Was Felicity flirting tonight or just being familiar? Had I imagined the physical attraction? What would she say if I told her I wanted to make her feel safe during the storm, possibly by distracting her with an orgasm or two? I knew I could deliver, but was she— “Hutton?”
Startled, I turned around to see her standing there in my T-shirt and bare feet, her hair in disarray. In my fantasies, she’d whispered my name in the dark like that a thousand times. Of course, if this were my fantasy, she’d be on her knees right now. Or I’d have her back against the fridge. Or up on the counter with my tongue between her thighs.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She smiled gingerly. “Did you find the water?”
“Water. Yes.” Turning around again, I closed my eyes and took a breath, then grabbed a plastic bottle and shut the fridge. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She took the water from me but made no move to leave the kitchen. Even in the dark, I could see her gaze wandering over my chest and shoulders and stomach. My drawstring pants hung low on my hips, and her eyes strayed south. “I guess I’ll . . . go back to bed.”
“Wait.”
She looked up. “Yes?”
Ten different questions popped into my head, and unfortunately the one I went with was, “Did you cut your hair today?”
She touched the jagged ends. “Oh. Yeah. This morning, after I saw the bad review on that app. It looks terrible, I know. It’s all uneven.”
“Not at all. There’s beauty in asymmetry too.”
She smiled, but with nothing left to say, and neither of us brave enough to cross the line, standing there started to feel a little torturous. Finally, she broke the silence. “Night.”
“Night.” Cursing my lack of nerve, I watched her walk away from me. A moment later, her bedroom door clicked shut.
I went back to bed and lay awake for a long time, listening to the raindrops pummel the roof, like little fists on my brain. I’d fucking blown it at least five different times tonight. I’d spent years thinking about her and wondering what if, and then tonight when I’d actually had the chance to do something about it—multiple chances—I’d backed off.
But maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. Maybe my subconscious was doing me a favor and getting Felicity in bed would wreck things beyond repair. I’d ruined enough relationships in my life, hadn’t I? This one was worth protecting.
Tomorrow morning, I’d go for a long run and give myself a heavy lift session to work off some of the testosterone and frustration. Then I’d get myself off in the shower while I thought about what it might have been like if I’d had the nerve to knock on that bedroom door tonight. The way she’d taste. The sounds she’d make. Her legs around me. Her back arched. Her perfect breasts beneath my lips.
Before I could stop myself, my hand crept inside the waistband of my sweatpants. Fisting my cock, I stroked myself while I imagined her body under mine. I’d lick every inch of her skin, tease her with my fingers, fuck her with my tongue.
My breathing grew heavy and fast, and I was grateful for the noise of the storm. I worked my hand harder, quicker, tighter, fantasizing about sliding into her for the first time—she’d be wet and warm, eager for me, begging for my cock. Her hands in my hair, down my back, on my ass, pulling me in deeper. She’d cry out in pain or pleasure or maybe both, because I’d never hurt her but I wouldn’t be able to hold back—I’d wanted her for too long and she was finally mine and I wanted to make her come, I wanted to feel it and hear it and watch her take it all from me, harder and faster and fuck, fuck, fuck—I barely suppressed a groan as all the tension was released in thick, pulsing beats that left a mess on my stomach.
Ashamed of what I’d done—she was right in the room across the hall!—I snuck into my bathroom, cleaned up, and got back into bed, where I tossed and turned the rest of the night.
“Hutton.”
It was Felicity’s whisper. For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
“Hutton.” Now her hand was on my shoulder. Had she changed her mind and come to my bed after all? “Hutton, wake up. Someone is here.”
My eyes flew open. My room was bright—it wasn’t the middle of the night, it was morning, and Felicity wasn’t here to seduce me. In fact, her forehead was creased with concern above the top of her glasses. I struggled to make sense of what she was saying. “Huh?”
“Someone is here, knocking on the door. I think it might be your mom.”