Chapter Twelve
NOAH
O n any other morning, I would wake up to the sound of my alarm. I’d hit snooze half a dozen times before finally giving up and succumbing to the cold truth that it’s well and truly past the time I need to get up. I’d race through my too big house, brewing a coffee straight into my travel mug while brushing my teeth and doing up the black work pants that still itch my thighs.
Not today, though.
Today, I wake up peaceful and warm in a bed that is not my own. I don’t need to open my eyes to appreciate the soft curves of the body pressed against mine.
Amira’s perfectly round ass is pressed snugly against my waist. Her back pressed firmly against my chest, her near-black hair tangled on the pillow near my face. She smells like the treats she’s always making, sweet and fruity, with a rich hint of perfectly brewed coffee. For a moment, I soak it all in. How … perfect … it feels to wake up beside her. For a moment, I forget this is all for show.
I forget how badly I wish it wasn’t. All for show that is. And for the first time since agreeing to this farce, I wonder how exactly I planned to turn this into something real.
Amira and I shared something last night. Something far more intimate than the way our bodies are currently entwined. The lines surrounding our relationship agreement blurred and twisted, and I’m no longer sure what side we’re on.
I should get up. I should peel myself away from Amira, ignoring the throbbing in my cock, and let her sleep the rest of the morning away. I should remove myself from the room before my alarm wakes her up. But I can’t. I can’t get over how tightly Amira holds my fingers in her own against her chest. The way her legs are wrapped between mine. The way her body is pressed against me, everywhere, in all the right ways.
The way my dick is nestled between her thighs.
I never want to leave. But I should. Right?
Regardless, her breathy moan is a siren song I cannot resist.
She shuffles her body into mine, creating friction along my shaft that does nothing to sedate the sheer need and desire coursing through me. My balls swell and my cock hardens against the thin fabric of her barely there shorts.
The angelic vision of her changing into them has been seared into my soul. Her eyes were laced with equal parts fear and trust, and I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. The way she watched me so intently as she changed her pants lit a fire so deep inside me. She trusted me wholeheartedly, and I will do anything to show her I deserve it.
She moans again, rubbing her ass against my cock. Her fingers are still locked through mine, and she drags my hand down with hers until she is toying with the waistband of her shorts.
Is she even awake?
Without wanting to disturb her, I unlace our fingers. I keep the weight of my arm draped over her and inch my hand away from hers. But she shifts her grip, grabbing my hand and holding tight. She doesn’t dip our hands into her shorts, but holds firm on their position right above the waistband.
Amira murmurs, and I wish I knew what she said but I doubt she formed words in her dream state.
“Shh,” I whisper in her ear as I try to remove my hand from her grip again. My other arm is trapped underneath her head, and without them, I can’t shift my body away from hers, even if I wanted to.
With a heavy exhale Amira rocks her hips back into me again. The satin fabric of her pyjama shorts shifts until all that’s between us is my underwear.
I groan, realising she did not wear panties under those incredibly small shorts. The long baggy jumper she had on when she changed last night hid that mind-numbing fact, and I’m glad it did, or I never would have been able to sleep. This morning not only is she not wearing underwear, but she is soaking. It seeps through my boxers, warming my cock and spreading electricity through my veins. My breath hitches and I know this is a gross invasion of her privacy. She can’t consent to anything when she is half asleep and based on how she reacted last night, I’m not sure she would consent to it if she were awake.
I suck in a breath and roll my lower half away as best I can.
“Noah,” she moans. “Come back.”
I freeze, my heart racing and my core throbbing. My dick aches to be back between her legs.
“Are you awake?”
“Would I do this if I wasn’t?” She pulls my hand below her waist, and runs our fingers through her folds.
My eyes roll into my head and I buck my hips into her involuntarily. “You’re fucking soaked, Cupcake.”
With her fingers over mine, Amira guides me to her clit, circling around the sensitive bud. Her head tips back against my chest. “Don’t stop,” she moans. “Don’t go. Don’t think.”
