth. “It’s not...not…” I couldn’t finish. My heart beat like a drum, so fast, so hard. And my breathing was all over the place. I was afraid I would pass out.

“Is there a room I can take her?” that masterpiece of a voice asked the man in charge. Right there, I noticed he had an accent, an English accent. That surprised me, but then again, he wasn’t talking much on my dreams.

He was the most marvelous man alive.

“Yes, of course. First door on the left.”

That said, I felt hard hands around me and suddenly I was in his arms. A deep whimper escaped my mouth when he started to take long and fast steps toward the room. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and his skin connecting with mine sent sparks directly to the place I most needed a man’s touch. It was so good and intense I was afraid of reaching orgasm from just touching him. The door closing behind us, and my body trembled, and then cries of pain were coming out of my mouth.

“Easy,” he whispered calmly in my ear.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I caught myself saying with my cries of need.

“What are you apologizing for?” he asked when he put me on the only sofa of the room. When his touch left me, I felt a thousand times worse than I already was. “I’m Logan,” he murmured when he went to close the blinds of the small waiting room that the firm kept for rich clients.


Close Window


  Copyright © 2010 | Cobblestone Press, LLC™