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‘Oh.’ Alice nods slowly, multiple times. ‘Same.’
‘You thought of me?’ This is definitely a dream then.
‘Yes.’ Alice pushes her shoes to the side, bracing herself on all fours as if readying to stand. ‘But I didn’t like it.’
My brow pulls down so low my good eye nearly closes.
‘You were with other women.’ She looks so accusatory that I can’t help but turn my head one way and then the other, looking for these alleged women in the empty hotel suite.
‘What women?’
‘The ones in my imagination.’ She crawls toward me on all fours and suddenly my vision is laser focused.
On her heavy-lidded eyes, her full and pouting lips, on her ass swaying one way and then the other as she crawls closer and closer.
She’s only a few feet away but it feels like years until she reaches me.
And when she does, it becomes exceedingly clear that this is not a dream.
If it was, I wouldn’t feel her hands wrap around my ankles. Wouldn’t feel them slide up my legs until she’s pressing into my thighs as she rises on her knees – every inch closer is another hard inch gained under the fly of my jeans.
‘Alice?’ I damn near choke on her name, my mind still fighting what my body knows is my fantasy come to life.
‘Hmm?’ Her thumbs come within a hair’s breadth of my dick before skimming past and out, grabbing on to the chair arms to hoist herself up off the floor.
‘What are you doing?’
Sinking a knee on either side of me, she settles her small ass on my lap. ‘I thought I’d try doing what the women in my books do.’
I need to stop this. Stop her. Instead, my hips shift, remembering the snippet of text I read from one of her books on the plane. ‘And what is that?’
With a sly, seductive smile, Alice is transformed. ‘Anything I want.’
It’s hard to swallow. Despite the large amount of whiskey I’ve consumed, I’m parched.
Her delicate hands skim down her body, grabbing onto the hem of her shirt and lift – revealing a perfectly simple, but nonetheless enchanting, white bralette.
With a thunk, the glass still dangling from my fingertips drops to the floor, and with it, my last thread of control.
* * *
Alice
‘Alice.’ Thomas’s eyes darken and his arms, a moment ago resting languidly on the chair, wrap around me and slide roughly against my exposed skin.
The heat of his body that warmed my heart as I climbed on top of him becomes a memory as passion ignites.
I'm well aware of how attractive Thomas Moore is. His noteworthy scent, the way his stoic gaze cuts through you like a knife revealing insecurities you’d rather remain hidden, the annoying, yet inevitably panty-tingling way he speaks – rife with condescension and confidence all add up to Thomas Moore being one sexy beast of a man.
Though, while I may have noted these things, I also locked them away. In a box labeled ‘Not for me’.
Right now, with Leslie’s take-charge, do-what-you-want attitude fresh in my mind, I’m Pandora.
I run my nose up the column of his throat, inhaling deeply before flicking my tongue out, curling it around the shell of his ear.
His breath hitches. Trailing his fingertips down my back, around my ribcage, he pinches the peaks under the soft cotton of my bralette.
All my fantasies that I've also locked away over the years come rushing through my mind. The various pages of intimate scenes that I've read and wished I could recreate. All my late-night imagining. Wanting.
