I texted Bill that I wouldn’t be making it home for dinner. As I refocused on my project, I automatically swiped my finger across the phone’s screen when it pinged with a response. Only, it wasn’t from Bill.
David:Good thing you had the ice cream then.
Panic seized my chest. I scrolled the screen to find that I’d texted David about missing dinner instead of Bill.
“Shit,” I said, slamming the phone down.
That issoembarrassing!
I felt myself turning various shades of red. Quickly, I sent the original text to Bill and tapped my way back to my conversation with David.
Me:So sorry. Wrong person!
David:I believe that counts as a Freudian slip.
It appeared as though I was actively looking for trouble. David would either think I’d done it on purpose to catch his attention or that I’d been thinking about him when I’d sent it. Which would be the truth. I couldn’t admit that, though.
Me: Didn’t mean it. Late night at the office & a little tired.
David:Mrs. Germaine, it’s not advisable to alert predators of your whereabouts late at night.
My heart stilled as I melted into a puddle of desire. A memory of a dream wedged itself into my thoughts. I’d had it shortly after David and I had stopped contact, only once, but I hadn’t forgotten it. He’d found me in the street and pulled me into the nearest alley. Cornered me. Scared me as he’d thrilled me.
When my phone chimed again, I was already panting.
David:That is, unless you’re looking to get caught.
I slid a tentative hand under my dress and into my damp panties. I relaxed back in my chair and remembered the dream, filling in the details where necessary.
I peer down the dark alleyway, struck with fear when I see the silhouette of a big man. As he approaches, slow and cat-like, I turn to run the way I came, but I’m met with a brick wall. He’s bearing down on me now, filling the small alley so I can’t escape.
It’s David, I realize, but my sigh of relief catches in my throat. I’m afraid of him. He slowly reaches out and snaps me to him by my waist, like plucking a flower from the ground.
His lips are on mine, hard and unrelenting, and he won’t budge when I push him.
“Don’t fight,” he says when we’ve parted.
I stop. I let him move my arms like a puppet master and fix them above my head so I’m helpless in his grip.
“Say it,” he prompts, as he shifts both wrists into one hand.
I fret because I don’t know what he wants me to say. When I look down again, I’m naked. With his free hand, he unzips his pants and pulls them down.
I panic and look over the exquisite face that’s now hard and unrecognizable, a David I don’t know. Even his brown eyes are obsidian black to match his hair.
“Say it.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, chewing the inside of my cheek.
He pulls my leg around him and positions himself against me. When he plunges into me, I cry his name with a mixture of panic and pleasure.
He pins me against the wall over and over, and I’m lost to him. He demanded this of me before, to say that I . . . I . . .
I whip my eyes open. “I know what you want me to say!”
But he doesn’t stop, and suddenly, I’ve forgotten it again, but I don’t care because I am falling . . . and coming . . . and coming . . .
I came to, winded and slumped in my chair. I pulled my hand out from between my legs and glanced around the dark office shamefully. I’d written off the dream as anxiety following Alvarez’s attack, but I’d often wished to have it again.
