I’m wearing jeans and a jacket but no shirt. I’m barefoot. My chest is bloody and my cock is huge and hard. The lust is unbearable. I want to kiss her mouth. I need the hot relief of her. I need to come inside her.
Dallas, she says, in that sweet-as-molasses New Orleans twang. Here. Take this. You gave it to me last night.
Blood drips from her cupped hands.
She’s holding my bloody, beating heart.
9
I wake with a jolt.
The sheets are twisted around me and my cock is agonizingly hard and hot.
I was dreaming about the girl.
Fuck.
I ease my fist around my huge, rigid length and all it takes is a couple of strokes before I’m coming in hot, excruciatingly intense bursts.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Holy fucking hell.
Breathing hard, I lay there for a few minutes, coming down from my fever dream and my crazy rush.
I’m covered in my own sweat and cum.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Get a grip, boy.
A ceiling fan rotates in slow circles overhead. The French doors leading out to the balcony are open and the city hums with the far away sounds of New Orleans waking up mixed with the sounds of New Orleans never quite making it to bed.
I glance over at the glowing digital clock on the bedside table. 7:08.
Damn. This is the latest I’ve slept in a very long time. Usually I’m in my home gym by five.
Last night, I sat at the bar at the Hotel Thibodeaux until Amelie finished her shift, just after midnight.
I asked her to have a drink with me.
I never touch the stuff,she told me, politely but in that feisty way the little dream girl has managed to turn into an art form. I know this because I sat there watching her—not creepily, I was listening to the music and enjoying the night just as much, almost—for four or five hours.
I told her we could drink coffee. Or Coke. Or water. That I’d take her to a late dinner.
I have an early shift for my other job in the morning,was all she gave me, before rushing off to serve the never-ending line of people wanting her attention.
So I suggested tomorrow night, trying in vain to fish for more information. Her last name. What her other job is.Housekeeping. ‘Scuse me, I have to go serve these other customers.
Housekeeping? It’s so fucking wrong. That the most beautiful girl in the entire goddamn universe is cleaning up after other people and fuckingservingthem. It’s something I plan on changing. Today.
I offered to walk her home after her shift.Oh no, I live close by.
How close by?At that, she gave me a long, slow look. Then she smiled with soft, serene finality, handed her iPad to the bartender taking over for her, and told me to have a good night.
The little minx dismissed me.
