Wet Lust

Chapter 4

When Hesara finally slept while still horny, she found herself in a different hotel room, just outside of the City, outside the windows, all she could see was the fucking blizzard.

It was the hotel room she had shared with Dante last night, the place where everything had gone wrong.

Wrong. That was the word. It was wrong for her to have slept with her husband's son.

It didn’t matter that he was twenty-one years old, or that her relationship was on the rocks, it was wrong on a deep, personal, moral level.

But it didn’t feel wrong when she woke up next to him in the dream.

It didn’t feel wrong at all when he took her hands and put them on his huge, throbbing cock and moaned when she touched him, as if she were the best thing he had ever had.

It didn’t feel wrong when she stroked the length of his hard member, when she caressed his silk-skinned balls, when she placed her mouth around him and sucked as hard as she could to try to free the come that was simmering beneath the surface, dying to explode and cover her.

And it certainly didn’t feel wrong when dream Dante made her pause, and had her get up on her knees so that he could kiss her breasts and run his tongue across her hard, pointed nipples.

She panted in his ear as his kisses moved to her neck, his tongue swirling over her soft skin, and she gasped out loud when she felt his big hand move to her mound.

She felt his long, masculine fingers slide across her clitoris, just as she had felt his dick do the night before.

She felt them swirl around her most sensitive spot, she felt them caress her inner lips as he felt how wet he was making her.

Then, just as his finger traced the outline of her opening, ready to plunge inside and pleasure her, she gasped and woke up next to her fucking Husband.

It was just a dream... she told herself, as she lay there, covered in sweat, her entire body on fire.

The blood was surging through her veins, her pulse was pounding in her skull.

She touched herself under the blankets and groaned when she felt how wet she was – just as wet as she had been in the dream, maybe more.

Burning with desire to fuck, she rolled over and kissed her Mafia husband. He stirred as her lips touched his, and he mumbled something when she began frantically digging beneath the covers to find his cock.

It was still limp but she didn’t care. She would make it hard no matter what.

“Honey... what... Hesara?”

“I need you,” she moaned in his ear, her voice breathless with desire.

“Honey...” he turned his head, squinting at her in the darkness as if he were worried about her, as if she had suddenly gone crazy.

She had woken him up in the middle of the night to help her calm the fires of her passion before, and before he had always been ready and willing to help her.

He had always begun kissing her before he was even fully awake, as if he had believed that it was all an erotic dream.

Not this time, though. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked groggily.

“Yes, Ramirez. I just had one of those dreams, and I really need – ”

“Hesara, honey, I’m really sorry, but the clients... I’m afraid I’m just not... ‘in the mood’ enough to help you right now. I would give anything to do it, I just... well... you can see that I’m not... in the best ‘condition’ to... Tomorrow, baby, I swear.”

“Fine!” she shouted. Then she threw back the covers and leapt out of bed.

“Tomorrow we can make love all night long if you want...” Ramirez muttered as she headed for the bathroom. Her fury only grew as she realized that he was already falling back asleep.

She didn’t bother to be quiet as she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

She needed to calm down. She shouldn’t have been this turned on from a dream. She needed sleep – she had barely slept the night before, she would be useless tomorrow if she didn’t sleep tonight. She had to relax.

Taking a few long, deep breaths just as she had told Dante to do the night before. she turned on the faucet in the bathtub and squeezed a stream of body wash into the flowing water.

As the tub filled up and the steam rose into the cool air, she stripped off her nightie and let it fall to the floor in a heap of black lace.

She pulled down her thong as well, noticing how wet it was with the moisture from inside her. Maybe she could relax in another way, she thought.

If her Husband wasn’t willing to give her the release she needed, she would do it herself...

This thought excited her, and she relished the feel of the hot water against her skin as she sank down into the tub. No, she didn’t need her mafia husband.

She didn’t need any man. She knew how to take care of herself.

Once the tub was full of light, foamy bubbles that danced across her skin and water that warmed her to her very core, she turned off the faucet.

She lay back against the back of the tub, letting her head rest against the wall there as her hands began to wander downward.

Then she closed her eyes and let her mind wander too, as her hands found her breasts.

Without looking, she scooped up a handful of bubbles and rubbed the foamy lather across her nipples.

The feeling of her own body’s reactions to her touch and the cool liquid excited her even more.

She felt powerful, knowing that she could definitely give herself the release she needed whenever she wanted.

She massaged her breasts with her hands, loving the way they felt against her fingers, and loving the way her fingers felt against them.

Each touch sent a wave of pleasure to an even more intimate, even more private place, and she couldn’t wait to feel her fingers there as well.

Slowly, she let her fingers slide down her body, caressing her chest, her stomach, the stretch of skin on her lower stomach, just above her mound.

She let them roam over her vagina, enjoying the slick, slippery feel of it in the water.

Then she began to make small circles over her clitoris, sighing as her body arched in the tub.

As she often did in these cases, she tried to find a memory to focus on or a fantasy.

Something that she wanted, something that she desired, someone to keep her company in the tub, even if they weren’t physically there.

Her mind reached out for Ramirez, remembering the last time he had held her, the last time he had made love to her.

She remembered his calloused hands on her delicate skin, she remembered his hairy, masculine chest against her back as he took her from behind, squeezing her breasts as he thrust himself into her, making her cry out in pleasure as his grip on her tightened and he came.

She remembered how hard he had been at the sight of her there, naked and wet and wanting him, and she remembered taking his cock and putting it inside her as Ramirez clung to the curtain rod and she wrapped her leg around him to pull him in deeper.

She remembered all of these things and more, but for the first time in a long time, they did nothing for her.

Normally, just the thought of Ramirez shirtless or naked or on top of her made her instantly want to come in her panties, but not tonight.

Her body wanted something different, something more, and on some level, a part of her knew exactly what that was.

She ignored that part, though, as she began to rub harder against her clitoris. She didn’t need a memory to focus on, she could use a fantasy.

She imagined going back into the bedroom and seeing Ramirez there, waiting for her, dick in hand. She imagined making love with him right there on the dirty floor, or in the bed, or in the hotel lobby.

Her brow creased as she frowned. That didn’t get much of a rise out of her either. Her body twanged with sexual tension, but it wasn’t enough to bring her anywhere near an orgasm.

She began to stroke up and down across her clitoris instead, lightly flicking it at first, then rubbing harder as she began to grow frustrated.

Thinking of Ramirez wasn’t working. She went back to stroking her nipples, feeling desperate now. It had never taken her this long to come before.

Maybe she needed a little assistance, she thought. After letting a bit of water drain from the tub, she turned the faucet back on and slid herself underneath it, feeling her long hair flow around her in the water as she let the water crash down onto her swollen clitoris.

She pinched her nipples as the water thrummed against the most sensitive place on her body. She twisted them, pulled them, imagined that Ramirez was nibbling on them with his teeth.

Each yank of her skin sent a bolt of lightning to her vagina, but the bolts were weak and ineffective. She needed something else. Someone else. She needed Dante.