Fuck, Zee. I need you, I’d say, and he’d moan into my neck, a hand on my hip pulling me closer before grinding into me, hitting right where I need him while I’m on my tippy toes.
Then he’d kiss my neck once more before moving, opening the door, and pressing the seat down before helping me, nearly throwing me inside.
He’d lay me down, lying on top of me despite the cramped quarters, and he’d kiss me, tasting me, moving to my neck, licking there, biting there. A hand would move to my sweatpants, creeping under the waistband and panties, moving down until a single finger touched my clit, dipping into my wet.
Fuuuuuck, he’d moan. You’re fucking soaked, baby. Is that for me? His voice would be low and gravelly, full of need and want, and it would make me buck my hips, trying to get more. He’d laugh, teasing me like he always does, but this time in a different way. A different kind of tease.
His finger would move down painfully slowly until he hit my entrance, and I’d moan loud as it slipped inside.
I let a tiny breath out as my own hand does just that, pausing to make sure my bed partner is still asleep.
This is so fucking stupid.
So fucking risky.
But fuck, if it doesn’t make me a little bit wetter, doesn’t make it just a bit better, the fear of him catching me.
Maybe next time, I’ll make a fantasy of what would happen if he caught me like this, fingering myself in bed next to him.
I shake my head no. This is a one-time thing. Just enough to take the edge off.
That’s my issue, obviously. It’s so clear now. I don’t like Zander beyond a childhood crush. I just . . . I just need an orgasm.
My mind falls back into my daydream.
He’d fuck me with just one finger, kissing me the whole time, but as soon as my hands started to fumble with his jeans, he’d stop.
He’d stop and smile that smile that melts me before moving to sit up and working at his pants. He’d keep his eyes on me as he undoes the button, the fly. As he pushed both his jeans and his underwear down enough to free himself, he’d take himself in hand, stroking quickly and hard, once, twice, three times.
A tiny, not quite silent mewl comes from my throat as my fingers work myself in real life, my body stilling again to count his breaths.
Shit.
But he’s still asleep and not even moving.
Back in my daydream, Zee helps me push my sweats down, helps me take one leg out, not even caring that the other is wrapped around my ankle still before he grabs my waist, flipping us so I’m straddling him.
Yeah? he’d ask as he positioned the head of his cock at my wet entrance. I’d nod, and he’d groan before slowly, so painfully, torturously slowly, lowering me down onto him.
We’d both moan as he filled me, and fuck if I don’t know down to my goddamn soul that he would fill me so damn perfectly.
Fuck, you feel good, he’d say into my neck, hands on my hips helping me move. My fingers move faster, not nearly as good as I imagine he would be, but an okay substitute.
One I’m used to, at the very least.
He’d move me faster over him as he got closer, helping me to grind down, the palm of my own hand rubbing on my clit to try and recreate what’s happening in my mind, dragging me closer and closer to bliss.
Utter fucking bliss.
And as my fantasy finishes, as imaginary Zee wraps an arm around my waist and holds me down, filling me and groaning into my neck, I come too, trembling just the slightest bit.
But that isn’t what has my entire body freezing in panic.
It's the way I moan out his name quietly as I do.
I lie there, my fingers inside me, afraid to move for what feels like an eternity.
Counting his breaths.
Trying to dissect them to make sure they don’t sound different, that they haven’t changed, that he’s still asleep.
When I think I’m safe, I quickly roll out of the bed to pee before lying back down and falling asleep quickly.
But I refuse to acknowledge the fact that my plan didn’t work.
How that orgasm, no matter how intense, just barely took the edge off the need my body feels.
Shit.
SIXTEEN
…READY FOR IT?
-ZANDER-
I lie there for what might be hours.
My body is exhausted from driving through the night, from the mental gymnastics I’ve been putting myself through.
From replaying that kiss in my mind.
I’m exhausted from formulating plans on how to make her see she’s mine, that she’s always been mine, that we were meant to be together from the start.
I need sleep.
If not because I need my body to work in the morning, then because I need my mind to, the mind that needs to figure out how to win Zoe over.
To make “pretending” something that lasts forever.
But my mind.
It won’t stop.
Because nearly an hour ago, Zoe moaned my name while her hand worked her clit next to me, and I pretended to sleep through the whole thing.
And now I know.
I know Zoe wants me as badly as I want her, and not in some little-girl way.
Not in a kisses in parking lots and I want to be my best friend’s sister-in-law way.
The woman version of Zoe wants me.
And the only thing my mind is capable of thinking is, Baby, let the games begin.
SEVENTEEN
OURS
-ZOE-
I’m groggy when I feel it.
One, two, three.
The squeeze of my hand.
“Wha—?” I say, opening one eye.
Zander’s on his side facing me, and the room is dark.
“What?”
“It’s midnight,” he says in a whisper.
I blink.
I think I’m dreaming this.
That’s the only thing that makes sense.
The only reason I can feel his skin on mine, the only reason I “woke” with his hand on mine.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, his voice low.
“Mmmm,” I murmur to dream Zander, my eyes drifting shut. There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next.
“What are you scared of, Zoe?”
Because it’s a dream, I give him the truth.
“That I’ll live such a safe life that when I’m old, nothing sticks out.”
Silence.
I open my eyes and stare at Dream Zander. His hand moves, brushing my hair back, and now his smile is sad.
Can dream people be sad?
“Okay. Go back to sleep, pip.”
And because in my dreamland, I guess I do whatever Zander tells me to, my eyes close and I fall back asleep.
When I wake, Zander is wrapped around me, holding me in place with a leg hitched over my hip.
I slept through the night.
Once I was out, I didn’t wake up a single time—not to pee, not for water, not because I was overly warm.
I always wake up at least once.
It’s always driven all of my exes insane, my quiet tiptoeing in and out of bed each night, sometimes waking them as I do.
But not last night.
Not with Zee, apparently.
I slept from the moment my mind stopped its incessant wondering until just now.