“That was really fun,” I say as I follow Evan into his penthouse apartment. Of course, he lives in a long-term rental section of a big casino resort. He’s a total baller like that.

His place is spacious with smooth leather furniture and hard-wood floors. The living room has floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the lights of the Strip. It’s stunning, really, and I stand there for a long time just watching the twinkling lights.

Evan’s presence beside me creates a crackling chemistry that feels palpable. It makes my heart skip a beat, just like my heart skipped a beat every time our eyes met while we were at the skating rink. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come up. The invitation was heavy with sexual tension because every time we touched on the ice, it felt like I might combust.

“This is really beautiful,” I say. “This view.”

“It never gets old,” he says.

“My view is of a fenced-in, postage-stamp-sized backyard on one side, and a row of condos that look just like mine on the other.” I don’t know why I even offer the information it sounds so lame.

“Well, home is wherever you hang your hat.” I sense he has moved right behind me.

I turn to look at him, to maybe make a joke about an old-fashioned saying, but instead, his face is right there, so close, and his lips are—

“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night,” he says, leaning in close so I can feel his lips move against my ear. “The way your cheeks looked in the ice rink, so pink. And your eyes were so bright. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more.”

I can barely get real words out, but I manage, “So do it.”

And he does. His beard is softer than I’d expect as his lips brush against mine. The kiss is soft, tentative, but my body wants more, so I open to him as his hands find my face. My arms wrap around his waist, my hands find their way up his shirt, my skin on his skin.

His tongue flicks against my bottom lip, an invitation I accept, opening my mouth, sighing loudly.

We move, still kissing, falling onto the soft leather couch, him between my legs. His hands roam, pushing my sweater up. I pull it hastily over my head and find him just as eager, his teeth nipping at my nipples through my thin, lace bra.

My hands push at his shirt, fumbling as I work the buttons, pushing it away from his chest. I think I gasp a little as I take in the panels of his stomach, the definition of his pectorals. I run my hands over his skin, over the hair on his chest that dissolves into a happy trail down beneath his jeans.

My explorations continue as I cup between his legs, feeling the hardness of him, contained neatly by his pants. “I want them off,” I breathe, “I want to feel you.”

We both work our pants down our legs, then our underwear. But while I’m ready, ready for him, he disappears, sliding down the length of me, his face finding the apex between my thighs, his tongue lapping at the already-wet folds there. He finds my aching, swollen clit and flicks it with his tongue as his fingers find my entrance and sink inside.

My back arches and I moan something indecipherable. He knows what he’s doing, that Evan, every motion of his tongue, his fingers, pushing me up a cliff wall. I can see the top. I know I’ll fall over the edge soon, into some abyss.

“Come for me, Holly,” he says.

And there it is. The sensation of falling. Of not breathing. Of forgetting my own name. My body tingles as the waves come.

I blink a few times as the ecstasy subsides, unsure for a moment what planet I’m even on. Evan moves up my body, kissing at my stomach, the underside of my breasts. When his mouth closes over mine, I taste sweetness and musk and his beard wet with my arousal.

He slides inside of me, a perfect fit that makes me cry out, my hips flexing toward him as he begins to move. My hands find his bare ass, my fingernails dig into his skin, driving him forward, faster and faster.

He never stops kissing me as he moves. Our tongues swirl together and I only break away to breathe, so he puts his mouth on my neck. My breasts rub against his chest, my nipples so hard they ache.

I feel myself inching closer, closer, and when he tells me to let go, he lets go, too. He roars his pleasure as I soar once again, my pussy tight around his cock, my clit pulsing in gripping spasms.

When he collapses on top of me, his head on my bare breasts, I reach up and stroke that dark, soft hair of his.

This feels right. I hardly know him, but this feels right, and…

I wake up with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Oh my God. I just had the hottest, sexiest dream about Evan Kazmeirowicz. It felt so real. Real enough that I absolutely ache between the legs, my abdomen heavy with desire, my underwear soaked.

I guess it has been a while. I haven’t been with a man since my ex-fiancé. The one who cheated on me.

Time for a hot shower. I trudge to the bathroom, turning on the water and stepping out of my pajamas. Thank God for the massage mode on the shower head, makes it much easier for a girl to get off in a pinch.

I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I had such a dirty, dirty dream about a player. I swear I already told myself I wasn’t going to go there with him. No way. He’s a total player and even if it was as good as all that, it would only be a one-time thing, and then I’d feel crummy about myself, and it would be all weird at work, and I’d probably lose my job, and, and, and—

See? Not a good idea.

I decide to text Pam. She’s always good at helping me through these peculiar situations.

Pam and I go back and forth with all kinds of ideas for different social media series I could do, and while some are really stupid, others are actually pretty good. I write in my journal as we text, and when we finish our conversation, I genuinely feel better.

I can do this. It was only a dream. I do not have to allow myself to get wrapped up in this guy. Just because he’s super-hot, and super successful, and seemingly not a total jerkwad, does not mean that I should just drop my pants and let him have his way.

Like some animal.

Like some, hot, wild, primal male…

Ugh. I’m taking another shower.