I bite my lip hard, just to make sure I’m not dreaming. The sharp twinge of pain tells me I’m awake. Awake, and clearly a slut with no morals. I mean, I haven’t touched anyone like this since Kyle. I’ve kissed a few guys in an attempt to force myself to move on, in an attempt to ease the ache of need that I’ve carried in my belly for so long. But none of the guys I kissed ever ignited any kind of spark in me. Just dead, nothing. Dan tried and tried, and I really did try to get into it. I never could.
I can’t accurately say there’s a spark, with Colton. No, it’s way, way beyond a spark. Just looking at him lights a fire. Touching him, being touched, even innocent touches, even his hand in mine creates an inferno.
This? Touching him so intimately, so erotically? You could light a match from the waves of palpable heat radiating from me, flames of desire fanned hotter every second.
I can’t stop stroking him. Up and back down, caressing his length, exploring his thickness through the swishy fabric of his shorts. He moves in time with me, now, and he’s waking up. Moaning, writhing under my touch. I can’t stop now. I think he’s close.
I press my thumb to his tip again and rub in circles, and I feel his body tense beneath mine. I glance up at his eyes, watch them flick open and waver in confusion, then stutter and blink as he comes. My gaze flits down to watch the white stream cover his belly.
“The f**k?” His voice is muzzy and and puzzled and slow.
He’s awake, he’s released, but still thick. I slide my hand into his shorts and take him in my hand, and I bite my lip at the satiny hardness of him. His eyes meet mine, and I can tell he’s wondering if he’s awake, how he should feel, what to say.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I woke up touching you, by accident. And then I couldn’t stop.”
“Am I dreaming?” he asks, wary.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He looks down at himself, at the mess on his belly. “So you just…”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“While I was sleeping?”
I nod again, and I can’t meet his eyes anymore. “Yeah. I don’t know—I’m sorry. I—I couldn’t help it. I knew I shouldn’t, but I just…” I trail off, unable to make a complete sentence. I suck in a deep breath and try again. “You were so hard and big and it had been so long, and I—”
“Nell,” he cuts in. “Shut up.”
I shut up.
“Look at me,” he ordered. I forced my eyes to his.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I said shut up.”
I wrinkled my face at his harsh tone, but kept my mouth closed and waited for him to continue.
“I don’t even know what to say. I thought I was dreaming.” His eyes bore into me, blue and hot like a bunsen burner flame. “You want to know what I was dreaming about?”
I nod.
“Answer me. Out loud.”
This is a new Colton. Bossy, direct. I’m not sure if I should be pissed at the way he’s barking orders, or turned on by it. I settle for both.
“Yes, Colton. I want to know what you were dreaming about.” My tone is soft and submissive, but I know my eyes betray my ire.
His face is impassive. “You. I was dreaming of you.” His eyes narrow. “I was dreaming of you doing what you apparently were actually doing.”
“Was it a good dream?” I ask, daring. “Did you like that dream?” I trail my fingertip through the stickiness on his belly, eyeing him from beneath lowered lashes.
He sucks in a sharp breath, watching my finger tracing patterns on his skin, then his gaze flicks to me again. “It was a conflicted dream. I shouldn’t have wanted it to not be dream. I shouldn’t have wanted it to be real. But I did.”
I try to ignore the thunder of my pulse in my ears. “Why shouldn’t you?”
He frowns. “Because…because of everything.”
“Say it out loud. All of it.” I can be bossy too.
“Because you were in love with Kyle.”
“He’s gone. It wouldn’t be cheating.” I swallow hard, because a part of me says that’s a very very valid reason why not. Because it would be. I would be cheating on him.
“Your turn to say it all.”
“Say what?”
“What you’re thinking.”
I begin tracing the kanji on his chest, the orange-yellow flames, the dragon’s eye. “I’m a liar. It would be cheating. It would be cheating on his memory. But…that’s bullshit.”
His head sinks back and he turns aside to stare at the wall. I watch his jaw clench and release, watch the fine black stubble on his tan skin shift.
“How f**ked up is that?” He says, barely audible.
He gets out of bed, takes a couple steps across the hall and into the bathroom. I watch him wet a washcloth and clean his stomach off. He comes back and slips back into bed next to me, on his side, facing me.
“That’s what I was thinking, too, though,” he says. “It’s bullshit, but I can’t shake the feeling. You and me would be…an affront to his memory. But that’s just bullshit, because he’s dead and he’d want both of us to be happy.”
“Well that’s stupid too. If he was alive, he’d want me.”
“But he’s not.”
“Is this an argument or a discussion?” I ask.
He huffs a laugh. “I don’t even know.” He turns back to look at me. “What you just did? That changes shit.”
“I know.” My words aren’t even a whisper, they’re less. “Are you mad?”
He bobbles his head back and forth. “Mad? No. Not mad. Confused. Not gonna lie, it was kinda shady. I couldn’t tell you I wanted it, or that I didn’t.”
I choke. “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. I—I feel disgusted with myself.”
“Don’t. Just don’t. I’m no better. You were asleep and I took your clothes off—”
“You were making me comfortable,” I interrupt.
He talks over me. “I wanted to see you again. I wanted to see your sweet, round ass. I touched your thigh.”
“But you didn’t make me—you didn’t do what I did.”
He rubs his face with his free hand.
“Is this a competition? Which one of us is more of an ass**le?” I ask.
In my head, though, I’m stunned breathless by what he said. He wanted to see my “sweet, round ass.” I’ve always thought I had too much ass. It’s an insecurity. Common, I know, but unshakeable. I still run like a fiend, because it’s one of the few times I can be free of dreams and memories and nightmares and guilt. Then, when I’m drunk, and when I’m playing music. But no matter how I run, my ass is round and my br**sts heavy.