Chapter Seven #2
Lacey’s mouth presses to mine, snapping me out of my thoughts. Her touch is soft and delicate, lightly brushing from one corner of my mouth to the next. Our lips barely touch, yet a current of electricity zaps my nerve endings, setting me alight from the inside.
Lacey pulls back, taking all my oxygen with her.
“How was that?” she asks.
I can’t find my voice or feel my toes.
She cringes, sinking into herself and pulling away from me. “That bad?”
Bad… My insides quake like an addict after one hit, desperate for another, never wanting to stop.
It was terrible, but not in the way she meant. “It was fine.”
“Fine.” She looks defeated and frustrated. The need to comfort and protect her is ingrained in my DNA, but right now, I cannot find the right words to repair her confidence without destroying our friendship.
She throws her arms up in the air. “Fine isn’t good enough.”
Climbing onto her knees beside me, she cups my cheeks and plants her lips on mine again.
This isn’t a soft, hesitant brush like before. Lacey’s lips mold to mine, hard and insistent, her soft, eager tongue brushing the seam between.
I suck in a surprised gasp, and her tongue slips inside. The rational side of my brain tells me to sit still and let her practice, but instinct and the sweet promise of bad decisions take over.
I grip her waist, leaning into the kiss as she begins to pull away.
I follow, wanting more, needing her flat on her back, my aching cock pressed to her heat, building sweet friction until she’s panting and soaked beneath me.
She pulls away with a gasp and lets out a shaky breath before licking her lips, tasting me. “How was that?”
My knuckles whiten around a cushion. I’m right on edge, balls tight, cock hard, and ready to blow, but she looks at me like the ever-diligent student wondering about her grade.
She doesn’t look flustered or like her insides are a swirling mess.
“Good.” I clear my throat and reach for my drink. “It was good.”
I gulp the rest of my beer until the bottle is empty, then open hers and take another huge swallow.
“Are you sure? I thought I might have been too eager with my tongue.”
I almost choke, an image of that eager tongue on my cock hitting me. “Right amount of tongue. You’ll be fine.”
“Great. I should probably get going. I need a decent night’s sleep if I’m going to use all your tips on the professor.” She bounces to her feet, looking around for her bag.
My insides twist and turn in on themselves, my chest heavy with each painful breath. How can she act like her entire world didn’t just shift on its axis?
Didn’t she feel anything?
“Lacey,” I call her name, but she’s focused on picking up her bag and shoes.
I should let her go, blow a load in the shower, fall asleep, and try to forget how right her lips felt on mine. Maybe in the morning this realization won’t feel so agonizing.
How did I think one kiss would be enough?
This was a stupid fucking idea, but I can’t let her leave.
“Lacey.” I walk toward her before she bolts from my apartment. “It’s midnight, and you’re in your pajamas. You’re not going anywhere except to bed.”
She clutches her shoes and bag to her chest, pink blotching her skin. “Your bed?” Then she lets out a laugh, sounding a little manic. “Of course, your bed. We always sleep in your bed. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t sleep in your bed.”
I can think of nine inches of rock-hard reasons why we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed, or the same apartment—the same continent even.
Her flustered appearance sparks a new curiosity inside of me. Maybe she’s not as unaffected by our kiss as I thought. “I’m sure I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself, even if you did try to eat my tongue.”
Lacey rolls her eyes. “I did not try to eat your tongue.”
We grin at each other, the tension easing.
Walking to my bed, I flip the blanket off one side and arch a brow, giving her a challenging smile. Part of me hopes she will suggest I take the couch because sleeping next to her will be impossible after a kiss like that.
She drops her things, climbs into bed, and snuggles into my pillow like she belongs there.
She flips the blanket down on my side.
I better start counting sheep.
Three hours later I’m still awake.
Lacey tossed and turned for at least an hour before settling into a restless sleep beside me, one arm flung over her eyes and heart-shaped lips puffing with gentle, even breaths.
Closing my eyes, seconds tick by like hours, nighttime becoming a never-ending marathon chasing sleep that won’t come. I picture one woolly sheep after another, bouncing over a solitary fence in an empty field, but it doesn’t help.
I open my eyes with a silent groan and look over at the cause of my insomnia.
Lacey looks angelic, so peaceful in her dreams while I’m stiff and aching in my tortured reality.
