Daydreams Chapters 1-2

This is your final warning. This is an erotic piece of writing and it comes with a responsibility to please give me some feedback. Lastly, remember that I’m an artist, and I’m sensitive about my shit. Without further ado, here are the first four chapters of a fictional novel I’ve been having fun creating. Enjoy.




“When the fuck will it be finished?!” His voice was well beyond intimidating, bordering frightening. He sounded enraged, betrayed even.


“Whoa! Boss, we’re doing the best we can, working as fast as possible. They sent the wrong marble, and now we’re making the changes Mrs. Gamble requested,” Jose said, holding his hands up while quickly glancing in my direction with sincere apology in his eyes. He threw me under the bus, and it was obvious Daniel was unpleased. He may have been the boss, but the wife always seemed to control the decisions.


I looked away, afraid to face his deathly stare. Instead, I focused on the hazardous mess we were standing in. What started two years ago as a quick real estate flip had become a complete disaster, and money pit, with no end date in site. The building was stunning. The first time I saw it, I had to have it. I can still remember my excitement as I called Daniel over to see it.


From the outside, it looked like an abandoned warehouse, but the interior was impeccable. Every level housed a complete wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, taking full advantage of its hillside location. That was all the levels shared though, as each was so different from the next, I chose to name them individually in typical Emily fashion. My friends called me a hopeless romantic, always forcing things to fit my whimsical ideas.


The plan was to turn each floor into an independent loft style condo, making it the premiere building in the downtown LA real estate market. The lowest two levels contained a sixteen-car garage, giving each unit more than enough space for cars and storage, and the top four floors were living spaces. Every night, I dreamed the final designs for these condos, never doubting their potential or compromising my vision.


I named the first loft Margaret, or Maggie for short. She was the smallest of all four units with a dainty feel about her. Everything was white and shiny, very plain Jane, I thought. I remember telling Daniel that Margaret was the kind of lady that didn’t say a word during sex, and did whatever her man told her to. Even more vividly, I remember the smirk Daniel wore once I said it, as he looked towards the back of the loft, assuming I couldn’t see his face.


Most vividly, I remember the ball of anxiety churning in my stomach, wondering if that was the kind of wife he wished he had. A blank canvas, ready to do any and everything he wanted. I was no Margaret, and our marriage was not filled with me taking orders or doing what I was told, in or out of the bedroom.


I don’t know if either of us expected that in the beginning. I was the princess of every relationship in my life, and Daniel decided to follow suit while courting me. We’d wed in a fairy tale wedding 4-years prior, although he’d wanted a simpler celebration, even once suggesting the courthouse, which he pretended was a joke after seeing the look of disgust on my face. He was changing his mind and behavior to fit my vision, but I didn’t stop him. I encouraged it. I was training him.


The higher up you went in the lofts, the more luxurious they got. Hence, the lowest level getting such an ordinary name like Margaret. Bella was the second unit, named for her Parisian inspired finishes and French charm. Next up was Gia, which was simply the name that popped in my mind when I thought of a sexy, younger woman. Gia was filled with chrome finishes; she was the bombshell that played poker and didn’t call AAA when her car broke down. Gia was fucking hot, and the loft was perfect for a bachelor, or a woman who oozed sex and watched sports.


We were standing in Giovanna, the penthouse, named for glamour that bordered gaudy. Giovanna had more marble than any other surface, and she was the main selling point when I first toured the building.


What we didn’t know the day we impulsively made an offer, after I refused to slow down and think about it, was that the area had not been zoned for residential units, and the previous owner had lost so much money on permits, it was on the market as a sign of defeat. It took us over a year, and 7-figures, to grease the right hands to finally get the correct zoning for individual sale. Even after that, we still had small renovations; because of course I wasn’t satisfied with the units as they were.


I watched Daniel grit his teeth during the first day of demolition, and thought how good of a job I’d done training him when he didn’t say a word about my ruining perfectly good bathrooms and kitchens on two levels, simply because I envisioned them on the other end of the condos. A year later, and the last of every dollar we could save or borrow for the project, we were now in the final stage of picking finishes, although we were balancing this project with the biggest task we’d ever taken on – a divorce.


I’d like to say the stress of the real estate project ruined our marriage, but that isn’t the whole truth. Daniel never wanted the princess, he just wanted to marry Emily, but I wasn’t willing to submit. I wouldn’t let him lead. So, I manipulated my way to the head of the table with tantrums and puppy eyes. I knew he’d give me anything I wanted and completely took advantage of his desire to see me happy.


Daniel would never hurt me, which was more a weakness than a strength when dealing with a woman like me. He was the type to ask if he was hurting me during missionary sex, while cradling my head and proclaiming his love in my ear. I was the type to roll my eyes and stare at the ceiling, waiting for him to come.


“So, do what I tell you and stop fucking listening to her! She’s not the fucking boss!” Daniel’s outburst snapped me back to reality. For everything he wasn’t, Daniel was sexy as hell. I could see his muscles flexing through the perfectly tailored suit, his back tense while he barked orders at the crew. They all stared at him with fear in their eyes, surely, they’d never seen him so upset.


