And also kind of awesome?
I wasn’t joking with Royce about the dreams. I don’t think I ever even told Dahlia about them. I used to dream all the time about having a whole fairytale stable full of handsome men to pick from. Guys who’d want to do things to me, give me baths, build things for me or tear things down. Guys who looked at me like I was the princess whom they were sworn to defend.
I had one really good fantasy about a monastery in the remote parts of Portugal or something. I mean, I wouldn’t recognize Portugal if I were actually in it, but it always sounded really exotic to me.
So one day, I’m just hiking or horseback riding or doing something fabulous… four-wheeling or treasure hunting like Indiana Jones or something… and I come upon this monastery.
They’re a bunch of quiet hunks in monks’ robes who haven’t seen a woman in decades, maybe even ever in their whole lives. When I arrive, I tell them I’m looking for directions but secretly I’m trying to get ahold of a rare manuscript they’re keeping in the catacombs. They’re all just dazzled by me. They can’t wait to get their hands on me.
The abbot sets up a private chamber for me, after insisting that I stay for a delicious, handmade dinner served by half a dozen handsome holy men. I retire to the chamber and fall into a deep sleep on the handmade feather mattress.
When two of them have my legs in their hands, their faces buried in my crotch as they both lick me, at first I don’t even realize I’m awake. How could they want something so sinful?
But as I wake more completely, I realize there are many more of them. One has his toes in my mouth. One is rubbing is soup can-thick erection in my armpit. But they all reserve my pussy for their abbot, making sure he gets the most tender slice. By the time he appears at the foot of my bed, opening his robe to display an eagle-shaped pattern of hair across his muscular chest that trails down to that glowing, bobbing hard-on below, I am more than ready for him. I’m practically begging for him, even though I don’t speak Portuguese.
See? This is like a dream come true, really.
Still, I would like the chance to give Dahlia a little bit of a hard time about it, after all her pompous security fairy tale bull. Then again, maybe she didn’t really know. But maybe August knew, and maybe he could sense that I would be completely down with this. It’s fantastic. Assuming everybody is as beautiful as Royce, I don’t see how I could ever complain.
And assuming, of course, that baby Sophia is cool with me too.
Yeah. Because apparently that part of the job is serious too. Yikes. Can’t forget the tiny human life I’ll be entrusted to foster.
The bartender walks over, modestly keeping his eyes down. I suppose he sees a lot of single women in this bar, hanging out and waiting for their lovers. He probably has to use a lot of discretion.
“Another drink, miss?” he murmurs.
I lick my lips, surprised to note how parched I feel. Royce definitely woke something up inside me. A deep thirst.
“Wellllllllll,” I sigh, tapping my straw against the cream-colored paper napkin, “I really shouldn’t. I mean I really shouldn’t. I’m supposed to be at a job interview upstairs in a half an hour… oh. Eighteen minutes. That was fast.”
“I see,” he murmurs confidentially.
“So maybe just the check?” I offer with a shrug. I’m sort of sad I’m not going to be able to have another drink. I could really use two or three or seven more.
“No check, miss,” he smiles, still keeping his eyes averted. “You can have whatever you want here.”
“Oh,” I inhale sharply.
He walks away, and I’m almost certain that he is not smirking at me. I can have whatever I want? With no check?
So he must know who I am, and that means he knows why I am here… and probably what the Worth brothers are interviewing me for.
He’s got a hell of a lot of nerve, judging me.
“Actually, sir?” I ask in a raised voice. “Just a quick shot of Patron, okay? One for the road.”
“Ye
s, miss,” he answers right away.
Immediately he pours out some tequila from a fancy bottle into an elegant stainless steel shaker with a few ice cubes and begins rattling it vigorously over one shoulder. He pours it into a small, decorative glass and slides it in front of me with a small plate containing thinly sliced limes and a tiny pile of pink salt.
I don’t even care how nice this hotel is or who sees me. I lick the back of my hand, then dunk it into the salt and pop it back into my mouth. Then I shoot the tequila and finish up by putting a whole lime slice on my tongue. It burns like hell in my sore mouth, but I don’t even care.
That’ll show him.
“Thanks so much!” I singsong as I walk away, surprised to find that my knees are actually a little bit wobbly. I guess three ounces of hard alcohol in forty-five minutes is sort of a lot, and I might even be a little bit tipsy.