I’m feeling exceptionally steamy all of a sudden as my fingers brush over the curves of his pectoral and down, tapping on all four of his abdominal muscles that I can reach on his right side. He shifts his hips and groans quietly. I have to refrain from giggling, because I think I’m tickling him in his sleep, which is amusing to me.
Down we go, and I’m about to check out the pelvis tats when I gasp out loud and slam my eyes shut. I chomp down on my lip hard by accident then wince when I remember that it’s split open from my husband’s hand.
But I can’t even be concerned with that because Noah’s dick it out.
His dick is out! I repeat, dick is out! This is not a drill, people! Code pink!
I’m squeezing my eyes closed hard, afraid to look again. Because it’s not right. I shouldn’t look. Should I?
No. It’s rude. I can’t peep on someone’s morning wood while they’re asleep.
But I mean… It might be ruder not to look. I should at least maybe try to tuck it back in for him…
Why the heck is his dick out, anyway? Did he pull it out last night to rub it on me while I was sleeping? Did I pull it out while he was sleeping??
My eyelids crack open and I slowly tilt my head back down below his waist.
“Holy fuck…” I whisper, eyes widening in a moment of sheer disbelief.
It’s not that anyone took his dick out of his boxers. The thing is as hard as stone, and so long that it’s peeking out on its own.
Jesus Fucking Christ. You mean to tell me this dude’s cock is so big it physically doesn’t fit in his boxers when it’s aimed up??
That’s… incredible.
Now I can’t stop looking. The head is fat and smooth; a round curve that’s staring up at me. And the rest of it is almost as thick, and obviously long. I’m not great with eyeballing measurements, but that thing must be at least nine inches. It has to be.
I’m staring so hard my eyes want to bug out of my skull. My tongue is practically hanging out of my mouth and I’m now ten degrees warmer. I want to look at the rest of it. I need to see where this thing ends. It’s medically fascinating.
Mischief getting the best of me, I reach out slowly and pinch the waist of his Calvins between my fingers, tugging them away from his skin and peering down.
“Mmm… Al…”
“What? I wasn’t doing anything!” I huff, releasing his clothes and playing dumb. But when I peek up at his face, ready to defend my actions, his eyes are still closed, his face smashed into his pillow.
Is he talking in his sleep?
Curious, I gently curl my fingers around his hipbone, caressing his warm, silky skin with my hand.
“Alex…” his voice rumbles, and now I’m convinced he’s having a dream about me.
I’ve never been happier in my entire existence.
“Noah…” I whisper his name, sliding my hand onto his butt, which is so damn nice my vagina’s crying tears of joy. It’s round and firm, with those muscle dips that look luscious. God, how is his butt so perfect?
“Alex…” he pants into the pillow. “Don’t… leave…”
I pout while my heart melts in my chest like a snow cone in a sauna.
“I’m not leaving, Noah,” I breathe, my heart racing. “I promise I’ll stay… if you do.”
“Always… baby…” He hums and pulls me closer with his arm around me, smooshing his fully erect length against my stomach.
I smile like a total loon, mildly obsessed with him calling me baby, especially when he’s unconscious and rubbing his man meat all over me.
And for a moment I close my eyes and allow myself to wonder what it would be like if he was my boyfriend…
If we woke up like this every Sunday, in this giant, warm bed; him draped around me, and me playing with his perfect dick.
We’d get up and wander around his insanely nice apartment, which has more than enough space for two people to reside together comfortably. I could make him breakfast - waffles - and serve them to him wearing only his t-shirt from the night before. And we’d spend hours fucking all over the apartment, making each other feel good, because that’s what lovers do. They make each other feel bliss, not pain.
We could go out and do things together… Go to museums or shopping for art supplies or books. Then come back here and watch TV or play Mario Kart.
We would laugh and tease one another, smile at each other and kiss, often.
The images in my head are making me so happy, so confused, I could cry. Or throw up.
Noah Richards is not my boyfriend. He will never be my boyfriend, because he doesn’t do relationships. He’s a womanizer for a reason; because he can’t commit. It’s not in his DNA.
Sure he’s sweet, and kind and he treats me differently, but that’s just because we’re friends. I can’t think of him that way. It’ll break my heart wide open.
Because putting aside the fact that I have a husband, who I’m definitely leaving soon, I swear to God… Noah Richards will never be mine. It won’t happen. Ever.
Speak of the devil, he begins to shift, tossing a bit, his body moving in slow motion like mine was when I first woke up. His large hand runs up my back and into my hair, his fingers combing through the messy strands, playing with them.
“Mmmm…” His voice rumbles into me, setting my loins ablaze.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his sleepy eyes a bit lazy and squinted, which makes him look boyish and cuter than ever. I stare up at him, praying that I don’t have mascara all over my face.
“Hi,” he whispers. Just that one word, and the way it sounds coming out of his mouth, makes my heart leap.
“Hi,” I respond, unable to scrape together enough voice to say anything else.
“Did you sleep well?” He asks, making no move whatsoever to separate our tangled bodies. In fact, he’s now running his foot painfully slow, up and down my leg. It nudges my foot, and we’re playing footsie. In bed, with his dick touching me and his beautiful dark eyes searing me over.
“Uh-huh,” I nod as my hand trails his abs, and up to his chest.
He breathes out a soft huff, clearly enjoying the way I’m touching him. For once, he’s not smirking. He’s fully serious, the coal in his irises burning for me. He shifts more and grabs my hips with both hands, scooting me in line with his face. I gasp, quietly, unable to look away from those illustrious eyes.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he breathes, his face awfully close to mine.
Normally I would feel insecure about morning breath or something meaningless and stupidly vain like that, but my panic train is derailed because Noah’s breath smells minty. Like toothpaste.
“Did you brush your teeth?” I ask, and he smiles; a big, giant heartthrob thing that has me swooning so hard my panties go up like kindling.
“After you passed out, I got up to brush my teeth and get undressed,” he tells me, tilting his head. “You know, like I normally would if there wasn’t some snoring cover hog taking up my bed.”
I giggle, because he’s obviously teasing me. I’m the smallest of tiny people in his massive bed.
“Do you like?” He’s still grinning, his eyes dropping to my lips while his hand explores my butt casually; not grabbing or squeezing. Just a soft innocent touch laced with curious hunger.