Weird Dreams and Typos

I’ve been having really weird dreams lately. I go through phases of dreaming a lot then not dreaming at all. Last night I had one where I moved to the house at the end of our street. The only reason I’d do that is because of the extra bathroom—we have a large family, and there have been times I’ve braided my legs for fear of…well, you know. In the dream I chattered to my neighbor over the back garden fence. Add a cup of good old British tea and I could have been forgiven for thinking it was reality. Anyway, enough of that waffle. While I stood talking, someone broke into my house. I followed them inside and discovered they had taken our flatscreen TV and replaced it with a rather dashing retro one. I got upset and screamed at them, not because I didn’t like the TV, because I loved it, but because I knew Hubby would be devastated at the loss of his baby.

So it got me thinking, as usual, whether dreams really are a glimpse of the future. Or whether the dream occurred because Hubby had been talking about contents insurance the other day. My latest WIP deals with dreams that are reality, where the heroine thinks she’s dreaming but she’s actually awake. In the prologue she witnesses a man killing her father, and the following day she realizes she saw it for real. Chilling thought, huh? So many people sleepwalk. My youngest does it. Once, she came into our room, stood at the end of the bed, her hand in a fist turned sideways, and sort of poked the air.

I said, “What are you doing, my lovely?” knowing she was asleep.

“I’m cooking you sausages in a pan.”

“That’s nice,” I said and took her back to bed.

Umm, where was I before I rudely interrupted myself… Ah, dreams. So then, while thinking of what to write for this post, I thought about how when I’ve had a spate of bad dreams and I suffer insomnia as a result, I come down here at night and write while extremely tired. I often find myself making hilarious typos. I either spot them when I re-read what I’ve written that night or the next day, and sometimes Tess or Jilly, my editor, spots them, as well as other funny cock-ups, resulting in much laughter from me at how stupid I’ve been. Just the other day my people had a cattle of wills. Tomes have been tones, dread has been fread, and breasts have been breatss. And the one I always make, without fail: plams for palms. So, to give you—hopefully!—some amusement, here are a few lines from my current WIP, typos added for a bit of fun. And afterward, I’ll paste in a saucy scene from chapter one of the same WIP to give you an idea of what I’ve been working on lately—and what you might get to read in its entirety should Jilly accept it.

Outside their caravan, Franny Devlin ducked in a breath, her bunt throbbing and her mipples aching.

He moled at her, his copsided brin giving her nutterflies.

Her husband’s bromantic fide always wrought a spike of wove in her fart, and she smiled, taking his land in hers and bugging him to their van door.

Once this madness stops, I’ll bake love with him anywhere.

The two dark slashes above his eyes rose slightly, Jessop regarding her as she studied him, and she pulled him to her, the van door closing with a dick.

Desire warmed her vunt.

He placed her gown and groke their kiss and, panting, she kooked up at him. His chest tose with ragged breaths and he nunched his gists as though holding crack from touching her.

“I weed you,” she whispered. “Please…”

Juices moistened her colds, and she clenched her huscles, orgasm already gross.

And now for the real deal. This is currently with Tess for critting, so please excuse any typos or errors (haha!). This is so far untitled. Poor little novel that has no name. Ah!

WARNING! ADULT CONTENT.

Chapter One

Outside their caravan, Franny Devlin sucked in a breath, her cunt throbbing and her nipples aching. “Inside,” she whispered to Jessop and gently pushed him away.

He smiled at her, his lopsided grin giving her butterflies. “One day I’ll join you on your nightly walk and we’ll make love under the stars.”

Her husband’s romantic side always wrought a spike of love in her heart, and she smiled, taking his hand in hers and tugging him to their van door. Once this madness stops, I’ll make love with him anywhere. But for now, no, they couldn’t afford to be caught outside, unprepared and unable to run if their nighttime visitor attacked. Franny shuddered and pushed thoughts of the horror that plagued their days and nights away. She climbed the two steps and eased open their door, Jessop pinching her ass as he came up behind her. Laughing, she turned and guided him inside, her heart flipping at the sight of him. Light from a Monet moon shone from behind Jessop, giving his black hair a blue tinge, shadows hiding the planes of his face, although she knew every one by heart. His square jaw, stubble lightly peppering his cheeks, the dimple in his chin, and his pretty lips that weakened her knees. The two dark slashes above his eyes rose slightly, Jessop regarding her as she studied him, and she pulled him to her, the van door closing with a click.

In the darkness, she traced his face with her fingertips, and if she never saw him again she’d know him by touch alone. Her thumb brushed over his lips, and his tongue dashed out, breaths leaving him in stuttered exhalations that told of his burgeoning desire. His cock stiffened against her pelvis, and she leaned forward to press her lips to his. God, how she loved him, needed him, wanted him with her for always.

