Cherie Stephens is happy with her life just as it is, as a single mom to her daughter Jasmine, able to pay her bills all on her own. But all that is about to change, when a friend named Simone Marcus, newly married, wants to introduce her to powerful people. Can Cherie keep it on her own terms?
Lance Peterson is afraid to date again, afraid to fall in love again, and afraid to get hurt again after his wife was killed in a tragic auto accident caused by a drunk driver. But Lance's friends are about to change his program. They don't like how he stubbornly refuses to get back in the game. So they take a play from Lance's own playbook. Suddenly Lance is back in action. But will he call a flag on the play?
All at once, I woke up, as if someone had plugged me into an electrical socket.
For a moment, I laid there, not moving, wide awake, listening to my breathing, watching my breasts rise and fall, and listening to my beating heart.
I finally lifted my head up off the pillow, looked at the time, and saw I still had a few minutes before I had to get up. I groaned.
Then I let my head fall back down on the pillow.
Images of the sex dream I was having were coming back to me. In the dream, a man, with talented hands and a very talented tongue, was doing freaky things to my aching body that hadn't been done to me in a long, long time. I was rapidly approaching orgasm, in the dream, anyway.
And then–I woke up!
I slowly spread my legs, pushed my nightdress up around my waist, and lightly touched my female parts–to discover I was wet, open and ready. It wasn't funny. I could feel moisture dribbling out of my pussy. My breasts were swollen, my nipples were hard.
If there was a man in bed with me at this moment, I would wake him with a blowjob, straddle him, ease his hard dick inside my pussy, and ride him till whichever one of us happened to come first.
But there was nobody in bed with me.
So instead, I rolled over on my side and reached for the glass dildo that Julianne Lee had given to me as a birthday present, mostly as a joke, in reference to my nonexistent love life. But, joke or not, the naughty toy definitely had its uses.
Like right now.
I put my hand on the hard, smooth glass toy, picked it up, and stuck it in my mouth, sucking on it, coating it with saliva.
Then I pulled the covers away and spread my legs.
Breathing heavier, I rubbed the head of the glass dick against my entrance, until the head penetrated.
Then I eased the shaft inside me to the hilt.
After I’d got a good grip on the handle, I began to fuck myself with the glass toy.
Mmmm. Shit. Oh, shit! This feels so good!
A few minutes later, sweaty but only slightly satisfied, I pulled the dildo out of my pussy and sucked the juices of my orgasm from it. That was the only problem with masturbation–no real foreplay unless I took my time. No cuddling after, either, except with myself.
Then my alarm clock went off and scared the hell out of me.
Groaning, I reached over and practically punched the damn thing, before it could make that obscene noise again.
Reluctantly, I put the dildo back in the nightstand drawer. Then I sat up, pulled my nightdress back down, stood up, went to the door, grabbed a bathrobe from the door hook and put it on. I eased my bedroom door open and went down the hallway. My daughter Jasmine was already in the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, I went to the stove, to discover she’d made oatmeal for breakfast. It seemed like only a few years ago I was helping her with everything. Now she could make breakfast on her own. Sometimes it was the small things that hit me.
Yes, my daughter's name is Jasmine. When I was pregnant with her, a friend of mine made me watch Aladdin. My daughter is like a mini-me. She even has my voice and my West Coast accent.
I got my own bowl of oatmeal. I said, “Good morning, Jasmine.”
Acceptable. “Do you have cheer practice after school today?”
“Isn't it unusual to have practice on a Thursday?”
“Yeah. But we're getting ready for the basketball team to begin its season, now that the football team’s finished its season.”
“Okay. Will you need a ride home after practice?”
“No, thanks, Mom.”
“Are you sure? You know I don't mind having to leave work early to come pick you up.”
A smile appeared on her face. “I know, Mom. But I have a ride. Krissi Walker's dad can give me a ride home. She lives down the block, from Samantha Jordan's house.”
“Well, if you change your mind, just text me. Okay?”
“Okay. What about you? Got a big meeting today?”
“No, not that I know of.” I laughed, then I looked at the time. “Finish your breakfast so you can go catch your school bus.”