screams my subconscious

My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with himI didn't invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it's my decision and nothing to do with him - but I'm not brave enough. Not now that I've thrown up in front of him. 

I just don't understand why he's here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child.He sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. He's clutching my hand - such a confusing array of emotions. I'll need at least a week to process them all.

All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously.He takes my hand once more. Holy cow - he's leading me onto the dance floor. Shit.I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights, I can see his amused, slightly sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug, and I'm in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can't believe that I'm following him step for step. Maybe it's because I'm drunk that I can keep up. He's holding me tight against him, his body against mine... if he wasn't clutching me so tightly, I'm sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, my mother's often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a man who can dance.

My head begins to swim, oh no... and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels.Holy hell, he's been working out. He's in gray sweat pants that hang, in that way, off his hips and a gray singlet, which is dark with sweat, like his hair. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I feel like a two-year old, if I close my eyes then I'm not really here.I lie back on the soft feather filled pillows. 'If you were mine.' Oh my - what would  I do to be his.He's the only man who has ever set my blood racing around my body. Yet, he's so antagonizing too; he's difficult, complicated, and confusing. 

The water is warm and soothing. Hmm... I could stay under this shower, in his bathroom, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of him. It's a delicious smell. I rub it all over myself, fantasizing that it's him - him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long fingered hands. Oh my. My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so... so good.