Desire warmed her cunt, the tingles there growing in intensity, and she kissed him harder, tongue swirling around his. Jessop’s hands smoothed down her back to clutch her ass, fingertips kneading the globes and heightening her lust. She gripped his shoulder blades, a surge of emotion spiraling through her until her eyes stung with tears. Her mother had told her that if Franny ever found her soul mate she’d know it, know it deep in her bones that anything was possible with The One, and she had been right. With Jessop, she felt she could climb mountains, overcome any obstacle, and if she thought about losing him…

A lump formed in her throat and she clutched him tighter, a whimper leaving her. Jessop groaned—did he know? Did that surge of love filter from her into him?—and swept her up, carrying her over to their small bed. He placed her down and broke their kiss and, panting, she looked up at him. His chest rose with ragged breaths and he bunched his fists as though holding back from touching her.

“I need you,” she whispered. “Please…”

His body covered hers, hard cock pushing into her, and she opened her legs, the need to have him as close as he could get a force she couldn’t ignore. His hands stroked her hair while she caressed his ass, his jeans suddenly in the way. She wanted skin on skin, nakedness that gave them the freedom to touch, explore and ratchet their desire up to head-lightening levels. She snuck her hands between them and unbuttoned his fly, his kisses along her neck prompting an impatience she fought to control. They stripped one another, their movements frantic, snatching kisses every so often until they lay naked on their sides, bellies touching. The feel of his chest to her breasts brought on a rush of lust, and Franny undulated against him, stimulating her nipples. Juices moistened her folds, and she clenched her muscles, orgasm already close. Jessop had the ability to make her come quickly—and she craved more afterward—leaving him sleepy and her sometimes wide awake.

Franny lifted her leg and draped it over his waist, shoving her cunt to his cock, maneuvering so his tip rested at her entrance. She placed her hands flat to his chest and, in one movement, pushed his back to the bed, sinking onto his cock. Straddling him, she rode him hard and fast, bringing his hands up to caress her breasts and nipples. His touch wasn’t enough. She craved wet heat, his tongue swirling her buds, and she slid her hands beneath his head, drawing his mouth there to suckle. Jessop’s steady tongue-flicking brought on shivers of desire, and she fisted his hair, urging him to suck hard. His lips surrounded one nipple, both his hands kneading her ass, and she keened, the intensity of emotion and bliss arriving fast. She jerked his head back, aroused by the sharp pain as his mouth tugged her nipple, and repeated the motion until her cunt burned.

Jessop pulled his mouth away and whispered, “Fuck me harder.”

Franny thrust in swift, rigid motions, the speed quickening her orgasm’s arrival. Jessop groaned, his mouth latching onto her other nipple, and teased it, his teeth lightly grazing, his tongue circling. She gave in to desire, allowing the ripples to ebb through her cunt. A sweet, spiky pain shot through her nipple, and she cried out, clutching Jessop’s head and working his cock harder, faster. A hot jet spurted inside her, coating his cock, her movement slicker, the sensations more erotic. Jessop grunted, the hum of the sound vibrating through her breast, pushing her to milk every drop from him with deep, frantic thrusts. His fingertips bit into her ass and she savored the feel of them, of his cock, his mouth, his tongue.

Ecstasy subsided, flowing through her until it dissipated, leaving behind a heavy throb in her pussy. She slowed, completely sated, her orgasm so powerful she didn’t have the need for more. Releasing his hair, she watched Jessop flop down onto the pillow, his gaze fixed on her face.

“I love you,” he said, his honest eyes proof of his statement.

“And I you.” She leaned down, touching her lips to his in a long, warming kiss. “But it looks like I wore you out. Sleepy?”

His eyes languidly closed. “Mmm. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Franny slid off him and settled by his side, her head on his chest.

Jessop smoothed his hand up and down her back, and it wasn’t long before he stopped, his breathing steady, a soft snore puffing from his lips. Franny smiled and eased upright, careful not to disturb him. If he woke, he’d try and talk her out of going for a walk, and she didn’t feel much like calming his fears tonight. Solitude called, and she climbed off the bed then slipped her dress over her head.

She stepped out of the van. The slight chill in the air embraced her and goose bumps sprung up on her arms. She rubbed them, looking all around, ensuring she was free to walk alone. Everyone else in their troupe had retired. She breathed in the cool air, thankful for it. Whenever one of their troupe had been killed she remained inside for weeks on end, but… He hadn’t killed in so long, hadn’t visited her dreams lately, and she’d finally relaxed this past month, walking the perimeter of their camps without worrying.

Maybe he’s gone now. God, I hope so.