Dream Girl Awakened Read Online Free PDF

strawberry-flavored lube from her pocket and smeared it on his penis. She started slow at first, making small circles around the tip, listening to him moan in ecstasy. She licked him softly, increasing her rhythm and speed, taking her lips farther down the shaft. She loved hearing him call her name, loved the fact he was losing control. They were both so caught up in the moment, they didn’t hear the screams of the onlookers as a blue Cutlass Supreme crossed the center lane and sideswiped James.

[5]
Old School, New School
    â€œI didn’t know you were a Glenn Jones fan,” said Winston, cutting a raspberry crumb bar in quarters and gazing into Aruba’s mesmerizing eyes. He stirred his caramel latte and marveled at the coincidence of running into her. It had been a long time since he’d chatted with someone who could relate to his musical jones. Most women never entertained his love for music. As if all he cared about was surgery and being glued to his practice.
    â€œWho wouldn’t be? He’s fabulous!” Aruba raised her voice two octaves, stopping short of rah-rah-ing like a cheerleader. She combed her memory for Googled details.
    â€œI’ve been a fan of his since high school. He’s a real singer with incredible range, not like the young’uns that lean on samples and misogynistic lyrics. How can women allow themselves to be called bitches and hoes?” asked Winston.
    â€œWait a minute, some of the new school can sing. Kem, John Legend, Urban Mystic, Anthony Hamilton, Chrisette Michele have old-school soul.”
    â€œNever heard of them. Maybe you can introduce them to me sometime.”
    â€œYou’ve never heard of Urban Mystic?”
    â€œHonestly, the name makes me think of a drink.”
    â€œHe redid a phenomenal version of Bobby Womack’s—”
    â€œYou’re telling me someone had the nerve to sing a rendition ofThe Poet’s song and live to tell the story?” Winston leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “That’s why I’ve never listened to track ten of Glenn Jones’s Forever Timeless CD because he redid ‘I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much.’ ”
    â€œUrb, excuse my slang, put his spit on ‘Woman’s Gotta Have It’ and tore it up. He also sang the hell out of Sam Cooke’s ‘A Change is Gonna Come’ on his second CD. He has that Sunday meeting, juke-joint, brown rot-gut liquor singing pouring from his soul. Think James Cleveland merged with Otis Redding meets Luther and K-Ci.”
    â€œLet me guess. You were a soprano at Mount Nebo Missionary Baptist Church in someone’s Southern town?”
    â€œGuess again. I can’t hold a tune in a bucket. But I love good music.” She sipped her cappuccino. “Why had I never heard of Charles Hilton Brown until I met you?”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?”
    â€œOf course, I had to check him out and discovered like so many musicians, he didn’t get his just due back in the day.”
    â€œAnd no one has heard anything from him since his one and only album,” Winston lamented.
    â€œHe’s in hiding, so you won’t bother him.” Aruba winked at Winston.
    A toddler two tables over yelled to her mom, “I want a lemon bar, not a blueberry muffin.” The girl pouted, then tossed the muffin at her mom. Before her mom could retaliate, the little girl made haste and scooted under three tables, charging the display wall of mugs, teas, and coffees. Several of them tumbled down as she screamed, “Lemon, lemon, lemon!”
    â€œPaula, come back here this instant!” her mother shouted as she tried to get Paula under control.
    â€œNo!” Paula crossed her arms, stroked her mane of red curls,and watched as her mother and a barista cleaned up the mess she’d made. Winston, Aruba, and other members of the captive audience anticipated the mom’s next