Time. Surreal when I think about what just transpired a couple hours ago. I lie here, the rise and fall of my chest lending her lovely head the appearance of a yacht lazily floating a calm, rolling sea. How did I end up in the company president’s bed?
That’s the surreal part. One minute I’m a nobody who sits in on her board meetings, the next we make love and crash in her plush penthouse apartment. She probably has more cash in her dainty purse than I have in all both my bank accounts – savings and checking.
We have connection, though. There’s a “rightness” to her that compels me to dream of more nights like this. Even more so, even as I lay here dreaming, I’m thinking of all the incredible things the two of us can accomplish.
I have some pretty cool theories on a major project that could use the power of Marci’s research savvy and, of course, her financial backing. I feel conflicted now, because I don’t want to ask for these things having just romped her around in the sack for a couple hours. That feels crass.
I can surely dream, though. I can dream at least until the softness of her body overtakes my ability to resist the temptation to wake her up. As soon as the thought hits my brain, I’m off on the various, incredible ways to bring her back to life. But what about my research project?
I’m a mess. There’s not many men who would be too concerned about offending the beautiful, naked woman sleeping with her arm draped over me like this. Hell, I’m wondering why I don’t just get back to heating up the bed again. Tomorrow will take care of itself…right?