Command Performance
“Disjointed memories crowded her subconscious. Laughter. A bad movie. Pizza delivery around one o’clock.
Kissing, kissing, and more kissing. Mason’s hands stroking under her dress, her fingers tracing the outline of his abs under his shirt. The shirt coming off. The hard warm wonder of his skin against hers. Nothing more, to her chagrin. She’d fought sleep just to keep touching him, to have him keep touching her, but then he’d insisted that she rest. He’d pulled one of his tee shirts over her head and hung her itchy, uncomfortable dress in his closet. She fell asleep almost instantly, in the shirt that smelled like him. Somehow, she’d slept all night in his arms with his hard body wrapped around hers.
The sun on her face was too strong to be anything but afternoon sun.
She sat up with a start, looking around the room for a clock. “What time is it?”
Mason pulled her back down beside him. “Time for you to stop waking me up.”
“My dad—”
“Fuck your dad. Sometimes big girls sleep away from home.”
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