Hailee
I wake to weak gray light. I have a brief second of panic when I realize I haven’t woken to my alarm. I must have overslept.
Then I remember I didn’t set one. I remember I’m in Massachusetts and don’t have work for the rest of the week. Or any responsibility whatsoever, for that matter.
I smile and take in one of life’s greatest pleasures—I stretch, star-fishing in the sheets without a single reason to get out of bed.
I freeze as my outstretched left hand finds something warm.
Hard.
I open my eyes and frown at the ceiling. My fingers investigate the object a little longer before I yank them away like it’s a hot iron. Is that…
I whip my head around to see Alex sleeping silently.
Wait. What? My head spins. My heart thunders.
No, this isn’t a dream. He’s right there.
I don’t know what surprises me more, the fact that Alex is in bed with me or that I had his hard penis gripped in my fist.
I almost want to shake him awake and ask him what the hell he’s doing. I lean forward to see the blanket that was placed on the mattress pad is still folded.
Alex must’ve worked so late that he came in here and crashed. That would check out. Alex Blackwell works himself to the point where he needs sleep but doesn’t gleefully get under the covers himself.
He’s in the same tank top as last night and nothing but his boxers.
My guts are watery, and my eyes are wide. How does a man fill me with so much adrenaline?
Maybe it’s not the man, but the idea that’s running through my head. There’s no way I felt him correctly. It was too big. I must’ve mistaken a part of his leg or hand for his manhood in my sleepy state.
I plop back down and act like I’m asleep. Not like Alex woke up, but still. I can hardly even hear his light breathing. I reach my hand out, looking for that hot iron again.
I find it easily. It pulls the fabric of his boxers taut. There is no mistake. I leave my limp hand on his penis. I could probably fit two hands on the thing, and my hands aren’t necessarily small.
I run my hand down the length of it. Just out of curiosity. He intruded on me, anyway. I feel the hard mass twitch, and it makes me have to suppress a gasp of pleasure. I take my hand away again with hot stove speed.
This is wrong.
I should not be touching a sleeping man’s body, even if he is the one who climbed into my bed. I turn onto my side and debate whether I should go repent under a cold shower, when suddenly Alex shifts. He turns onto his side and begins to spoon me.
I feel his hot cock pressed into my butt. The only thing that separates it from my bare skin is the two thin layers of our underwear.
I’m so lustful, I feel like I’m in heat. I don’t think he woke up. His breath is as slow and steady as before, and his arm is wrapped limply and what must be uncomfortably over my shoulder.
I want to remove my layer of fabric. I don’t even care. Horrified as I am, my hands move like they’re guided by a ghost. Not Barnes.
I shimmy my underwear to my ankles and wiggle into his stiff penis. My breathing is becoming shallow and hard to keep quiet. I’m still above the idea of putting a hand in between my thighs and rubbing my clit. That’s a step too far.
I didn’t wake up expecting to feel like an animal, but that’s what I am. I want his cock inside me. I want his strong hand to wrap around my throat and halve the air to my lungs. I need this man.
The sheets rustle. He’s awake. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. He’s awake. What am I thinking? I’m blushing with hot embarrassment, not pleasure, when suddenly I feel his hand between my legs. The world blurs with a sense of unbelievability.
This isn’t happening.
This is not reality.
But it is.
I suck in a breath as he kisses my neck and gently rubs my naked sex. A minute passes. Maybe. Time kind of stops. The only time I can mark its passage is when he does something different and sticks a finger in me up to the knuckle.
I’m dripping so much already that my thighs are slick when they rub against each other. I’m practically bucking into his hand in another few seconds. Then I feel another finger, long and stroking. This time he presses harder and my eyes roll back into my head.
“Fuck me. Fuck the foreplay, Alex. I need you to fuck me.”
I hear the elastic band of his boxers snap as he takes them off. He rolls me over like I’m weightless onto my back, and there he is, looking down at me.
His cock is so erect, it pulses.
I can’t guess inches, but it’s thicker and longer than any I’ve seen in a long, long time. I wrap my hand around his bare, throbbing cock and look up from there. He’s so lean and strong, I can see the muscled V of his core muscles that run down to his shaft.
I’ve never seen him with his shirt off. His abs are sharp, his chest full, and his collarbones run long, creating those broad shoulders. His fingers enter me again. It feels so good I want to tilt my head back and moan, but he’s too sexy to take my eyes off of.
Instead, I find his deep-blue eyes and look into them challengingly.
Do your worst , my expression says. He pushes two fingers inside me and then uses my own wetness to lube himself up.
His phone rings on the nightstand, and he picks it up, ignores the call, and tosses the phone over his shoulder onto the floor. It clacks noisily on the wood.
I smile, but there was no humor in the action for him.
He’s focused on one thing—taking me. He grabs my hips and pulls me down so I’m better positioned, and just as he puts his thumb on the head of his cock to guide himself in, there’s footsteps on the stairs.
He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t hear.
I don’t want to hear them either, but I say his name. “Alex.”
He pauses and tilts his head to the ceiling in disappointment.
There’s a knock on the door. “Seven thirty wakeup, sir.” Bruce’s voice comes through the door. “Bradely Barrington called your personal phone that you left in the kitchen. I figure you might want to return the call.”
“Thank you, Bruce.”
I hold my breath. I don’t want this to end, but it feels like a spell has been broken for both of us.
Alex shakes his head. “. We…” He licks his lips. “Your brother… Your job…” He puts on his boxers and stands. His face is wrinkled. Bothered.
Dare I say self-loathing.
“Right,” I say, trying to agree. But really, I’m devastated.
“This…” Alex spreads his hand out flat and moves it down like he’s pushing something away. “Never happened. I came to bed at four. I didn’t even remember you were—”
It’s my turn to interrupt him. “No worries. We’re human. We get horny. That’s all it was.”
“Exactly.” He nods slowly and points at me. “I’ll see you for breakfast. I’m going for a run. The shower is all yours, if you want it.”
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly feeling particularly dirty. Alex throws on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and I’m still in bed trying to pull it together when he’s out the door and jogging down the stairs.