"Hello, Vince. Are you ready to do this?" She innocently asked, but to Vince, her words meant so much more. To be fair, he wanted the deed done—the property deed signed and the sale complete—but he knew deep down, that this was yet another dream where Abigail would taunt him wickedly. He couldn't take much more tonight. This time he was prepared to beg for her mercy.
"I'm ready when you are," Vince said, showing Abigail inside his minimalist-style home. The spacious penthouse screamed money, with its fifty-foot ceilings, earth-tone walls and white-washed wood plank flooring. He escorted her into the living room where sleek chocolate-leather furnishings surrounded a glass-top coffee table which sat on top of lily white faux-fur rug. Every form followed function in an sweeping feng shui manner that would bring tears to interior designers for its beauty. Yet Abigail remained unimpressed.
With nothing but business in mind, she sauntered over to the living room couch, slipped off her jacket and placed it beside her. She quickly pulled out the necessary legal documents, all tabbed and ready for signature. Vince sat opposite of her and watched in rapt silence. It was a total illusion, because he knew getting Abigail Scott to acquiesce on the sale of her house was not going to be this easy. Still, the dream was riveting.
Abigail wore her hair in a high ponytail, and he fantasized about what he wanted to do with it. It caressed her shoulder as she reached inside her bag for a pen.
Vince swallowed hard.
Once again, he was humbled by the sight of her and awed by his lust for a human. She cleared her throat and puckered her lips and said something. She glanced up at him, her brows raised and those ridiculously long lashes blinked back at him.
"Excuse me," he said, aware of her body, but not of her spoken words.
She arched a perfect dark brow. "I said everything is in order. Do you want to review it one more time before signing?"
He licked his dry lips and shook his head, cursing himself inside to get it together.
Vince plucked her offered pen, turning the papers to sign on the X. Once finished signing both copies, he placed the pen on table and sat back. Abigail smiled like a cat readying for her cream.
She slid a random document towards Vince. "What's this?" He asked.
"That's my wire transfer information. You have 48 hours to wire the funds to my bank account or the contract is null and void per our agreement." He didn't even bother looking at it. It would be handled.
"Not a problem," he said, leaning back on the couch, his legs stretched out and feet crossed. That was a relief, he thought.
"Good," Abigail said, collecting her signed copy and stuffing them into her bag.
"Shall we celebrate?" Vince asked suggestively. He thought to himself. Why not?
Abigail sent him a seductive half smile full of promise. "What did you have in mind?"
The question held merit for Vince, but the way she said it practically did him in. It was an invitation. And this was a dream. His dream. Why the hell not? She taunted him all night with these salacious dreams, but this time —dream or not—he’d take his fill.
The air sparked with anticipation until neither could stand it any longer. Vince practically lunged over the coffee table, cupping her face with his hands and then plundered her mouth. Just like the skilled attorney that she was—much like a fisherman—Abigail baited, hooked and then reeled him in. Vince was lost.
He kissed her senseless, until her chest was heaving; a mere punishment for torturing him all night, he thought. She moaned when he gave her mouth a reprieve as he lined kisses down her neck to her breasts. Her skin felt like satin and all of a sudden, he slipped out of his jacket and knelt down in front of her.
"Take this off," he demanded, tugging on her dress. She immediately obeyed, kicking off her heels first.
He stopped her from doing so, slipping back on her three-inch Gucci's. “No. No. Leave these on.”
Abigail readily obliged.
And that’s when he was reminded once again, that it was only a dream.
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