∞∞∞
Sasha Ramirez
The sun was filtering through the window and flickering across my eyelids, reminding me that I’d fallen into bed without drawing the blinds the night before. I rolled over and groaned. Every inch of me was aching. It was as if I’d run a marathon in my sleep.
No, it had nothing to do with what I’d done in my sleep.
The memory of the night before flooded my mind, and I felt a flush of warmth rush to my face. And somehow, down below. What? Why? After that episode in the kitchen, I should be fine for sex for the rest of my life. I pushed myself up, wincing as my stomach muscles screamed in protest. Oh my God. Never in my life! My poor pussy was still throbbing and aching from the exertion. He’d almost wrecked me. I was pretty sure there were moments when I was barely conscious.
I finally pushed myself into a sitting position and glanced at my phone on the bedside table. And did a double-take.
9 a.m!How could I have slept so late?
Shit! Shit shit shit!
I shot out of bed, ignoring my aching muscles, and raced into the shower, dancing around beneath the spray for a minute before bolting out toward my dressing room.My dressing room! It still didn’t seem real.
Horatio would be here at 9.30 a.m. to take me to my first class of the day. “Deportment” … whatever the hell that meant. And then straight on to a meeting with a talent scout, who Mr. Walker’s PA Jane assured me knew all the right people in all the right places.
Mr. Walker.Was that what I should be calling him? It seemed so odd, especially after… I shook my head and quickly dressed. I couldn’t imagine him by that name, but “Prince” seemed strangely awkward too. Part of me still thought of him as Alec, the man who’d almost pleasured me on the dance floor. And then last night.My God.It still made my head spin.
Yet, the night before…. He’d held me. It had been surreal. Waking from that dream. That nightmare of Joe…the man who’d been my foster father when I was just a girl. After all those years of violation, I’d never been able to free around a man. My clumsy attempts at a sex life had left me cold. If I was honest with myself, I’d thought I was frigid.
Until last night.
I skipped down the hall past the kitchen, where I studiously ignored the center work counter, and reached for an apple in the bowl on the kitchen table. The intercom buzzed before I took my first bite, and I ran to the door, told Horatio I was on my way down, and raced for the elevator.
