I let out a deep breath. "Fine, let's say I care. What happened, she shot you down?" I ask questioningly. Dylan takes a step towards me. "I took her ...ome and she invited me in. I said no." I don't buy the gentleman act for a second. The elevator is quickly approaching my floor and I turn away from him. "How courteous of you. 'Night," I say, mockingly. The doors ping open but as I begin to walk out, Dylan pulls me back and pushes me against the wall. He puts his hands on the wall by either. I have written erotic stories in which I describe a scene where we sit together on a bar stool in a public club, the hem of my full length dress curtaining the sight of my bottom resting on his unzipped fly. In my story he lifts me in his arms, my legs around his back, ankles locked together, my arms clinging to him, our mouths molded as one, his hands cupped together to form a seat for my bottom as he carries me from the club to his vehicle. In the parking lot of the club we make love in the. More

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