“I’m about to enjoy it more,” he replies, pushing me flat onto the seat, pinning me there, while his free hand slides inside my skirt. And just before his hand arrives where I want it most…I wake. I’m in bed, panting, my t-shirt flung across the room. I can’t even pretend to be disgusted. Right now, I’m simply furious that I woke up before he could get the job done. How completely like Ben Tate to be disappointing, even in dreams.
