Later that night, she lay awake replaying their conversation in her mind.
Oddly enough, she could remember very little of what he had actually said. His words had been vague, filled with stories and playful observations rather than anything concrete. Yet it wasn't his words that lingered with her—it was the way he had made her feel.
She found herself picturing his smile. Whenever he smiled, a row of perfectly white teeth appeared beneath his pale, slender lips, a smile so effortless and genuine that it had been impossible not to return it.
Then she remembered his eyes. There had been an intensity in the way he looked at her, as though he saw beyond the careful image she presented to the world. His gaze had lingered just long enough to make her heart race, leaving her feeling both flattered and wonderfully self-conscious.
She smiled despite herself as she recalled his confidence.
He had been imprudent, witty, and astonishingly bold. His gestures came so naturally that they often caught her off guard, and more than once she had found herself laughing before she even realized what he had done or said. There was an unmistakable confidence about him—a man who seemed completely at ease in his own skin.
Most of all, she remembered the compliments. He had praised her with such warmth and sincerity that every word had found its way past her defenses. She had tried to laugh them off, but each compliment left her cheeks a little warmer than before.
As she stared into the darkness above her bed, she realized that it wasn't the conversation she had fallen asleep thinking about. It was him.
He said all the right things in the perfect way; certainly, a love affair with him will be adventurous, one with pure pleasure, and an exciting brush with danger, and this thrills her.
Having been raised in a good Christian family with a strict and overprotective father who locked her up while growing up, preventing her from any form of adventure as a child and teenager. This resulted in an inner yearning for a little adventure and danger. She wanted to be free of the constraints of virtue and decency. Someone to take the wheel and own and possess her. Peter seems not to have the fear of God. He would free those repressed desires that cry out for liberation.
It was as though he never left, like he was there in the room with her mentally, not physically. He was all in her head like a song stuck on replay. She lay on her bed, rolling from side to side; she couldn't catch any Z's.
Is she in love already? But that's not right; love is supposed to take time, probably developing from friendship. Love, at the same time, is crazy and always out of control; she was crazy about him, and her love for him was way out of control. Is she thinking with the ready wet V between her legs?
This feeling is so strange, stretching throughout her body. Overwhelming, yet makes her complete. It has no bound, nor length, nor depth, just absoluteness. It feels as though she is in a furious fire, yet completely safe at the same time, as though her heart is dancing around her chest and a hole she was never aware was there has been filled.
It's strange, frightening even. How can he go from a complete stranger to someone giving her such intense feelings in just a day? Was it just a crush? She has had many of those, and none felt this way. Isn't she acting like an infatuated girl, acting all loose, but the heart wants what it wants and doesn't care?
She woke up the next morning to receive the most romantic text from him. In it, he offered her praises that would make the heart of any woman melt like butter icing on a sunny day. He was seducing her in all the right ways and right places; she knows this but loves it.
He was an artist creating the illusion she required, reflecting her fantasy and idealizing her portrait. He had somehow within a day made himself her ideal lover. After all, it was more about her love for him than his for her.
A week passed, with love, lust, and passion growing with such grave intensity as Peter—the heartless seducer—seduced her further with romance and burning sexual desire. She could no longer wait to possess his body, to have her hands caress his smooth, flawless skin all the way down to that dark region, and to have his lips locked with hers in a deep, passionate kiss.
Finally, an opportunity to bring her fantasy to reality presented itself when Peter called and asked her over. In the most innocent of tones, without thinking she agreed. It was a date—they are to meet in a hotel around seven pm the day after next.
Heaven didn't bother to ask why it was a hotel and not his place. Even if it was a rat hole, she was ready, willing to go there with him. His impetuous words, the fantasy, and the danger of it all—her head was whirling; she was lost. What was virtue and her prior boredom compared to an evening with this handsome devil?
Immediately, he dropped the call; he credited her bank account with a sufficient amount of money to cover all her expenses. What could be more seductive?