back and flipped them so that she lay open and panting below him. He pulled out of her and looked down at the slick pinkness of her.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice deep and demanding.
“You, Sam,” she said softly.
“Who does this sweet pussy belong to?” he demanded, slipping his first two fingers deep inside of her and pressing in at just the right angle to graze her G-spot repeatedly.
Rachel gasped, her hips lifting up as a second orgasm shot through her. “Sam,” she moaned.
“Who does this sweet pussy belong to, Rachel?” he repeated, removing his hand and taking hold of his shaft to hold it at her entrance.
“You, Sam,” Rachel said gently as she fought for breath. “I love you.”
Sam slid deep inside of her in one smooth thrust, holding himself still as her vaginal walls pulsed around him. Leaning forward, he covered her body with his and began a gentle rhythm of thrust and retreat as he kissed her shoulders and her neck.
“I love you, Rachel,” he whispered against her ear before he kissed her temple lightly. “You belong to me.”
“We belong to each other,” Rachel corrected him, smiling when she heard him chuckle.
“Yeah, baby. We do.”
Rachel moaned as her orgasm raced through her body. She opened her eyes and fought to make sense of her dream. After all these years, she still dreamed about Sam. She dreamed about him constantly. It was really starting to make her crazy. What frustrated her the most was that she knew that nothing she ever dreamed was even remotely possible.
Even though every dream was gentle, loving, and fun, she wished she wouldn’t dream them anymore. No matter who she dated, no matter how she tried to begin serious relationships with men, nothing ever came close to how she felt about Sam McCoy.
“I don’t want to dream about him,” she said out loud.
Climbing out of bed, she walked toward the bathroom on shaky legs. Geez! If Sam could make her come that hard in her dreams, he would be lethal if he did it for real. She laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts. She looked at her watch and saw that she had better get ready for her date.
When she left the hotel one hour later, she had transformed herself from the casual country girl to the sophisticated woman that turned heads as she walked through the front doors of the hotel and waited for a cab to be hailed for her. She thanked the doorman and stepped forward to enter the cab and settled back with her purse on her lap as the door was shut behind her.
She leaned forward to tell the driver the address of Richard Damian, her date for the night, then sat back to enjoy the ride to his apartment. She was looking forward to spending time with Richard and having dinner with him at the exclusive restaurant River Cafe .
She had met Richard at a corner bagel shop during one of her trips into New York City to meet with her agent Nancy who had become a good friend over the years. The smell of the freshly baked bagels must have relaxed her and lowered her guard because she had found herself being swept away by his charm and enthusiasm. Before she knew it, she was meeting him for dinners and taking rides through Central Park in handsome cabs. During the past few months they had met often, and she had found that she had become quite fond of him. His promises to give her the earth, the moon, and the stars had certainly set her head spinning and her heart fluttering.
Despite the ten years that had passed since she had left Colorado, the memory of a certain man still haunted her. Her time away at college and her determination to create a new life for herself had done little to erase her memories of the choices she had been forced to make. Every man she met was measured against Sam’s kindness, his humor, his strength, and his caring. And each man fell miles short in comparison.
Being alone so much to write her novels had distanced her from the single social scene. Richard Damian’s presence reminded
“Who do you belong to?” he asked, his voice deep and demanding.
“You, Sam,” she said softly.
“Who does this sweet pussy belong to?” he demanded, slipping his first two fingers deep inside of her and pressing in at just the right angle to graze her G-spot repeatedly.
Rachel gasped, her hips lifting up as a second orgasm shot through her. “Sam,” she moaned.
“Who does this sweet pussy belong to, Rachel?” he repeated, removing his hand and taking hold of his shaft to hold it at her entrance.
“You, Sam,” Rachel said gently as she fought for breath. “I love you.”
Sam slid deep inside of her in one smooth thrust, holding himself still as her vaginal walls pulsed around him. Leaning forward, he covered her body with his and began a gentle rhythm of thrust and retreat as he kissed her shoulders and her neck.
“I love you, Rachel,” he whispered against her ear before he kissed her temple lightly. “You belong to me.”
“We belong to each other,” Rachel corrected him, smiling when she heard him chuckle.
“Yeah, baby. We do.”
Rachel moaned as her orgasm raced through her body. She opened her eyes and fought to make sense of her dream. After all these years, she still dreamed about Sam. She dreamed about him constantly. It was really starting to make her crazy. What frustrated her the most was that she knew that nothing she ever dreamed was even remotely possible.
Even though every dream was gentle, loving, and fun, she wished she wouldn’t dream them anymore. No matter who she dated, no matter how she tried to begin serious relationships with men, nothing ever came close to how she felt about Sam McCoy.
“I don’t want to dream about him,” she said out loud.
Climbing out of bed, she walked toward the bathroom on shaky legs. Geez! If Sam could make her come that hard in her dreams, he would be lethal if he did it for real. She laughed at the absurdity of her thoughts. She looked at her watch and saw that she had better get ready for her date.
When she left the hotel one hour later, she had transformed herself from the casual country girl to the sophisticated woman that turned heads as she walked through the front doors of the hotel and waited for a cab to be hailed for her. She thanked the doorman and stepped forward to enter the cab and settled back with her purse on her lap as the door was shut behind her.
She leaned forward to tell the driver the address of Richard Damian, her date for the night, then sat back to enjoy the ride to his apartment. She was looking forward to spending time with Richard and having dinner with him at the exclusive restaurant River Cafe .
She had met Richard at a corner bagel shop during one of her trips into New York City to meet with her agent Nancy who had become a good friend over the years. The smell of the freshly baked bagels must have relaxed her and lowered her guard because she had found herself being swept away by his charm and enthusiasm. Before she knew it, she was meeting him for dinners and taking rides through Central Park in handsome cabs. During the past few months they had met often, and she had found that she had become quite fond of him. His promises to give her the earth, the moon, and the stars had certainly set her head spinning and her heart fluttering.
Despite the ten years that had passed since she had left Colorado, the memory of a certain man still haunted her. Her time away at college and her determination to create a new life for herself had done little to erase her memories of the choices she had been forced to make. Every man she met was measured against Sam’s kindness, his humor, his strength, and his caring. And each man fell miles short in comparison.
Being alone so much to write her novels had distanced her from the single social scene. Richard Damian’s presence reminded
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