I like that she let me sleep with my hand under her shirt.
I like that she didn’t move an inch last night.
And I like that she smells like fucking flowers and pine.
Last night, when we solved our differences, all I could think about was how easy that was. How simply honest conversation resolved animosity. There was no holding grudges. We just…continued on. It was so healthy that I almost didn’t know what to do with it. I appreciated it.
And I know she did too. Because the rest of the night was spent enjoying each other, which definitely decided how we slept last night.
When I saw that there was one sleeping bag, I chuckled, because typical Sanders, right? Pushing two people together,moving past comfort levels and forcing them to make that connection. I appreciated it. I looked forward to it.
Because even though I know I shouldn’t be touching Scottie like I did last night, I fucking loved every second of it. Craved it, actually.
And when I accidentally grazed her breast, fuck, it took everything in me to not move my hand up farther and play with her.
Because I wanted to. I really wanted to.
She shifts next to me, stirring awake, her ass rubbing up against my cock for what feels like the hundredth time. I try to back away, but she presses closer, causing me to smirk.
“Mmmm,” she moans softly, circling her ass against me again.
Jesus.
One more of those and she’s going to feel something unexpected.
“Touch me,” she mumbles.
Yeah, I know a sleeping voice compared to an awake one, and there is no way she’s awake at the moment. Meaning I need to not listen to her.
Her hand falls to mine, and she grips it. Then to my surprise, she drags it up her body, right to her breast.
Her soft, full breast.
Fuck…me.
“Yes,” she mumbles again and then swirls her ass against me, making me go hard.
Yup, told you. Just one more, and I was a goner.
“More, Wilder,” she mumbles. “More.”
She’s having a sex dream about me. Consider me flattered, but I’d hate for her to wake up and find me groping her with a boner, because telling her she did it to me in her sleep isn’t really the kind of excuse people accept.
I need to find an exit before things escalate, so I remove my hand, her hard nipple scraping against my palm—my mind whirling with what could have been—and then I move to my back so I can climb out of the sleeping bag, but to my dismay, she rolls with me and presses her face to my chest, her hand falling to my stomach.
I still and look down, unable to see anything but the sleeping bag, but I’m sure as hell feeling a bunch of things.
“Mmm, yes,” she says, her hand sliding down my stomach and right to the waistband of my shorts.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Sweat breaks out on my skin as her fingers play with my lower abs, circling, scraping, teasing my waist to the point that I’m now hard as stone, my cock aching.
I need to shimmy out of here.
