I had the craziest dream.
I wasin some hotel room with the softest sheets, blackout curtains, and heating way better than the shitty one me and Za own at our flat. I had slept in so late that I missed church.
And the best part?
I had the most delicious, toe-curling, mind-blowing, back-breaking sex known to man with he who shall not be named because if Za found out, she would kill me.
But dreams are harmless, right?
Even if they’re wet ones.
Hm….Wait.
There was weight behind me. A hand at my waist. Breath against the back of my neck. And something between my legs?
Wow. My subconscious is really committed to humiliating me.
Because the hand really felt like his. And I’m so sore from the waist down for some reason.
I shift, still half asleep and the arm tightens.
So realistic.
I’m halfway through welling myself back to sleep when the dream talks:
“Morning.”
My eyes shoot open, and I scream. Like, proper bloodcurdling, horror scream, from the soul. I yank forward, tumble off the bed, hit the carpet, and scramble backwards like a fox in a bin.
He sits up slowly, rubbing his face, voice rough. “Jesus, Frankie.”
“No,” I gasp, pointing at him. “Absolutely not. Why areyouhere? Why amIhere?”
He blinks. “You… came here. With me.”
I look around like the room is going to provide answers. Not my bed or my flat. My heart kicks against my ribs.
I check myself. Naked as the day I was born.
“This isn’t a dream?”
He raises a brow. “The screaming suggests no.”
Did we actually—? Nope.
Not asking. Not doing that to myself.
The cramps in my stomach and the throbbing between my thighs tell me everything I need to know.
“Everything okay?” he asks like an idiot.
Ignore him and run a hand over my face.
When my phone buzzes on the nightstand, I snatch it up as the screen lights with messages:
Za : u alive?
Za : u cut off your lo?
