Page 3 of Undecided Heiress

Is this all an elaborate ruse to get me naked?

“Jen!”

As I attempt to remove the text, she laughs, “I believe this is the most anyone’s called out my name in a month. At least buy me dinner first? If you’re set on not meeting up with him, can I? I could use someone calling me a ‘good fucking girl.’ Did you call him ‘Daddy’ in your dream? Do you think he’d be into it?”

“Shh, I’m trying to figure out how to delete your message. And I thought you were swearing off men and opting for a ‘pussy partner,’ as you put it?” Before I can remove it, there’s another from James.

If that’s how you’re most comfortable, I see no issue discussing whatever is happening with these dreams while you’re naked. However, keeping my hands to myself is another problem entirely.

There’s no use in telling him it was Jen messaging him; it isn’t as if he’d believe me. I can’t help but wonder how much this ‘James’ is like the one from my dream or the one in the book. Based on our brief meeting and this exchange, I have a feeling fiction and reality aren’t too far apart from one another. As I’m typing back a flirtatious response, another message comes in.

Dinner at mine. 6:30.

Naked or not, I’m looking forward to it.

None of it is a question…

“Anna, you’re going to meet him tonight, even if it’s ridiculous and impulsive. You need to figure out what this shared dream is about. And if it leads to mind-blowing sex? Even fucking better.”

I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay, I can do this.”

“Just be sure to send me your location. I want to be famous for finding your dead body if it comes to that, maybe even do a seance before the authorities arrive.”

James

Ican’t focus on the lecture I’m giving to a room full of doe-eyed first-years. The only reason any of them care about this class is because of the popular television show based on a Regency romance book series.

After these past few weeks, perhaps I should suffer through a book or two for Anna.

I honestly can’t believe she agreed to tonight, almost as much as I can’t believe I ran into her today. However, something that’s been nagging at me is the woman I met on the train mentioned a book had changed, confirmed by Anna shortly after. The logical explanation is pure coincidence, and while the book may be, my perfect, feisty Anna isn’t.

Coasting over the remaining talking points of King George’s mental decline, I keep my eyes fixated on the clock at the back of the room. Only seven more minutes until I’m free. Having her at my flat tonight is both brilliant and incredibly stupid—she may be expecting a serious discussion, and I’ll be wondering if her lips taste as sweet as I conjured up.

The moment the class files out, I sprint to my office to retrieve my laptop and a hard copy of a dissertation draft I’m supposed to read by the end of the week; I’m actually interested to see their research on the impact of French fashion in Regency England. Once both are in hand, I stuff them in my bag, and finally on my way home, I’m able to check my texts.

My Anna

My apologies for any disappointment, Prince James, but I will be fully clothed tonight. What shall I bring with me?

I assure you, the disappointment is purely one sided.

A copy of the book? If you have it on hand. I didn’t have a chance to buy one.

I have both editions downloaded on my ereader. Anything else?

Your beautiful self is enough.

Bubbles start and stop for a minute or two, and my stomach twists. I may have misread the flirtation earlier, or perhaps she’s changed her mind entirely. I don’t like either possibility that she could be hesitating. I opt for an easy reaction to secure our meeting.

I’ll be home shortly. See you soon.

Great. See you.

Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, my stomach remains in knots for the duration of my commute. When I arrive home, I order a takeaway and take a quick shower. Like every other time since I first dreamed of Anna, my hand finds my cock. Except this time, I’m not picturing her with a gown pooled around her waist; she’s naked and tied to my bed.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me?

Ten minutes after fucking my hand, I step out of the shower, and the intercom buzzes. My heart leaps out of my chest—it’s too early for the takeaway; it must be her. Rushing to the front entry, I click the small button. “Hello?”

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