Author's Note: This story earns its rating beginning with this chapter.
You have been warned. Youngsters, BEGONE!
Also - I should have done this at the very beginning of the story:
Disclaimer: Don't own, have no rights, only borrowing, yadda, yadda, yadda...
Thanks to all who have reviewed! You rock!

A Thousand Words
Chapter 4
When I Dream

The blackout ended sometime during the night. When Randy and I awoke, the lights were back on and all my clocks were flashing 12:00... 12:00... 12:00...

Randy insisted on cooking breakfast for me, and he went a little overboard with it: pancakes, bacon, eggs, English muffins with butter and marmalade and fresh-squeezed orange juice. I had no idea all that tasty food was lurking in my kitchen.

Again I wondered why Randy, who was so thoughtful and caring and giving - and could cook, too - was still single.

Randy and I talked and laughed all the way through our morning meal. I was amazed at how much I ate - for me, being sick usually meant nothing but chicken soup and dry toast, but this morning the smell of bacon frying and pancakes sizzling on the griddle had my mouth watering and my stomach growling. Like Winnie the Pooh, I had a "rumbly in my tumbly." And, the food was so good that I couldn't resist it.

I insisted that Randy go home after breakfast. He put up a fight, saying that I was sick and needed looking after, but I assured him that I was a big girl and could take care of myself.

I practically had to shove him out the door to get him to leave. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate all his help and everything he'd done for me, because I really did, but I just wanted to be alone. I'm like that when I'm sick.

And I had certain things - or rather, a certain someone - on my mind.

Erik peered around the edge of the canvas, and I could tell from the expression on the unmasked side of his face that he definitely was not studying me for the portrait. Our eyes met and held for a long moment, and then in a flash he had divested himself of his palette and brush and was hovering above me where I lay, naked and wanting, on the threadbare sofa.

I gazed up at him; he gazed down at me.

Erik's eyes were dark, his pupils dilated with his desire for me. I felt the soft tendrils of his shaky breaths caress my face as he came nearer and nearer to me.

Before I had the chance to say anything or even form a coherent thought in my head, he was kissing me, tasting me, taunting me, worshiping me. I moaned as my arms wound about his neck to draw him even closer. His weight seemed to crush me as his body descended on mine, trapping me beneath him, but I didn't care. I couldn't care about anything in the world but his lips on mine, his tongue dancing with mine, his breath mingling with mine.

I suddenly was acutely aware of his hands, his masterful hands that swept all over my body. My skin erupted in gooseflesh, yet at the same time seemed to be on fire, everywhere he touched me.

Erik's lips left mine and settled on the left side of my neck. I felt the warm, slight scratchiness of the stubble on his cheek against my shoulder and the cool smoothness of his mask against my jaw. The difference between the two textures was an unusual sensation, and I rubbed my face along the smooth contours of the mask. I know he felt it because as I did, I heard him utter a sound that was something between a growl and a moan. It was a sound I had never heard from any man before, and the vibrations from that groan against my skin sent a shockwave through me that threw all of my senses into overdrive.

I began tearing at his denim workshirt, wanting it off, wanting to feel his bare skin against mine. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, and in a matter of seconds it lay in a torn and tattered heap on the floor beside the sofa. Erik turned back to me, his stormy green eyes gazing intently into mine, before he buried his head at the base of my neck. I felt his lips and tongue tasting me, moving over to my shoulder, back to my throat, then down my chest. I gasped as he took one of my breasts in his mouth, suckling as if he couldn't get enough of me.

"Oh, Christine," he murmured as he came up for air and gazed down at me again. "You are so beautiful." Then he dipped his head back down, and we both were in a state of ecstasy once more.

One of his hands traveled down my side, to my hip, to my thigh, then adeptly slipped in between my legs. I eagerly parted my thighs in anticipation of what I hoped would come next. I didn't have to wait for long; his dexterous fingers soon were giving me an exquisite pleasure that I had never known before. He knew exactly where to touch, precisely what to do to drive me wild. It was as if he already knew me - and not just in the Biblical sense of the word.

My hips gyrated, completely of their own accord, against his hand. As soon as Erik felt me move against him, he moaned low and long with my nipple still in his mouth. As before, I felt the vibrations of that moan in every cell of my body.

In a matter of seconds I was near my climax. I threw my head back against the pillows, moaning Erik's name. I could feel every muscle tightening in anticipation of my coming orgasm.

Any second now...

Any second now...

I sat bolt upright in my bed, drenched in sweat, trembling from the violent climax I had just experienced. The room was dark, and the only sounds I could hear were my own gasps as I tried to coax some air into my lungs. I was wearing my flannel pajamas but the top was unbuttoned, exposing my breasts and stomach, and the elastic waist of the pants was pushed down past my hips.

Oh. Holy. Shit.

Had I just dreamed that entire encounter? Please tell me that I didn't bring myself to climax while I was dreaming of him!

The chilled air of my bedroom against my sweaty skin brought me back to reality. I ungracefully yanked up my pajama bottoms and hastily re-buttoned my top.

Part of me was mortified over what had just happened, but another part simply felt too good to give a damn.

I fell back against my pillows with a huge sigh. I still felt the after effects of my dream-sex: my heart was pounding inside my ribcage, my breathing was erratic and my entire body tingled.

I thought about the dream for a few moments. Was I glad it was just that - a dream?

Yes. No. Yes! NO!

