Eames was actually drunk, Ariadne marveled. It was her fault – she'd kept pushing the drinks on him, not letting the waitress take away partial tumblers or water the drinks down with ice. They'd been five days looking for Arthur, and she knew he was starting to despair. She naively thought the alcohol would help him fall asleep. Instead, it made him talkative. As soon as she realized his lips had been loosened and some of his protective walls were down, she had hustled him back to the hotel room. If he was going to spill secrets, she wanted to make sure no one could overhear him.

Now, he was laid out on top of the king bedspread, still fully dressed except his leather shoes. He'd had to lean heavily on her to get here from the hotel bar, yet now that he was prone, he looked as cool and casual as ever. Ariadne placed a glass of water on the coaster on his side of the bed. "Drink," she commanded, as she drained her own glass.

Eames rolled up enough to do as she ordered, draining about half the water bottle. "That's our maternal little Ariadne," he said as he laid back with his arms behind his head. "If Arthur were here, he'd be head over heels for that severe little sweater set and no-nonsense voice. Between that and the fact that you're a slender little brunette he already thinks is cute, I think you'd be his wet dream."

Ari blushed furiously as she took off the sweater set and jeans and folded them neatly. "You, Mr. Eames, are drunk. You're slurring your r's." She crawled under the covers in her bra and underwear and faced him.

"But I am a gentleman," he countered. "I did not comment on your lovely curves when you were getting into bed. Unless you would like me to."

"You've complimented my body every evening at bedtime, Eames."

He waved away her objection."I admire beauty, even if I can only look and not touch. Arthur wants you. I would not dare. We have both learned our lesson."

""We? Both?" she asked curiously.

He closed his eyes while he talked, and he recited the story like it was a ritual where he had to get all the details exactly right. "Her name was Gloria. I met her at the end of my second year at Oxford. She was a good ten years older than me and wickedly sexy." He opened his eyes to emphasize the point to Ariadne. " And evil. But sexy."

Years ago, near the University of Oxford, UK:

Eames sipped his pint and looked around the pub, then back down at his steno book. He had sketched out a reasonable outline of his paper in the last hour. "No scoldings from Maddie this time," he murmured to himself. The opportunity to spend time (and flirt) with his gorgeous writing tutor was almost worth her knowing about his dyslexia. He knew he was lucky that his biggest struggle was writing and spelling, but he didn't have to like it. He scribbled another note for his essay and tossed a few pistachios in his mouth. The scent of lavender wafted under his nose, and a woman's voice asked, "Is this seat taken?"

Eames was already shaking his head when he finally looked at the questioner and nearly choked on the nuts. She was tall, blonde, and busty, wearing a form-fitting little black dress that was more suited for a club than a pub.

He cleared his throat. It was strangely dry, maybe because all of the blood in his body was surging towards his crotch. "No."

She slithered up on the onto the stool. "I'm Gloria," she introduced herself. "Who are you, handsome?"

Eames registered that her accent was American. "William," he offered. Regaining some of his composure, he asked, "would you like a drink?"

"That would be lovely. Do they have wine in this quaint little place?"

"Not a stellar selection, but they have a few good vintages."

"Oh, you know wine?"

"My father imports wine. I'm fairly knowledgeable."

"I'll trust you to pick me something nice. Something red. Then maybe we could move to somewhere a little more cozy?" she asked coquettishly, tracing the Magdalen College emblem embroidered on his pullover.

Eames felt all remaining blood drain to his crotch. "There's a little booth in the corner there that just emptied. Why don't you grab it while I get your drink?"

Once he slid into that booth with her wine and a fresh pint for himself, Eames immediately felt Gloria's hand on his thigh. She asked him about himself, his studies, and soon, in a silky voice in his ear, if he would like to get out of here and go somewhere more private.

As soon as the hotel room door closed, Gloria was on Eames and kissing him. She was tall and strong for a woman, pressing him against the door. "You are so young and sexy," she purred. He was a little drunk, having downed his pints after Gloria showed up pretty quickly, and his head was swimming between the alcohol, her perfume, and her hands that were now unbuttoning his slacks. "You're not a virgin, are you, William? It would be okay if you were."

He managed to shake his head in between kisses. His first time had been with one of his sister's friends right before he'd left for uni, and he'd had a few other flings, with men and women, but they were nothing like this. Furtive fumbling in dormitory rooms and underneath football bleachers with fellow uni students was a world away from a hotel room with a king-size bed and a forward woman at least ten years his senior. "No, but I've never been with anyone like you." he finally said breathlessly. Before he could say anymore, she had her hand inside his boxer shorts, grasping him.

"Oh, you do not disappoint." Next thing he knew, his boxer shorts were around his ankles, and Gloria was on her knees giving him the first blow job of his life. He closed his eyes and moaned. She pulled away long enough to promise, "I am going to ruin you."

He lost track of how many times and in how many ways he and Gloria had sex that night. She knew how to touch him and what to say to wind him up and then hold him on the knife's edge, holding him in a state of excruciating ecstasy. They finally collapsed in exhaustion on the bed hours later.

"I have a confession, my Billy-boy," Gloria said the next morning as she pinned her hair up. Eames didn't love the nickname, but he was more interested in what she had to say. He had just emerged from the shower and was wrapped in nothing but a pathetic hotel towel that didn't wrap all the way around his hips. He had to hold it in place. "I came here to find you." He frowned in confusion.

"Here?"

She breezed on without acknowledging he had spoken. "I was talking about a project I need someone for, and someone told me you could be the right man. But then when I saw a photo of you, I was hoping we might be able to make this a personal as well as a professional relationship. And that was before I discovered that wicked tongue of hers." She finished with her hair, reached over, and ripped his towel off. She kissed him, pressing her body against his. "I understand you have a talent for document manipulation and replication."

Still breathless from the kiss, Eames confirmed, "you could say that." He didn't say that the whole thing had started because his father couldn't be bothered enough to look at his school reports, let alone sign off on them. Then it became a hobby and a challenge – who could he fool with his forgeries?

"How'd you like to make some extra money on your upcoming summer break? And spend more time with me?" It wasn't the money. Eames didn't have to worry about money. It was the promise of adventure and Gloria. But mostly Gloria.

"I think I'd like that." Eames whispered his desire for her spiked again. In years to come, he would kick himself repeatedly for being so easily lead by his dick.

"Fantastic." Despite having just done her hair, she backed up to the bed, pulling him along. "Why don't you show me how much you're looking forward to it?" She fell back on the bed and licked her lips.

Gloria was there for three more days, and Eames spent the better part of that time naked in her hotel room having his mind blown by his older, mysterious lover. Whenever he didn't have class, he was with Gloria. She explained that the job was in something called dreamshare and explained aspects of what was possible in dreams, sweetening the pot. By the time she left, he was completely hooked.

The night before her she had to go, she gave him a mailbox key for a postbox in London, an address in Birmingham, the documents she needed him to create and where to send them, and a phone he was not to turn on until he reached Birmingham. "Remember," she purred. "Bring nothing that ties back to the real William. I wouldn't want to affect your future if anything goes wrong. You'll meet my associates there, and they'll only know you as Benjamin Richards.