I couldn’t have even if I tried. Every notion of why we shouldn’t be doing this has been obliterated from living memory. My balls ache with need and I grind myself against her ass, pushing my bulging cock between her cheeks. The thin fabric of my underwear is too thick, too much, but I couldn’t move my fingers away to pull them down even if I wanted to. Fuck the rules. Amira told me not to stop, so I won’t.
She guides my fingers lower, pushing one of mine and one of hers into her entrance. With our fingers buried inside her pussy, she grinds against our hands. Her breaths turn heavy, and I match each pant with my own.
“You love this, don’t you Cupcake? Using my body to get off,” I whisper in her ear between bated breaths and aching thrusts. My finger in her pussy, my dick buried between her ass cheeks, my face nestled against her hair. I can feel my pleasure growing until I fear I might combust.
In response, Amira pulls her finger out only to replace it with another of mine. She drives her hips forward, searching for more. I curl my fingers, and she moans as I reach a spot deep inside her.
“Use me, Cupcake. I’m all yours.”
Her legs begin to shake, clenching around my hand. The movement sends shockwaves through me and my balls draw up with pressure.
“N-Noah,” Amira sighs as she falls over a peak.
And I follow her off the mountain. My dick throbs with pleasure as my orgasm hits me and I spill into my underwear. Amira holds my hand inside her, and I stroke her inner walls as she comes down from her own high. When she frees her grip on my hand, I pull out slowly but keep my arm draped over her body.
We lay in silence while we catch our breaths, but my mind races with what now and what next. The blurry line has all but faded away and the rules I made up for us have scrambled into an incoherent mess of letters.
“Cupcake,” I whisper.
“I hate that.”
I smile into her hair. She says she hates it, but I saw the subtle ways her eyes lit up when I first said it. And now I’ve felt the way her heart races beneath my arm.
“Should we—”
“Not yet,” she cuts me off. “I don’t want to face reality yet.”
I was going to ask her what reality looks like now, but I’ll settle for spending a few more moments with my arms wrapped around her. Only a few though, because I need to clean up, and we both have to get to work.
With a groan, I peel myself away from Amira and head to the bathroom. I find two clean face towels under the sink, and warm them up under the tap.
“Here,” I say as I pass one to Amira, who’s rolled onto her back in the middle of the bed. The blankets are at her feet, and her shorts are pushed to the side revealing a glint of soaking pink flesh. My chest pulls towards her, and my cock all but springs to life again.
Now I’ve felt her, now I know how she sounds when she moans my name, I’m desperate for it all again. All of it and more.
She takes the cloth and sits up, but instead of wiping herself clean, she presses the hot towel to her face. My cum is turning sticky inside my boxers, but I crawl between her legs and place my hands on her knees. My eyes are fixed on her glistening pussy underneath her shorts.
“Okay?” I ask, tearing my gaze up to her face. Still hidden by the towel, she nods her head.
With my own wet cloth, I trace my fingers up her legs until I reach the lacy cuff of her shorts. “Okay?” I repeat. Again, she keeps her face hidden but nods.
Peeling her shorts to the side, I wipe the towel up her thigh, cleaning the dampness between her folds. When she whimpers and begins to shy away, I sit up. My head spins.
“Amira, are you okay?”
Finally, she removes the towel from her face. “Peachy,” she chirps. Her cheeks are a bright pink that spreads down her neck and over her collarbone.
I wonder if she’d taste like peach. I wonder if she’d let me find out. I’m about to ask, to try to talk about the new boundaries we’ve bulldozed our way to, when she laughs. Not a giant ha ha life, but a subtle, satisfied kind of giggle.
“You should probably go clean up,” she says, throwing her towel at me. Her eyes dart down to the very wet and increasingly sticky patch in my crotch. “I’m glad you enjoyed that as much as I did.”
Catching the towel, I back off the bed and head to the bathroom.
“Oh, I did, Cupcake. Very much.”