Now it’s morning, sunlight spilling across the floor, and Jay’s arm is slung heavy over my waist. He’s dead asleep, mouth parted, looking disgustingly peaceful while my entire body hums with need.
Unfortunately, I have an early class, and I need to get up.
Which is absolutely easier said than done. His arm is like a damn anchor, solid muscle pinning me in place, not that I’m complaining, but I’m a busy woman.
I try a little shimmy, but his hold only tightens, dragging me closer against the heat of him.
“Jay,” I whisper, even though I know it’s useless. He doesn’t stir, doesn’t even twitch, just breathes into my hair like he’s never known stress a day in his life, and I’m his only source of oxygen.
I consider gnawing my own arm off. Or dropping out of college entirely. Both feel more achievable than escaping this bed without waking him.
Finally, I press a hand to his forearm, trying to lift it. It’s like moving a tree trunk. “You’re killing me,” I mutter under my breath, more to myself than to him.
And because the universe hates me, he shifts just then, his hips rolling forward in sleep, the unmistakable press of morning wood nudging against my lower back. Every nerve in my body halts, heat flooding me with a case of horny déjà vu.
This is cruel. Actually cruel.
“I’m pretty sure we went over this yesterday. My restraint will only spread so far, Liv.”
Oh god. He’s awake. And pressed against me. And still very much… armed.
I swallow hard, trying for casual even as my pulse hammers. “Well, technically I was just trying to escape your death grip, not test your… restraint.”
He shifts, just enough to make me bite down on a sound I’ll deny until I die. “Mm,” he hums, lazy and dangerous all at once. “Looked a lot like testing.”
“Jay,” I warn, though it comes out more like a plea.
“Liv,” he counters, lips brushing my hairline.
“Listen,” I say, pulling away with the strength of a thousand armies. “I’m so keyed up right now, and I need to get to class. Sadly, we don’t have time for sex or foreplay, and that is the worst part of all of this.”
I slide out of bed, frantically tugging whatever sweater I find over my head, and wriggle into my jeans. My hair’s a lost cause, but I run my fingers through it anyway while I try to find my bag, only to realize it’s in Jay’s room.
Behind me, the sheets rustle. I glance back, and sure enough—he’s still sprawled out, eyes half-lidded, one hand tucked suspiciously low beneath the blanket.
“Oh my god.” I spin fully toward him. “Are you seriously—”
He smirks, unashamed. “What? You look sexy in my clothes.”
Looking down, I realize I’ve put his sweater on and not mine.
“No, this is unfair,” I whine.
“You could always stay and help. Take off my sweater and…” He bites his bottom lip, and I groan, interrupting him, dragging both hands down my face.
“I’m a responsible adult, and responsible adults go to class, not”—I wave a hand toward him, still smug and half-hidden under the blanket—“stay home and make their roommates orgasm.”
“Pity,” he says, shuffling around until he’s out of bed and stalking toward me, looking like a damn snack, and ohhhh no, this is bad.
Very bad.
His hair’s a mess, he’s only wearing boxers where I can see far too much, and that sleepy, hungry look in his eyes could drop me to my knees faster than any religion ever could.
“Jay…” I warn, clutching at nothing, hoping to find a shield against his masculine energy right now. “I have a class.”
He smirks, still closing the distance. “And I have less than ten minutes to convince you to skip it.”
Ten minutes. My brain short-circuits. Ten minutes is nothing. Ten minutes is forever. Ten minutes is exactly how long it would take for me to ruin every ounce of self-control I’ve been clinging to.