Dammit woman, it was a dream, he didn't molest you. And if you think about it, he didn't technically make love to you, he just kissed you and touched you. And you touched yourself. Right? Riiiiight. He touched me. And touched me. And touched me. I'd never felt so good as I did when he put his hands on me. Your dream was pretty tame, if you think about it. It could have been much more intense. Yes, so why wasn't it? Why did I have to wake up when I did? Stupid, stupid me!

Lazily I brought one hand up to touch the breast Erik suckled in my dream. Even through the flannel, I could feel that it was still tight and hard. My feather-light touch was enough to send a new spark of excitement to my nether region, and I squirmed involuntarily on the bed. I moaned quietly as that hand slid under my pajama top, seeking my hardened nipple, and my other hand made its way down past the waistband of my pajama pants.

Sated for a second time that night, I laid back against my pillows and wondered two things: would Erik be as good in real life as he was in my dream, and would I ever get the chance to find out?

Four long, angst-filled days later, I was finally fever-free and feeling well enough to be back at Erik's studio. He smiled at me in welcome as I entered Apartment 4-B for the first time in nearly a week.

I found it impossible to look him in the eye after my sultry encounter with dream-Erik (who, I'm happy to report, was gracious enough to call on me every night after that initial visit), so I found myself talking to the second button on real-Erik's denim shirt as I felt the heat of embarrassment - and yes, even lust - stain my cheeks. It certainly didn't help matters that real-Erik's shirt was open just enough to reveal a smattering of dark chest hair, just like I had seen on dream-Erik, and as I stared at real-Erik's second button I couldn't help but remember ripping off dream-Erik's shirt during our passionate encounter. I knew my face was growing redder by the second.

Real-Erik politely inquired after my health in his incredibly sexy, slightly tinged French accent, wanting to make sure I truly was fully recuperated. I assured his second button that I was well. He made some tea for me, but then he was back to his normal, introverted, quiet self.

Soon he was half-hidden behind the canvas once again, peeking around the side every so often to study me as I lay in all my naked glory on the threadbare sofa.

I, on the other hand, was about to go insane with the jumble of thoughts running around in my head. I was attracted to this enigmatic man, to be sure, but I knew next to nothing about him. I had to stop thinking about him in that way - and soon - or I would lose my mind.

"Are you all right?"

Erik's voice cut through the silence, bringing me back into the present - into the little studio with the very man who monopolized my thoughts.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"You look... well, you look a little flushed. Are you sure you're well enough to be out and about?"

He's concerned about me! That's a good sign.

"I'm fine, really," I assured him as I pressed a hand to my face. It was no wonder that I was flushed with the thoughts running around in my head. My face felt hot to the touch. I had no idea that my emotions played out so conspicuously on my face!

Erik eyed me with his one visible eyebrow raised. "All right,..." he began dubiously, "...but if you feel the need to rest, please let me know."

"I will," I said as I offered a tentative smile.

Holy crap! That was a close call! You've got to think about something else. Force yourself to concentrate on something - ANYthing other than him. Geez, I feel like a kid with a short attention span! Why can't I think about anything else but him? All right, think... think... I've got to do something to keep my mind occupied. What was it that Mom and Dad did to keep us occupied on our car trips? What did we do, what did we do... We played the license plate game.

I smiled inwardly at the memories these thoughts conjured up. Our family - Dad, Mom, me and my kid sister Caroline - had taken many "car vacations," traveling all over the country to visit various places like the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore and Gettysburg, but the down side of those trips was being cooped up in the car for days on end. This was before the invention of portable DVD players, so we had to rely on other things to keep us occupied. Mom would make up sheets with the names of all the states, and we checked off the little boxes next to the names whenever we saw a car with a license plate from that state. That, and a shoebox filled with cassettes for our Walkmans, crossword puzzles and small games, was the extent of our amusement on those trips.

Okay then. Why don't I try to name all the states? Why don't I name all the states, going from west to east. Okay. Hawaii, Alaska, Erik, California, Washington, Oregon, Erik's eyes, Idaho, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Erik's lips, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Erik's ass, Erik, Erik, Erik... Oh shit, this isn't doing any good!

I shifted my position a bit to ease the ache in my backside. If Erik noticed, he didn't say anything.

I needed something to really tax my brain.

All right. States... states...Walkmans... states... music... states... think of all the music groups you can that have a state in their names. Or even a city. That should keep me occupied for a while. Kansas. Alabama. Chicago. Boston. Those were the easy ones, but I knew there were more. Miami Sound Machine. Little Texas. Manhattan Transfer. Hmmm. This was harder than I thought it would be. That's a good thing. Okay. There was Black Oak Arkansas. And Kentucky Headhunters. And Buffalo Springfield. That's a twofer. And Rick Springfield. He's not a group, but I guess I can still count him. I suppose I could count John Denver then, too. And then there's that Scottish band called Texas. Didn't say the state couldn't be used twice. But what others...?

"You're scowling."

Erik's voice brought me out of my reverie. I shot a glance up to him. He was watching me intently.

"Sorry," was all I could manage to say.

"You looked like you were deep in thought. Might I ask what had your attention?"

Well, you see Erik, I've been having these unbelievably intense, erotic dreams about you, and I can't get you out of my head, so I've been trying really hard to think about completely idiotic, mundane things so I won't just run over there and rip off your clothes... Yeah, that would go over really well!

"I... ahh... oh, it was nothing, really. Just going over my shopping list for later."

I'm sure the blush that erupted on my cheeks betrayed my words.

He studied me for a moment.

"You must take your shopping seriously."