Rye

I dream of her. The little black dress and her tan legs taunting me as she moved on the dance floor. I could feel her warmth beneath my palms, the scrunch of the cotton as my fingers gripped the fabric, sliding it up slowly--not because I would ever undress her in front of an entire dance floor, but because I couldn't help the way my palms burned to feel her bare skin.

In my slumber, my brain has zero inhibitions. Family history and legal contracts didn't exist, but the raw, primal desire to slide that dress up and get between her legs is clear and present. One hand around her throat, the other slipping beneath the band of her panties.

I'm so close.

"Rye," I hear my name whispered. The blood racing further south as I feel the slick, warmth of her on my fingers. "Rye," she says with urgency. My lips curl before I tease hers with a slight brush. She moves towards me, her tongue wet and wanting mine. I feel our hot breath between us, but I hold her firmly at just the right distance. I want to watch her eyes as I get her there.

My dick aches but I don't stop. Her first.

Her hand finds it's way to my inner thigh, and she runs her fingers up my inseam. I didn't think I could get harder, but she's a fire I can't control. She pulls her lower lip between her teeth as her hand cups the ache and I instinctively push myself hard against her palm. "Fuck," I practically hiss. I have to work hard not to increase the pace and pressure of my hand between her legs. Slow and steady despite the need to watch her fall apart at my mercy in this moment. My brain is screaming, and my muscle are tense. I feel like a live wire. I war for control, but she has me in her hand. Her fingers working to release me. When she finally succeeds, her small hand wraps around my length. My eyes close from the pleasure of it and I have to rest my forehead against hers. I don't trust my legs to hold me up. My hips move forward, begging her to take more. Touch all of me. It will never be enough.

"Rye," my name is hot coming from her lips.

I forget where I am. My palm at her throat feels her pulse as I tighten my grip slightly, needing to regain control. Her other hand wraps around my wrist, her mouth wide open, wanting—needing to be filled. I push my tongue inside. Her grip on my dick tightens in response and her thumb brushes over the head, before softly massaging the best spot just below the tip.

"Fuck," I repeat. It's the only word my brain can provide. All other focus is on the sensation of the slow circles she's rubbing in rhythm with my own thumb between her legs. I know I've found the spot because she's starting to shake. She's wound tight and I know if I dip my fingers inside this game would be over. I'm keeping her right on the edge, loving the way she holds on so tightly to my wrist, it's the illusion of control for her. She is powerless to the hand below her waist, but her fingernails begin to dig into my skin at her throat. Her hips are pressed forward, I can feel the resistance as I play her softly at first, feeling for when she is desperate to get more friction. She beats me at my own game. Her grip tightens and she slips her hand down my dick to the base, squeezing tightly before dragging it back up again, with a slight swirl. Every nerve ignites.

I hear the alarm but want to ignore it. We have time. I increase my pace, but something is off.

"Rye," her voice says sternly. I pull back and focus on her face, but it's not Launi. "Rye, the alarm," she says. Suddenly I'm in the hotel bed, my hand around Tinsley's throat. I'm dressed and so is she. The sheets tangled around us. It felt so real. Tinsley giggles. The blood rushing through my body slows as I take my hand from her throat. 

"Turn off your alarm," she tells me.

I reach for the phone on the nightstand and silence the alarm. I cover my eyes with the back of my forearm. What the fuck?

"What were you dreaming about?" she asks as she turns towards me. "Were you in a fight?" She rubs at her neck.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" I ask, lifting up to my elbows to I can see her better. I didn't leave any marks.

"No. It was kind of hot," she says. She moves closer to me and runs her hand up my thigh.

I reach down and stop it. My head is spinning. I'm so fucked. "I need to get ready to leave," I say. It's an excuse to buy me some time. I don't think I could even get hard again looking into her eyes, knowing what I was just dreaming a few minutes ago. I rub my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the memory.

"My car is picking me up soon," she says softly. "Maybe I can catch up with you again." She reaches for her phone to check her calendar. I use the distraction to sit up on the side of the bed facing away.

"Sure, let me get a feel for the road and ask around about the venues. I'll hit you up," I tell her. I know I sound dismissive, but I have bigger problems. I'm about to get on a bus with Launi Kline and clearly a subconscious desire to wrap my hand around her throat. 

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