Need pulses thick in my veins, and my cock sits heavy on my belly. My hand slides beneath the blanket, fingers gripping my shaft over my boxer briefs, intent on only adjusting the angle for comfort. Instead, I stroke.
Pleasure dances from the base of my spine, swirling low in my abdomen before dripping into my balls in thick, indulgent pulses.
My hips buck in reflex.
The movement unintentionally shifts the blanket from Lacey’s shoulder, exposing her white tank top. Her restlessness skewed the fabric, the swell of one breast dangerously close to slipping out.
A yellow glow streams from a crack in the bathroom door, filling the room with enough light to outline the edge of her rosy nipple. I’ve never been more grateful for her irrational fear of the dark and need to sleep with a light on.
Cold night air swirls across her exposed skin, tightening her nipple and revealing even more of the puckered flesh as it arches upward.
I drag my eyes up to the ceiling. Go to sleep, asshole.
It’s impossible. Even the sheep are lined up by the fence, eager to see what will happen.
I chuckle silently. Lacey would love the conflict in this scene—impossibly hard love interest trying to play the chivalrous good guy but hoping her top moves a little more.
I roll on my side until I’m close enough to her pillow to breathe in her floral shampoo.
Peonies and vanilla drive my thoughts to the shower, water snaking over Lacey’s naked curves and dripping from her erect nipples.
Moisture pools in my mouth at the thought of catching each drop on my tongue, the water sugar-sweet, like her skin.
My palm drifts to my boxers again and grips the hard ridge of my cock through the fabric.
I close my eyes as the fantasy grows. I picture steam curling around her face as those big blue eyes look down at me. She watches as I run my tongue along the seam of her entrance, tasting her.
My hand jerks faster and my balls curl upward, tight and ready to burst.
A soft sigh makes me stiffen. I snap my eyes open, suddenly realizing that I’m in bed stroking my cock to fantasies of the girl sleeping peacefully next to me.
What the fuck are you thinking, Olly?
Guilt should make me sick with remorse, but lust is a heady sensation, impossible to ignore.
Sleep will never happen with my cock this hard.
Slowly, I ease the blanket off my legs and try to slide to the edge of the mattress, but Lacey shifts again.
I look over at the new angle of her top, the white cotton now stretching so tightly across one breast that a dusting of pink areola peaks out.
Just the slightest movement will set her nipple free.
A best friend would cover her with a blanket, find the will to ignore the ache in his balls, and sleep. But the depraved side of me turns back onto the bed, holds his breath, and waits.
Each rise of her chest pulls the cotton tighter, but the seconds tick by at a slow, torturous pace.
Before rationalizing why this is a bad idea, I pluck the cotton between my fingers, careful not to wake her, and gently pull it to the side. Rosy pink flesh pops out, pebbled on her breast like a cherry-topped sundae, ripe and ready to taste.
I palm my cock, rubbing the aching length through fabric as tension and arousal burn in my core. He twitches in an angry demand for more attention, but the distance from the bed to the bathroom feels cavernous and too far from that sweet pink candy.
Without thinking, I slip my hand beneath the elastic of my boxers and curl my callused fingers around my length.
The soft skin of my hand touches the steely heat of my cock. Air hisses between my teeth in relief. I drag my fist up and down slowly, careful to keep my movements shallow to avoid rocking the bed.
A thrill hums through me at the depravity, wishing it was something I could share with Lacey. She’d salivate over writing a scene like this and pull out her favorite purple toy.
It’s the excuse I tell myself because I can’t stop.
What would Lacey do if she opened her eyes right now?
The dirty author in her would paint a picture more vivid than reality and cause a visceral reaction in my body when I read it—just like every other scene she’s written.
Excitement sprints up my spine at the thought of her waking up any second and seeing my fist swallowing my cock.
But there’s a sudden fear that her response wouldn’t be as eager, that she’d see me for the sexual deviant I am, and I’d lose her.
I should stop.
But I might never be this close to her again.
She’s going to eventually meet someone she wants to spend more than one night with, and where will that leave me? Horny and alone, wishing I’d taken the chance to know what it’s like to come with her scent in my nose and her supple body only inches from my cock.
I’ll deal with the guilt and the consequences later.
I pull my boxers down, giving myself more room to pump.
I grip my shaft harder, and each downward stroke pulls in my abdomen and tingles in my thighs, drawing me closer to damnation.
My eyes slide to her breasts again. Every breath Lacey takes brings her nipple closer to my mouth.
Or is my mouth moving closer to her nipple?