“That’s my boob.” I break the silence, keeping my voice low, but it rises an octave on the last word.
He remains deathly quiet, his hand still cupping my breast as if it’s glued in place. With his front pressed against my back, he’s as stiff as a steel pole. His demeanor and cock form a matching set.
Time ticks by for what feels like hours but is only seconds as we separately consider our next move, our tumultuous thoughts loud enough to break the sound barrier.
Is he still breathing?
Under the pressure, I finally crack and shamelessly rub my ass against him some more to check if he’s still alive because he hasn’t made a sound for at least a minute.
Quicker than a speeding bullet, he removes his hand from my breast and grabs my hips.
“Stop moving.” His fingertips dig into my skin, his voice sleep-filled, deep, and groggy.
He is alive and completely alert.
I don’t know what happens next, but us sleeping in the same bed last night was a huge step, or a huge breakthrough. It’s all huge… a bit like his dick.
“Something is poking my back,” I squeak, before tucking my lips into my mouth, trying my best not to wriggle but failing miserably.
“Stop. Moving.” He draws out his words lazily, digging his fingertips into my hips deep enough to bruise my skin. I don’t care; I want him to leave reminders of himself all over my body.
A pause crackles, the air thick with wonder.
“Why are we in bed together?” he asks, sounding confused.
Awkwardly, I twist my neck around to face him, arching my back, forcing my ass into his crotch some more, enjoying his cock that is as hard as a rock because I like knowing what I do to him. He does the same to me; my panties are wet from his subtle touches alone, and I would love nothing more than for him to slip inside of me from behind.
He steals my breath from my lungs, even half asleep, I know his face is the one I could never tire of seeing day after day. It’s tragic, really, waking up to perfection when I probably look like hell. I didn’t even remove my makeup last night, and I must have panda eyes from my mascara.
“You asked me to stay the night.” I say it like a secret.
“Did we… you know… have sex?” His tone is so full of doubt that I have to work hard to hide how offended I am. If he’d slept with me, he would remember, because the obscene things I can do with my tongue… well… it would be an unforgettable experience.
“No, we didn’t even kiss,” I confirm. I’m glad we didn’t. I want him to be sober when we do. There’s no question in my mind that it will happen. Soon, I hope.
Maybe it’s a blessing that he doesn’t remember some of what he admitted last night. He might cringe if he knew he’d confessed that he has dirty thoughts about me and his heart does some crazy shit when I walk into a room. On the other hand, I feel sad that he won’t remember I told him the same thing happens to me.
“I’m glad we didn’t.” His eyes are filled with seriousness and honesty.
My heart lurches in my chest as bile rises in my throat. I feel stupid for believing that drunk Eli was telling the truth.
“I’m glad we didn’t,” he repeats, “because when we do, I want to remember everything.”
He said when. Not if. When. Every muscle in my body relaxes with relief, and I give him a giant smile.
“Me too.” I exhale softly.
He drops his head and mumbles into my hair, his nose brushing my cheek before he inhales a deep breath.
Is he sniffing me?
“I drank too much last night, I’m sorry if I made a fool of myself, Sapphire,” he says unexpectedly, sounding dream-like, nuzzling his nose further into my hair.
“You didn’t. You were adorable.”
As he pulls himself away from my hair, his brows dip with confusion. “Adorable?”
“Very.” I nod, once, then twice, bobbing my head slowly, wearing a giant smile.