Erica’s Dream

Erica keeps having a steamy recurring dream involving one of her old clients. Foolishly, she records everything in her journal, only for Dana to find it…

BOOK: Service Girl Chronicles



As the light of a new day permeated through my closed eyes, slowly dragging me from my slumber, I let out a low, choked moan. I was still in that limbo between sleep and consciousness.

When my eyes finally sprang open, I was aware of the contented smile on my lips, the tingling, warm sensation all over my body; the slight throbbing between my legs. My heartbeat raced. For a few brief seconds I lay in bed, blissfully sated.

Then reality hit me. The smile vanished. I sat up with a start.

“Oh no, not again!”

I could hear the shower running in the en-suite. I yanked open my bedside table drawer, retrieved my journal and pen, then promptly scribbled down a new entry, shaking my head furiously as I wrote.

The images of the dream were so vivid, every detail clear, as though it has happened before and was a mere memory. But the absurdity of it made me certain it could never have happened, not in this lifetime.

“This is bad,” I mumbled, over and over.

I was so engrossed in the writing, frantically trying to get it all down, that I didn’t hear the shower stop and Dana enter the room.

“What’s bad, sweetie?”


The journal almost flew out of my hands from the shock. I looked up to see my fiancée, one towel wrapped around her glistening wet body, while she rubbed at her damp brunette locks with another. God, she was beautiful. She seemed to grow more beautiful every day. In her most natural state, sans makeup, I didn’t know how she pulled it off. Forty-five and still the most beautiful woman in the world. And when she smiled at me, her eyes glimmering with love and affection, my heart melted.

It killed me to lie to her.

“Uh, my handwriting,” I managed, thinking fast. “It’s really bad.”

Her frown was playful. “I think your handwriting’s lovely.”

I laughed nervously. “Not first thing in the morning.” I snapped the journal shut and returned it to the drawer. “It’s like my motor functions don’t work.”

She laughed, then glided over to me, caught my face with one hand, puckering my lips, then kissed me.

“Good morning,” she purred.