It was with great surprise then, that Sheldon happened to glance up from the novel to find he'd been reading for a steady two hours. He had become quite engrossed with the plot, Sheldon acknowledged, setting the book back on his desk as he got to his feet. It had proved to be a rather complex, intriguing mystery, and he was actually not certain that his own prime suspect was in fact the murderer. If it weren't for the amount of sexual encounters in the novel he might have even recommended it to others. Not that that had been surprising, he'd been expecting that. Humans were abnormally obsessed with such things, their literature and entertainment forms were proof of that. What was unusual was the fact that he'd actually had to read the scenes, after figuring out part way through chapter five that he'd missed a clue, which turned out to have come up in the first sex scene between the main character and one of his informants. Since he needed all the facts to correctly determine the identity of the killer, he'd forced himself to actually read the whole thing, rather than skip over what he'd always deemed unnecessary voyeurism. Those scenes had been quite the work of fiction. Though he had no experience in such things himself, since he had as yet no obligation to contribute to his species, Sheldon had a hard time imagining how sexual intercourse could in any way be as earth shattering as the writer would have you believe. Yes, his sender was a clever, sly creature, to have sent him something that would appeal to his intellect while seeking to ruin it with sex. It was really a shame the man or woman wouldn't apply that cleverness to their academic pursuits.
Shaking his head at the gullibility of humans, Sheldon put away all of his work tools before heading out of his home office and heading for his bedroom to retire for the evening. Changing into a pair of loose cotton pants and a superman T-shirt, Sheldon was soon in bed with the lights out, his arms in their stationary position as he contemplated the plot line of the novel and whether or not he would continue it in the morning. He thought perhaps he would, if only to find out if his deductions were correct. His prime suspect was the main character's assistant, a woman who actually reminded him a great deal of Riley Sterling. Riley Sterling was a woman who he had been assigned to mentor during her final year as a grad student. If the killer was she, the main character would indeed have a hard time proving it. Riley was not the type to make mistakes. And it was with that final thought that he fell into sleep.
When his eyes opened he knew on some level that he was dreaming, that none of what he saw before him was real. He still resided upon a bed, but he now felt silk sheets against his bare skin, no clothing covering his body now save the sheets. The sound of a door opening reached his ears and Sheldon turned his head to watch the door of the foreign bedroom open, a single figure stepping in then closing the door behind her. Watching her walk towards him, Sheldon realized two things. The first that he was dreaming a scene from the novel, the one in which the main character's assistant comes into the main character's bedroom and attempts to seduce him. The second was that the 'assistant' walking towards him was not a slim, golden tanned blonde but a curvy, milk chocolate skinned Riley Sterling, dressed in a white satin nightgown that hugged her subtle curves and displayed her shoulders and neck to beautiful advantage, with only thin straps holding the gown on her person. In his mind he was telling her to leave, cover up, get out of his dream, but no words would come out of his mouth. He was held in place, a hostage to his subconscious as she reached the bed and crawled towards him on her hands and knees, straddling him when she finally reached him, her dark hair loose and free as she leaned forward to look him in the eye as she placed a soft hand upon his cheek.
"I know I shouldn't have come, but I just couldn't stay away." She told him in a breathless voice that was just above a whisper. "I just had to tell you, had to make you see that they're wrong about what they said to you tonight. You are not cold or unfeeling, and I know that you feel and get hurt just like the rest of us, that you're just better at hiding it than most. I think maybe you might even feel more, because you spend so much time trying to pretend that you don't."
And now her hand began to stroke the side of his face, her fingertips cool and as light as a summer breeze against his warming skin. They felt surprisingly pleasant, eliciting a strange desire within him to lean into her touch, to rub his skin against hers. It was so foreign, this desire for closeness. He had never craved the touch of another, and he did not know how to understand the desire now. And he did not just wish to feel her fingers against his cheek, but closer contact, Sheldon realized, feeling a foreign compulsion to draw her close to him, to feel more of her skin against his own.
"How I've longed for this." She told him, leaning closer to nuzzle the side of her face against his own. "I can't tell you how often I've dreamed this, wished for this. Will you touch me, Sheldon? Will you make me yours as I've so wanted to be." Placing teasing kisses along his jaw line Riley's voice sent shivers up his spine. "Will you let me touch you? Taste you?" And then her lips were on his and Sheldon could only think of her.
He was blind and death to the world, the thought that this was all a dream torn from his mind under a blaze of fiery passion the likes of which he'd never known. She clung to him, her arms around his neck, her thighs pressed tight against his sheet covered thighs, rocking ever so slightly against him, causing the blaze within his blood to burn hotter than the most destructive of flames. She vibrated against him, her lips holding him in place like a pair of unbreakable chains, binding him to her for eternity. And then he could move, rolling them over to pin her under him, his hands fisted in her black tresses while his mouth ravaged hers in return, the taste of her more intoxicating than any wine or drug. She tasted of honey and her, a taste all her own that had him panting desperately against her mouth, seeking fuller access to the sweetness that was her. More was all he could think. He had to have more. He had to have everything she and her body offered, quivering with need beneath him like a pulled harp string. He wanted to taste every inch of her flesh until he could take no more. He wanted to run his fingers and tongue over every inch of her body so that he might learn every dip and curve, learn all their secrets and just how to touch her to bring her unspeakable pleasure. He wanted to lose himself within her hot, sweating body and finally know what it was to feel a fulfillment that could never be found in his orderly, controlled world. He would beg, he thought, he would do anything she asked to learn these glories and end this unbearable ach within him, tearing him apart with desires and needs. There was fire in his eyes as his hands left her hair with the intent to tear the night gown from her body, needing to feel her naked skin against his.
And with a gasp he awoke, sitting up in his bed in one smooth motion, his clothes soaked through with sweat and the body within shuddering with an ache that would not be met. Looking around him frantically, Sheldon's eyes took in his surroundings, and more importantly, who was not there. Falling back onto his pillow Sheldon covered his face with his hands, his breathing jagged and erratic. Where, he wondered, had that come from?