His lips ghosted across her neck, his tongue gliding across the valley of her collarbone. His hands trailed down her sides, the pads of his thumbs tracing invisible tattoos into the soft skin, flushed pink with desire. Addison resisted the urge to sigh in contentment. His touch was just as electrifying as she had imagined it would be. Her hand clutched at his chestnut curls, lightly tugging to pull his face closer to hers. Addison caught a brief glimpse of that familiar smirk before his lips crashed against her own, moving in perfect synchronization.
That smirk. It always came back to that damn smirk.
Addison’s eyes shot open, wide with alarm at her own erotic fantasies. Harry. Since his unexpected arrival in her office three days ago, Addison hadn’t thought about him once, save for a brief Google search after his abrupt departure. It was only right that she had been curious. And now he was in her dreams? Addison hadn’t had a dream like that in months and now it was here; a small feature film starring Harry Styles, currently playing in the exclusive theater known as her brain. She would tell no one about this, not even Sabrina.
Addison ran a hand through her tangled chocolate locks, a large sigh escaping her lips. Her other hand clenched her white down comforter, the crisp cotton familiar and soothing. Her little fantasy hadn’t taken place in her bed. This, at any rate, was still sacred. Addison’s raised herself to a sitting position, noticing the empty indent where Theodore had been sleeping. He had probably gotten up in search of food, which meant that Addison, as his owner, needed to drag herself from the cloying confines of her bed to feed him.
Pushing back the heavy blankets, she swung her toned legs over the side of the bed, her feet hitting the hardwood floor with a hollow thud. She tugged on the oversize navy shirt she wore as pajamas; it had somehow gotten twisted during the night. She and Sabrina both possessed a strong hatred for pants and rarely wore them in their apartment.
Addison yawned quietly as she padded out of her room and down the hall to the kitchen where she heard Sabrina’s soft murmurs, probably talking to Theodore. Both girls had a tendency to treat him as if he was almost human, and in some ways, he was.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Sabrina chirped as Addison entered the kitchen. “Look who stopped by.”
Addison’s gaze flitted upward focusing on her best friend, who wore an overly cheery grin, before sliding over to the dark-haired figure seated at the kitchen table. His hair was just as messy as it had been in her dream, and his eyes held the same spark of mischief.
This was impossible.
Addison felt a blush rise in her neck and cheeks as she processed the current situation. Harry, the star in her semi-erotic fantasy, was now seated at her kitchen table, with Theodore, her beloved bulldog, on his lap, while she stood, in the hallway, with messy hair, sans pants. This wasn’t a dream. This was a nightmare.
“Excuse me,” Addison squeaked, her voice high and tight, as she turned and resisted the urge to run back down the hallway. Her feet moved quickly across the polished floors as she scurried back into her bedroom. Addison had always been a big believer into the supernatural, of signs, and omens, and other phenomena. Had she somehow subconsciously summoned him here? This was a cruel joke. The night that he plays the leading man in her dreams coincidentally preceding their next meeting. Fate certainly had a wicked sense of humor.
Crossing to her drawer, Addison yanked it open and selected a pair of black spandex shorts, shimmying them up her slim legs. Crossing to the bathroom, she seized her toothbrush, squirting a thin line of toothpaste onto the bristles, before shoving it under the faucet and then into her mouth. As she ran the bristles back and forth across her teeth, Addison rummaged through various drawers, silently cursing herself for not being more organized. She was forever losing her many hairbrushes and now was not the time for any of them to be missing. Spotting Sabrina’s abandoned brush lying on the countertop, she quickly yanked it through her tangled waves, smoothing them until they were somewhat passable before tossing it back onto the counter. A quick rinse of her mouth under the faucet and she was presentable for a few minutes of conversation, at least long enough to figure out what he was doing in her apartment at ten am on a Saturday morning.
