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I’m hungrily conscious of the hardness of my manhood, the way it presses against my pants each time my mind flits to earlier today.
It happened again when I got home, the need getting better, my hand pumping up and down my dick as I imagined charging into the office.
Come with me, I panted huskily in the fantasy, taking her arm and guiding her to the car.
Then my apartment.
And then she was on her back, staring at me, her hands moving over her breasts as I thundered inside her.
Each thrust made her big juicy tits jiggle in the sexiest way.
Squeezing the steering wheel, I force myself to focus.
There’s a reason I haven’t told her I know who she really is, despite her evident nervousness about it. If I did, I’d have to explain how I know… the fact I already had her cell phone number when she texted me.
My phone buzzes.
Are you here? Her text reads.
I look across the parking lot, finding her standing just outside the exit.
More people file around her as she pauses, looking for me, but she’s the only person I see, the only one I’m capable of seeing.
My heart is suddenly thudding hard, my chest tight, and the world feels as though it’s spinning faster.
Her hair is wilder than this morning, and her shirt is untucked, giving her a sexy, wild look that has me almost salivating.
Yes, I reply. The yellow sports car.
I don’t give the make and the model since she might not recognize it.
But she does recognize my description, a jolt moving through her when she spots my car.
She slowly begins to walk toward me, as though she wants to lengthen the moment… as though she thinks that when she reaches the car, something bad will happen.
When she’s close, I step from the car, rising to my full height as the butterfly doors open.
She pauses a few feet from me, watching my face closely as though anticipating my reaction. Her chest rises and falls captivatingly, and my thoughts are endlessly obsessed with her breasts, curviness, and vivacity.
Her cheeks are flushed, as though her desire for a shared future is burning up inside of her.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “It’s me… Miss Mystery.”
I struggle to speak, my mind flitting over many possibilities.
“You need to know, the Kennedy thing, it’s all crap. I don’t want her. I never want anybody else.”
“You’re so damn beautiful.”
“Come here. Kiss me. Now.”
But all of that could lead her to know how I feel… could lead her to seize on this chance, as many women have with other actors of my station, to use me as a meal ticket.
It hurts to think of Alice this way, but I have to be careful.
Will I ever know if she really wants me, though? How can I?
“People are staring at us,” she says after a pause, shifting on her feet.
She’s right, but I hardly notice it.
It’s a feeling I’m used to, the endless gazing… I don’t like or dislike it at this point, except when it becomes a mob. The gazing just is.
I gesture to the car. “After you.”
Another woman might comment on my expensive luxurious vehicle. I’m relieved when Alice doesn’t, simply walking to the passenger seat.
“Do you want some help?” I ask as she eyes the low seat.
She glances at me and nods briefly.
I offer my arm, struggling to maintain my composure as she reaches out, guiding her hand to my forearm.
When she squeezes down, I almost let out a carnal roar, a tremor captivating my entire body, a siren screaming in my mind that if I don’t stop the touch now, I’ll lose control.
She makes a soft noise, almost like a pleasured whimper, as she lowers herself into the car.
I savor her touch, the heat of it, the rightness, the only woman I’ll ever want.
Finally, she lets me go, and the universe resumes regular speed.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, I close the butterfly doors and start the engine.
“Where to?” I ask.
She gives me the address, far outside central LA.
“So,” she murmurs as we leave the parking lot.
But then she falls quiet, averting her gaze.
I glance over at her, keeping the car at a steady speed.
“So…,” I say, prompting her.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Are you going shy on me, Miss Mystery?”
She laughs softly. “You can call me by my name if you want.”
“Alice,” I say.
She flinches. Her eyes shimmer as though she might cry, and the thought makes me want to hurt somebody and erupt into action.
But there’s nobody to erupt at.
It’s just us. The way I want it.
“You remembered,” she murmurs. “I didn’t think you would.”
I tighten my grip on the wheel. If I don’t, it’ll mean reaching over and squeezing her legs trapped in those pants, so full it was like she was made for me.
I could never forget you, I almost say, but stop myself.
