shuts. More giggles. A moan. The creak of a bed. Another giggle. Liv is on her back, her tank and shorts discarded. She’s moaning as I lick my way to her core.
A thud against the wall. A hiss to be quiet.
I open my eyes, realizing it’s not a dream but Rose having sex with someone in her room. I drop my head back and grab one of the pillows, trying to muffle the sound, but the constant rock of her bed can still be heard along with her pleas for him to go harder.
My reaction to my own dream has my pants feeling too tight as I grab the blankets and pillows and carry them into Liv’s room, pushing the door most of the way closed, so the sound doesn’t follow me inside. I make it one step into the room before Liv sits up.
“Sorry,” I say, dropping the bedding to the ground. I direct my thumb in the direction of Rose’s room. “Rose brought someone home, and they’re not exactly quiet. Do you mind if I sleep on your floor?”
She wipes a hand over her face, the room barely illuminated by my phone to ensure I don’t trip over something and wake her up or catch my knee. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
She pulls the blankets down beside her. “You’re hurt, and it’s late. Just sleep here for tonight.”
I know I should say no, especially considering the dream I just woke from, but fuck if I’m not climbing into bed next to her. “What in the hell is up with your blanket?” I ask.
“It’s weighted.”
“It’s smothering me.”
Her laughter is quiet and muffled by her pillow. “It’s hugging you.”
“How do you sleep like this.”
“Comfortably.”
I flip the covers back, so they’re only on my legs, my bare chest exposed. I need a fan. I need to sleep. I need to stop dreaming of Liv naked because this is without a doubt against every rule of friendship.
Country music wakes me up.
It doesn’t wake Liv up. She remains curled on her side, her ass pressed against my groin, spooning with me. Her hair smells sweet and floral, tied up on her head, and her skin is warm, the weight of her body perfect against mine. I’m not sure how we got into this position, but I’m sure more rules of our friendship will be broken if she wakes up to feel my hard-on pressed against her. I slowly inch back, the movement barely disturbing her. I wait until I’m on my side of her queen bed before reaching across and gently shaking her. “Liv.”
She hums out an inaudible response.
“Liv,” I say again, the music still playing. “Your alarm. You have to get to class, and I have to go to work.”
She groans, and though it’s due to her protests of sleep, it sounds erotic—especially after last night.
“I’m taking a shower. You have ten minutes, and then you have to get up.”
She covers her head with the blanket.
I crank the shower to warm, though I should be twisting it to cold—icy cold. But I need to relax. I can’t exactly go to Peddalers with my dick like this and my head lost in daydreams of Olivia. I’ve slept in the same bed as plenty of other girls. Why the fuck am I so wound up?
My muscles don’t relax under the heat or pressure of the spray.
I need to lose myself in hot skin, pleas for me to go faster and harder, and the moan of a woman as I make her come. And I know the only woman I want that to be is asleep in the next room. Images of Liv in her tiny shorts and tight shirt flash in my mind, and I stop fighting it. Blood rushes through my body, straight to my dick. I palm myself, running my hand the full length of my shaft. I picture her ass as she sashayed down the hall while I continue to pump. My muscles clench, anticipation building as I imagine her riding me cowgirl style. My breath hitches, the sensitivity of my tip nearly painful. My hips pump to the rhythm of my fist as I finally let my desires take root and am bombarded with images of Liv in quick succession like some kind of pornographic flip book. Liv bent over her bed, her hair in my fist. Liv sitting on the kitchen table with her legs wide open wearing nothing but my jersey. Liv sprawled