She stiffens, the cotton shirt she wears as her pajamas riding up so the bare skin of her lower back is nestled against my abs. My hand splays against her stomach, anchoring her against me.
Katie Murphy is not wearing a bra.
Obviously.
She’s sleeping.
But still. My eighteen-year-old self is grappling with the fact that I have never been this close to her. Okay...once. But we were fully dressed, and it was over in seconds. This has been at least five times as long. She’s not even wriggling anymore. And thank God, because it’s like I’ve reverted to being a teenager with my cock nestled between her ass cheeks; there’s no way I’m not getting a boner. I don’t even like the girl, but I’m not immune to how she looks. She’s not just beautiful. She’s sexy as hell. The way her face shows every emotion only adds to how much I enjoy annoying her. God, I wish I could see her face right now.
“Pretend I’m someone you can stand to be in the same room with,” I say. “Just for one night. I can’t sleep in that camp cot.”
“You don’t have to hold me.”
I smile, pleased that she’s hating this. “Pretend.”
“You’re infuriating. You know that?”
I shift carefully so she doesn’t feel how rock-hard I am against her, but in doing so, my fingertips graze the cup of her tit.The cup of her tit.My cock swells, clearly ignorant of the situation at hand. This isn’t some eager one-night stand ready to ride this rodeo through till morning. This is lying down with a viper and hoping it doesn’t fucking bite me. We both pause as I snap my hand away, only to pull too far down and hit the top of her panties. Lace. Lace panties.
Dear God, I feel my face blush like I’m some schoolboy whose teacher has bent down so I can see her bra.
This is Katie Murphy. The girl who has hated me since I ruined everything eight years ago. The girl who fights meon everything. The girl that I’ve been in a petty dance of insults hard enough to bruise since she stopped being my friend and started being my competition. We’re not even in the same field of psychology, but we’ve found a way to constantly undermine and accost one another in the form of board games and undercut comments. I thought sneaking in here would give me the upper hand, but I’m flustered. My hand is wiggling around at its own leisure, not knowing where it’s going to end up.
Eventually, she takes pity and grabs me, flattening my palm against her stomach whilsthuffing loudly so I know she’s not happy about it.
This was supposed to be relaxing. This bed was supposed to be the comfortable option, and now I have a hard-on rivaling a redwood tree, and I’ve touched Katie’s boob and panties in a matter of minutes. How the hell am I going to sleep like this? Ridiculous. This rivalry has gone on long enough. It’s clear she’s the winner. She wins at least eighty percent of our arguments, and honestly, I’m not even sure why we still do this dance. It’s like getting a rise out of her is the only thing that gets my blood pumping now.
My life is relatively settled. My career is stable, and the techniques I’ve crafted to help those returning from active duty are perfected. I know what I’m doing, and I’m damn good at my job. But there’s little to get the adrenaline racing now. And our monthly dinner club, hosted by Lottie, is the highlight of my month. If I could see more of her, I would. The group hasn’t taken a trip in years; maybe I should suggest it. A whole week of annoying Katie, waiting for her cool, calm persona to snap, and watching her bite could be just what I need.
Right now, though, I need to focus on breathing until my erection calms down. I desperately try to think of non-sexual scenarios. Pensioners playing shuffleboard, zookeepers clearing up elephant poo, someone labeling all their food in the fridge...
Katie sighs, and a low groan fills the room asshe grabs my hand with her death grip and tucks me right between her tits like my arm is a teddy bear.
I should pull back. She’s clearly asleep and would be mortified. But she’s like a crocodile that has snapped its jaw on its prey. There’s no escape now. She wiggles her ass, then leans back against me, the steady rise and fall of her chest making the muscles between my ribs warm.
This isn’t awful. Despite losing feeling in my fingers. It’s better than the camp cot, I can admit. But I can’t allow myself to enjoy this.
I tell myself that I would feel this comfortable with anyone.
It’s not that it’s Katie.
It can’t be because it’s Katie.
Leaning into her neck, I take a long breath in, the smell of her coconut shampoo tickling the back of my nose. No, this isn’t bad at all.
Katie
I roll over, the morning light trickling through the gauze curtains. I must have forgotten to close them properly last night. My top has ridden up, my panties giving me a humongous wedgie. Despite the discomfort, I’ve slept well, better than I have in months. The past year has taken a toll. I keep waiting for it to get better, for things to get easier, but the longer it goes on, the more tired I feel. The monthly dinner club always makes mefeel better, even if I spend half my time arguing with Jonesy.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and sigh, nuzzling my face against the silky pillowcase. I love this room. Lottie’s whole house, really. It’s got the floor-to-ceiling windows looking right out into the forest. Anyone could be watching you, and you’d have no idea. Especially at night. It’s as thrilling as it is terrifying. But during the light of day, the house is significantly less moody. Its soft furnishings and gold accents bring a decadent elegance to the space without being too much.
Lottie comes from money, and her family home is unrivaled. Tunnel-like corridors with impossibly long rugs, a vase in every shape, size, and color imaginable. There’s even a suit of armor on the second floor, which I stumbled upon when we visited her family home a few years ago. A lot of antiques passed down through the generations. In contrast, Lottie’s own home is modern, classy, and not showy. Much like her.
I slip out of bed, eager to get some coffee in me after all the wine we drank last night. As I pull on my leggings and sweater, I notice the other side of the bed rumpled with a huge indent in the pillow.
Jacob Jones. Damn it, the memory of him sneaking in hits me like a sucker punch. His thick forearms tucking around my waist. I swallow hard. It’s dangerous territory to sleep with the enemy, especially when they look like Jonesy. Iremind myself that the massive-headed walking red flag practically accosted me in my sleep last night. He’s lucky I didn’t punch him right in his big, dumb face. Oh God, why did I let him hold me? In fact, I think I may have death-clawed him just to stop his incessant wriggling. It’s like his hand didn’t know what to do when it grazed my boob, so he jumped from boob to panties, up and down, up and down, until I had to physically stop him. I can’t say his obvious discomfort didn’t bring me some element of joy, even if it did mean having him plastered to me all night.
I head down to the kitchen in search of coffee and find Lottie leaning against the counter, talking to a shirtless Jonesy. He’s annoyingly good-looking. Broad-chested, his muscles strong and thick, his chest hair tracing all the way down to his abs and sneaking past his waistband. His hair is mussed, short on the sides but longer on top; his standard army style is a little longer than normal. He must be due for a haircut soon.
