Mistaken Identity (Women's Fantasies) Read Online Free Page B

was almost a visible phenomenon. She saw it against her closed eyelids, like scintillations, sunlight gleaming off champagne bubbles. Gorgeous.
    When Red pulled out, she missed him. Her hands found his cock, and he filled them with cum. Even then, she missed him.
    Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she fell to her knees on the tub floor as Green stepped out and turned off the water. Where were they going? Both of them? Racing into the other room…
    Ringing in her ears. No, wait—phones. The agents’ phones were ringing. Both at once.
    Brenda struggled to regain her breath, alone in the bathroom, hands bound behind her back, wet blouse weighing her wrists down. She hoped they’d come back soon.
    And they did, with a key. Red had his trousers on, but no shirt. He leaned across her back to release her wrists while Green towelled off and then collected her clothing from the bathroom floor.
    Even when Brenda’s hands were free, she couldn’t move them. They locked back there. “What’s going on?”
    “You’re free to go,” Red said, rushing out of the room. Then, as an afterthought, “We’ll have an officer swing by to take you home.”
    “Take me…” Brenda smirked. Her husband, no doubt. Maybe Danny would show up in a rented uniform and lift her into his arms like a hero from a blockbuster movie.
    Green rushed into the bathroom, wearing a scowl. “Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t Mitzi Antonelli? You could have saved us a hell of a lot of…”
    “Green!” Red shouted. “Get dressed. We gotta jet.”
    Brenda didn’t understand. Was Mitzi a real person? Seriously—what was going on, here?
    The agents paused by the bathroom door. She’d like to think she meant something to them, whoever they were, but she honestly couldn’t read their expressions.
    “Bye,” she said, because she really didn’t know what else to say.
    They nodded, rather sternly, before leaving the motel room.
    Brenda sat in the tub, listening to the motel’s other occupants, shouting, televisions and sex. Lot of sex.
    When the feeling returned to her arms, she wrung her sopping blouse over the drain. Her mind felt so foggy. Like she couldn’t distinguish a dream from reality. The towels looked too grotty to touch, but she found an ancient hair dryer in the cupboard under the sink. She escaped into the task of blow-drying her shirt and, by turns, herself.
    There were two possibilities. Danny would show up at the door to extend this night of taboo fantasy bliss and she would know this was all a set-up, or an actual cop would walk through that door to take her home. Maybe he’d apologize for any inconvenience. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d have his wicked way with her. Maybe there would be two cops, and they’d take turns, or share, or maybe…
    Over the deafening hiss of the blow dryer, Brenda heard a knock at the door. When the hinges creaked, she snapped her eyes closed. Her heart beat against her ribs, as if it was hammering its way out. She was too afraid to look.
     
     
     
    The End
     
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