postorgasm delirium hit me all at once, and I fell asleep instead.
I blinked my eyes open and stifled a groan. Hello, headache. There also seemed to be a desert in both my eyes and throat. I rolled onto my back with a sigh, squinting against the morning light. Then stiffened as I stared at the lump next to me.
Sam was in my bed. Holy shit, was he in my bed. He took up three-quarters of the damn thing. He was shirtless, too, his sleep pants a little twisted and exposing more skin. His head was turned away from me, the rise and fall of his chest peacefully slow.
I rolled over on my little Manhattan Island of mattress, putting my back to him, and closed my eyes, willing myself back into dreamland. Hopefully he’d wake up soon, see his mistake, and slip out quietly.
Sure enough, a few moments later, the bed shifted as he moved, and my pounding heart slowed in relief. Please leave. I sent the thought out into the universe, not that it had listened to me when I’d asked for my own room at home for ten years in a row, or the time I’d fallen up the high school stairs in front of a full hallway of students and cut my chin open—since falling down them was an understandable error of mechanics and gravity where falling up signaled a special brand of idiot.
I would give it credit, though, for the time I puked on a skeez named Bobby Freedom instead of going home with him junior year, because I definitely would’ve regretted that the next morning.
But if Sam didn’t leave, we’d probably have to address last night, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that. I didn’t want to be the one to fact-check my own personal Penthouse Forum letter come to life.
“You awake?” The words fell warm across the back of my neck as Sam’s fingers brushed over my waist, lingering before dropping away.
Zero to hard in 2.5. It was a new record for me.
“No,” I said, then rolled over with a sigh. “Why are you in here?” Shit, did that sound too accusatory? It totally did. Feeling vulnerable turned me into a defensive jerk.
Something flashed through his expression, and then he gave me an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to be, honest. Cam got up and went to bed, and I didn’t want to leave you down there by yourself, so I hauled you upstairs and kind of stumbled as I was putting you on the bed. I thought I’d just lie here for a minute—your bed is really comfortable, by the way—then I fell asleep.”
I had a very vague recollection of this, I decided, two seconds before my eyes jolted wide. “The blanket!”
“It’s on the floor.” He chuckled, the sound of it warm and sleepy, like the lazy stretch version of a laugh, and damn, it was alluring, too. Sam in the morning was dangerous.
I put a hand over my chest and breathed deeply a couple of times before something else occurred to me. “Why doesn’t the idea of getting caught bother you?”
Sam laced his fingers behind his head and shrugged. “Because we didn’t. Because I try not to worry too much about something before it occurs.”
“How very Zen of you. Must be nice.” My baseline was an anxiety minefield, and my metal detector was constantly crapping out on me. “So, do you have a foot fetish?” Wait…I was bringing up last night? What kind of fuckery was that, universe? Cruel.
But there came that soft chuckle again, like a warm breeze moving cotton-soft across my cheeks. “Maybe I do now. I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that before. I was horny and…I don’t know, your feet were touching my thigh and they were all warm, and then I started touching you and it seemed like a good idea and you seemed into it.” His gaze dipped toward me. “I mean, I didn’t misinterpret that, did I?”
I gave him a solemn nod. “Actually yes, that part where I was thrusting into your fist and coming all over it was a cry for help. You couldn’t tell?”
He rolled his eyes “The videos and stuff that we’re doing? I’m into it. It’s hot. I dunno, I guess I was curious what would happen off camera.”
I digested that for a second. I knew all about the spectrum of sexuality in theory, but I didn’t actually know what it was like to be anything other than