ONE
GEMMA
I’m having agreatfucking dream when I’m woken up to a situation that’s even better than the one in my head.
I realize the sharp prodding in my lower back is very real, and not at all in my imagination. So is the heat pooling between my legs, telling me I amveryready for the rest of my dream to come to life ASAP, if not sooner.
How often is it that our realities are better than our reveries? For me? Almost never.
But right now? At this exact moment? I’m one lucky bitch.
The man of my dreams is lying behind me, the owner of that deathly stiff rod poking me just above my rear. The man who has been by my side, and I by his, through everything life has thrown at us for years now. The one who I know I was made for, who was made for me.
Inseparable.
A team.
That’s us.
Aaron and Gemma.
Gemma and Aaron.
People have rarely found us one without the other for the better part of the last twelve years, and that’s the way we like it.
I try not to alter my breathing pattern as I wake up a little faster than usual, thanks to the excitement pulsing between my legs at the sensations this man is generating in me through this incredible point of contact. I don’t think there’s a world where I could ever get tired of touching him, of feeling him touching me.
Taking stock of my situation pretty slowly—I am still waking up, ffs—I realize we’ve passed out on the couch, and that’s the first time we’ve done that in awhile. We must’ve been exhausted after our…sessionlast night. Our“weekly ritual.” The first one in too many weeks. It’s been too long, and I’ve missed him. The feeling doesn’t appear to be one-sided.
His arm is loosely draped over my waist, and I can feel some skin-to-skin contact on my midriff, so I’m pretty sure my T-shirt has ridden up. His palm is all but flat on my stomach, fingertips grazing the delicate, hyperaware skin there.
Before I can help myself, I find my hips shifting backward, operating on a mind of their own, seeking out some of that delicious friction I wish I was feeling between us right now, sans sweats.
Sure enough, that does it. I can practically hear Aaron’s eyes pop open behind me and some sort of far-too-sensual groan leaves his lips. His hand withdraws from my stomach, and he lightly slaps my hip, ushering me to get out of his way so he can move. Moment officially broken.
“Up.” His voice is gritty from sleep, and he sounds even sexier than usual first thing in the morning.
Frozen completely solid, I still haven’t moved after a few seconds, and his palm claps down on my hip a bit firmer. His hand strikes a hip bone that’s jutting out, not enough padding on my lanky form to protect it—or to make me look as womanly as I’d like, like the gorgeous women who surround him day in and day out.
“Come on, Gem. Up. I gotta take a piss.”
Not sure how he even knows I’m awake, to be honest; it’s not like he can see my face. My hips could’ve been grinding on him in my sleep; he doesn’t know otherwise, right? I close my eyes, trying to accept the fact that my lady parts will not be getting any of the action they’re screaming for right now, and I mentally prepare myself to get up.
I’m not a morning person, and to be honest, this is the best feeling I’ve woken up to inso long, and forgive me if it’s taking me a few extra moments to abandon my oh-so-comfortable position.
My hips rotate once more, trying to convince him to let me stay here another minute or sixty. “Aaron?” I call out his name in a near whisper that does little to hide my desire for him, at least not to my own ears. Faintly, an alarm sounds in the back of my head, a mechanical voice instructing me toabort. Self-preservation, and all that.
“Now’s not a good time, Gem.” His voice tells me this piss is urgent, more urgent than anything else between us right now.
Apparently I’m not fast enough for Mr. Impatient, and he’s done waiting, as I’m quite literallychuckedoff the couch, shoved onto the floor in his haste, far from gracefully.
His couch is super low to the floor, one of those insanely expensive, comfortable creations that’s perfect for lounging, screwing—I’m sure that pretty much anything would feel like heaven on this thing. But still. Did he have toshoveme to the ground?
I can barely bring myself to open my eyes, lying on my back, trying to squint to make out his form above me. At least my desire is quickly cooling after that incredibly romantic move.
He peeks his head over the couch to take in my surely disheveled appearance, snorts a laugh at what he finds there, and hops over me to get to his destination faster.
The slap of his bare footsteps fades away down the very long hallway, and I hear the muffled sounds of running water, drawers opening and closing, and a door shutting.
