ALICE Ch 205

Self-consciousness wrapped around her more tightly than the towel around her waist, Lora speed-walks back to her room. There, she checks several times to make sure the door is locked before facing her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. She looks flustered, and she feels like a cloud of butterflies in a forest fire. She’s a nervous person in general, but this isn’t normal.

Kylie and the Amazons are now several floors away, but they’re still on her mind: Kylie’s perfect body with their hands all over her.

Lora sits stiffly on the edge of her bed, squeezing her legs together so hard that it hurts. This is absurd. And it’s late. She should be asleep. But the longer she spends sitting here being uncomfortable and trying to explain away whatever is going on in her head, the longer it’ll be before her eyes close. She has a job to do tomorrow.

It’s not working. She can’t distract herself, not even with guilt and anxiety. Denial won’t get her anywhere. Whatever she saw down there turned her on something fierce, and her imagination is running with it.

She opens the towel and looks down, then puts her fingers in the waist of the bikini bottoms, all set to rise just enough to slip them off. She freezes, though. Lora’s throat feels tight as she swallows. These are Kylie’s. She licks her lips, then lies back and thrusts her right hand into the bikini bottoms, letting out a sharp breath as she finds herself hotter and more sensitive than she’s ever felt before, at least alone in bed.

Mio, Alice, the race… all that is gone as her fingers work. Her legs widen, her breaths grow shakier, and her fingers get straight to the point.

FF1

Erica Bruhl is surrounded by her phone, tablet, and laptop, all glowing on her bed. She sits cross-legged in her boxer briefs and one of the many F1 tees that she uses for sleeping. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s got an Irish coffee from the hotel bar in her hand as she pecks away at the computer with one outstretched finger. Typing for real would be faster, but this drink is the only thing keeping her functioning. Her little side trip to Florida ate up a lot of time; she’s behind and exhausted.

She blinks her sandy eyes at the firm knock at the door. Muttering curses in three languages, she crawls off the bed and drinks the last of her coffee. Leaving the cup on the table, she answers the door.

Glynda stands in the hallway in a hotel robe, expression icy. Her glare and body language say it all. Erica’s not completely surprised. She takes a breath and leans against the doorframe, folding her arms. There is no correct thing to say, so she just holds Glynda’s gaze. Even tired, Erica has a spine. She challenges the older woman openly.

“Do you want me to go?” Glynda asks irritably. The robe is belted, but she’s holding it closed.

“Of course not,” Erica says. She reaches out and grasps the collar of the robe. Gently, but firmly, she pulls Glynda into the room.