At 6’ 4”, he towered over everyone in the room, the five o’clock shadow covering his flawless skin only accentuated his jawbone as he desperately tried to contain his rage. He’d only gotten into this project to please his spoiled wife, who he now couldn’t stand, but his current and future financial health depended on its completion, which I continued to delay without so much as consulting him. Yeah, he was pissed.


Watching him remove his suit jacket, I couldn’t focus on how mad he was, or how much I deserved it. All I could see was his perfectly chiseled frame, the outline of his six-pack engrained in my memory. We’d been so pissed at each other that I hadn’t seen his bare chest in over a month, and before that it was only during peeks of him working out in our glassed-in gym. I’d gone without his touch for 6-months, since our last pity fuck for my birthday. It was miserable, and afterwards, I think we both silently agreed that whatever we’d had was gone.


Two weeks later, I filed for divorce and he didn’t so much as text me once he received the papers. Now, we were only communicating about the divorce through lawyers, living separate lives in the same home. These meetings at the construction site were the only time we were purposely in the same room, the tension so thick I always pitied the staff, who constantly felt the wrath of both of us.


Today I only pitied myself. I used to be able to fuck him, but now I watched like a spectator as he growled and pointed, desire pooling between my legs with no release in sight. Suddenly, his face contorted into a deep frown as he turned toward me, dropping his jacket and storming in my direction. In the ten-seconds it took him to reach me, I prayed he would pick me up and fuck me right there. I didn’t care if everyone saw it. I didn’t care about the divorce being called off; I just wanted him inside me.


“Why the – Why did you tell Luis to postpone painting the garage units?!” Daniel growled, his teeth clenched so tightly, his temples protruded just below his hairline. He was pissed, but he still refused to curse at me, even after lashing out at every worker within earshot. “Em?! Answer me!” He interrupted my gaze.


Fuck this.





I grabbed his wrist, because we were hand holders when we were happy. Strangely, that was what I missed most when we started this separate life. But this wasn’t that. He wasn’t the newlywed that used to look at me with googly eyes, and I wasn’t the princess wife he’d never raise his voice at.


I yanked him to the elevator before I knew what I was doing. The element of surprise must have caught him off guard, because he followed willingly, probably assuming I was going to show him some proof, justifying my decision to further delay the completion of the project. He was wrong.


All the staff was working in Giovanna, so the elevator opened immediately after I pushed the call button. It had been idly waiting since carrying the two of us in silence just 30-minutes prior. I knew the rest of the building was empty, so I chose the third floor, hitting the button much harder than I intended.


“What are you doing?” Daniel glared down at me, his face a mix of a frown laced with disgust. He spat the words out.


I felt naked; as if he knew my desires and was repulsed by the idea I would even think he wanted me. I smacked him hard across the right side of his face, just as the elevator dinged, the mirrored doors opening to Gia.


The loft was still dimly lit from our earlier check-up. I stormed towards the chrome kitchen island, no longer needing hold of his wrist. My slap would ensure he’d be on my heels. I pulled the string of my black wrap dress, effectively undressing myself with one quick motion, as Daniel grabbed my elbow, spinning me around.


Confusion covered his face as he slowly looked over my body. I’d always been a lingerie fanatic, but Daniel never seemed to care, claiming he’d make love to me in cotton panties, because I was so beautiful. There wasn’t a thread of cotton touching my body. Since filing for divorce, I spent more time picking out lingerie than my clothing. It was the only thing that kept my confidence intact.


Today, I wore a black lace La Perla body suit, with halters connecting to the top of my thigh highs. Lingerie had become my armor, a dismal substitution for the partner who protected me from everything, until our life fell apart. But looking my ex-partner in the face, he seemed more confused than seduced, and I was seconds away from breaking down in one of my notorious tantrums. Without taking his eyes off my bodysuit, or softening his frown, Daniel formed his mouth to speak and I interrupted him, fearing the inevitable rejection.


I’mwho you’re mad at, Daniel! So, stop taking it out on everyone else and do something about it! You needto fuck me, and it’s driving you crazy,” a smug smile curled my lips as my manicured nail poked his chest, forcing my armor to embody the confidence I lacked. I was lying, well partially.


Danielwasmad at me, but it was me who needed him. It was me that wanted to get fucked. So, when I turned around, dropping my wrap dress on my way to the kitchen island, I wasn’t shocked when I didn’t hear his steps follow. I didn’t look back, because I couldn’t bear to see the confusion morph into frustration, or even worse, annoyance. Instead, I marched to the island and bent over the chrome countertop.


My right cheek rested on the cold chrome as I desperately fought to slow my breathing, straining to hear any movement from Daniel. So far, he hadn’t made a sound. I listened closely, sure he’d storm off to the elevators, or mumble about me being a drama queen.


Finally, I closed my eyes and relaxed, sure this was going to be a humiliating experience. Daniel wasn’t going to fuck me. He didn’t want that. He was probably wondering what the hell I’d been into the past 6-months, leading me to think he would do something so disrespectful to his wife, even if I were soon to be his ex. Then I heard his tousled breath, and the pull of some type of fabric, followed by his commanding footsteps.


Oh my God.


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