Rykov has found a secret world unknown to dream tourists, where he can research the history of science and seduce Persephone, a beautiful and gifted student who turns out to be the sweetest of lovers.
Only London in 1809 was never really like this. And when NightDreamz client Kramer is trapped there, Rykov realizes the dreamers are damaging not only individuals but the fabric of time itself. And yet if he risks the ire of NightDreamz' powerful investors to close it all down, he'd lose Persephone too.
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Dreaming Damage (NightDreamz 2)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2014 Marie Treanor
The heavy, irresistible pull of her own world had never felt like this before. Sheer lust intensified the churning in Azalea's stomach. She and Sal fell against the lamppost that cast a sinister glow over the dingy alley, their arms around each other, legs entangled, their bodies fitting together in all the right places.
"I want you now," he whispered in her ear.
"I can't stay." Desperation oozed from Azalea's slurred words. "Come with me..."
"Come? Oh yes. On the journey." His hands were busy between their bodies, unfastening his trousers, tugging up her dress. Although Azalea was helpless with the lethargy of imminent return, arousal flooded between her thighs.
Excitement soared. The wild spin of the journey would surely enhance the sexual pleasure Sal always gave her. She wouldn't fight it. It would still be afterhours in the NightDreamz office; the lab door would still be locked when they arrived. They could have the first real sex ever on couch number four.
She gasped as his fingers shoved aside her panties and slid through her wetness. With a breathless groan of satisfaction he pushed his cock inside her. Her knees buckled and only his powerful thrust, ramming her hard against the lamppost, kept her upright.
Wordless, desperate, she reached up for his mouth, and fell, spinning, into the blackness.
She was right. The rush of travelling deepened every thrill as they strained and ground together. For Azalea it was pure instinct; she hadn't known her body could do anything at all in this condition, but oh it could.
The world steadied, but Sal didn't. For an instant his full weight pinned her to the lab couch, then it eased as he propped himself up on his hands. The rim of his trilby hat shaded his angular face. Azalea purred -- for some reason, she loved when he fucked her with his hat on. She didn't even bother removing the annoying wires and electrodes as Sal hammered her to glorious completion.
Through his groans and her delirious cries and their wild panting, other sounds intruded: knocking, shouting, louder banging.
Even as Azalea smiled up at Sal with smug, sated happiness, she realized her world had intruded.
It was her friend, ex-fiance and fellow technician Den's voice outside the lab door, and no doubt his fists doing all the drumming. "Zalea, I know you're in there! Come out, we've got a crisis."
Azalea clutched the fabric of Sal's suit jacket, and peered over his shoulder, as if she'd be able to see Den through the solid lab door. Fortunately, she'd had the foresight to close the screens on all the windows before she'd attached herself to the machine.
"What crisis?" she gasped, hoarsely, as Sal throbbed gently inside her.
"Missing dreamer," Den said. "We can't get him back."