Oh, come on. I can’t keep doing this. He’s already avoiding me, intentionally or not, and I’m living in his house fixating on the dimples in his back muscles, for Christ’s sake.
The same ones I felt underneath my own fingertips not two minutes ago.
Shaking my head, I head for the couch and try to relax.
I’ll stay out of his way. I’ll give him space, give him my schedule, and pick up some more late shifts in the library to give him some peace and quiet at night. That’s the only decent thing to do.
The supply room in the library is where I take my breaks at work, and I'm sitting in silence.
The door swings open, and it's Ian. My heart flips, and for the first time, I don't stop myself.
“Hey.” None of what he says after that registers because I can't focus. He’s wearing a green tank top and shorts, neither of which leaveanythingto the imagination.
Jesus Christ, he'sso fucking hot.He waves at me, still talking, and his arm flexes in a way that makes my dick firm up. He walks toward me, scratching the back of his head like he always does, butthis time, he’s in that tank top so I get an eyeful ofeverything, even the divot in his armpit. How is it possible for me to find that irresistible, too?
“I really wanted to see you,” Ian says, snapping me back to reality, or what Ithinkis reality because I'm not sure what's real anymore, and?—
Oh, god, I’m in heaven—he's straddling me! Ian is straddling me, and his tank top is gone and he's pressing his lips to mine and his hands are in my pants, and it feels so good. So fucking good. Way too good. I’m gonna?—
I wake up right as I come.Hard. I let out a low groan as sparks surge down to my toes, my core tightening as the pleasure courses through me. Holy shit, that’s so good.
Disoriented, I blink into the blurry morning light as I get my bearings, and my foggy, blissed-out confusion is replaced with the worst sense of dread I've felt in years.
My chest tightens as I force my way through deep, harsh breaths.
I had a sex dream about Ian.
Ian.
The guy who's been nothing but kind to me and hasn't asked for anything in return. For crying out loud, hetook me into his houseand then my depraved brain had to use him for something awful, and I’m not even aweekinto living with him.
I roll over to jam my face into the pillow, and the movement presses my release into my leg, reminding me, again, that I'm disgusting.
Ian is too good to me. I don't… No. I don't deserve a friend like him. All I’ll do is mess this up, like I did just now.
A door opens.Oh, shoot. He’s up.
“Hey, man, are you awake?” Ian calls out from the other side of the bookshelf, and the fact that he's cheery instead of grossed out manages to make my chest lighter.
Right. He doesn't know I had a wet dream about him, so of course he's still being nice to me.
The weight returns.
“Y-yeah,” I manage. “Still in bed though.”
“Nice. Anyway, I'm going to work out, and I won't be back until late tonight as usual. There's breakfast in the oven if you want any.”
“Awesome, thanks,” I reply before realizing that I spoke like Ian does. There's no way I would have saidawesomea month ago.
The front door clicks shut, and I'm left alone with the renewed realization that all I do is take from him.
His food. His living room. His privacy. I can add his body, consent, and even the way hetalksto that long, shameful list.
I need to stop whatever it is I'm doing. Ian doesn't need to have a voyeur sleeping on his couch. While I've tried to keep myself under wraps, I have a feeling that I'm not being as subtle as I'd hoped, given his constant absence and meticulous scheduling.
It's like he’s sick of me already.
The thought makes my core sink. I don't want to keep thinking this way about him, and I don't want to lose the first friend I've had in years.
