They would have to talk about it. Fix it.
Somehow.
The doorbell rang twice in a row, and it sounded almost angry.
And then she realized exactly what had woken her up from her naughty dream.
No, it wasn’t the orgasm, it was the doorbell.
She jumped out of bed and searched for shorts or pants but couldn’t find them.
The doorbell rang again, and then her phone started buzzing. She ran to the door, afraid it was an emergency.
She didn’t care that she was only wearing panties and a tank top, and her nipple was showing. She had to make sure everyone was safe.
She flung open the door without bothering to look and froze.
“Marcus,” she said. She couldn’t help but remember exactly the way her voice had sounded when she breathed his name as he pistoned inside her with that thick and meaty cock.
She did not know what Marcus’s cock looked like, and only Dream Bristol had ever thought about it—lie. She was never going to know what his dick looked like.
Right?
Dream Marcus was a totally different thing. He did not exist. She was fine. She wasn’t losing her mind.
Bristol looked up at her best friend—or maybe he was her fiancé, she wasn’t quite sure right then—and tried to catch her breath.
He had on a leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and jeans. His hands were in his jacket pockets, and he looked at her, his jaw tense.
“Bristol,” he growled.
Growled? Marcus didn’t growl at her.
And then she remembered what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing.
She stumbled back, tripped over her shoe since she hadn’t put them away the night before, and nearly fell right on her ass before Marcus reached out and grabbed her by her elbows. He was strong enough to keep her on her feet, and she was grateful.
Because she would’ve gleefully fallen on her butt, broken a hip, anything to protect her hands and her arms.
They were insured, after all, and needed for her livelihood.
And now she was thinking about injuries to herself rather than the fact that she was now firmly pressed against her best friend/fiancé—nearly naked.
“I really need to put on some clothes.”
“Yeah, I think you really do.”
But he didn’t let go of her. And she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she swallowed hard and looked up at Marcus, and then licked her lips.
She noticed that he noticed the action, and she knew they’d both lost their minds. Because that was the only rational explanation for what was going on.
She did not want to have sex with her best friend, but that sex dream, and the way her pussy still clenched at just the thought of him? Okay, maybe she did want to have sex with her best friend.
Oh my God, how did this happen?
“You should let go of me,” she said softly, and he nodded.
“I don’t want you to trip and fall on your ass. You’ll never let me live that down if you get hurt because of that.”
She scowled. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
Marcus let her go, and she felt cold immediately.
Again, she didn’t want to think about that.
“You would totally blame me. It’s what we do.”
She nodded, her body threatening to shake. From what? She didn’t know. “Okay, you have me there. Now, really, I should go change.”
Marcus’s gaze slid down her body, and she bit her lip, doing her best not to tug down her tank. Because if she did, trying to cover her panties or her thighs, she’d show all of her boobs rather than the peek of nipple that she was for sure showing already.
Not to mention the fact that her tank top was white, and he could probably see the entire areola. Why did she sleep in this again? She wasn’t trying to be sexy, it was simply the fact that she got hot and liked to sleep under like fifty covers.
And now Marcus knew that.
Because every other time he had ever slept over, mostly if they had gotten too drunk or had a sleepover because they were best friends, she’d always worn long shorts or flannel pants, with a shirt that covered her completely. She did not parade herself in front of her best friend.
Until now.
She nodded, turned on her heel, and ran toward the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her and swore she heard a groan from the other room.
It was only in her imagination. Clearly. There was no way he was thinking anything along the same lines she was.
She quickly tugged on jeans, a bra, and a T-shirt. And then pulled on a knit wrap so she could cover herself up even more.
The only thing bare was her feet, and he would just have to deal with that as she hated socks.
She did her best to look calm, but there was nothing settled about her.
Not anymore.
She quickly brushed her teeth, did her business, and tried to make her hair look somewhat presentable, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Later, she would have to do laundry, shower, and try not to think about the fact that the last time she had been in that bed, she had given herself an orgasm. Dreaming about Marcus.
No, she wasn’t going to think about that.
It had only taken about five minutes to get everything done, but it felt like an eternity, and yet not nearly long enough.
Bristol took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. She didn’t need to stress out. They were going to figure out what to do and tell everybody calmly that they had heard wrong.
And then things would go back to normal.
Whatever her normal was.
She walked out into the kitchen where Marcus stood, her cup of coffee already on the counter and doctored the way she liked it. His cup sat near him as he stood next to the stove, egg whites in a pan along with spinach, cheese, the champagne tomatoes she adored, and turkey bacon.
“That smells amazing,” she said honestly, her mouth watering.
Marcus looked over his shoulder and appeared a little relieved.
That she was talking to him? Or that she was actually clothed?
She didn’t honestly know what she wanted the answer to be.
“Breakfast is almost ready. Figured you’d need something in your system after last night.”
Bristol frowned. “I wasn’t drunk.”
“Sure.”
“I wasn’t. I swear.” She paused. “Thank you for making breakfast, though. You know that’s my favorite meal other than something with strudel and cream cheese and lots of calories.”
Marcus huffed.
“Thank you. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t get crabby. Drink your coffee.”
“I’m not the one who’s crabby,” she muttered under her breath before taking a sip of her coffee. It was the ideal temperature and the flavor was spot-on, with the perfect ratio of sugar to cream.
Of course, he got it right. He knew everything about her. He was her best friend.
She held back a wince. Well, he didn’t know everything, because if he did, he would know that she’d had a sex dream about him. Now, here he was, watching her. Had practically seen her naked. In the buff, after she’d had really amazing dream sex with him.
How was she going to get through this day without losing her mind?
“I heard that.”
It took a moment for her to register what he referred to. Sex? No, not naked dreams. He meant the crabby comment.
“I didn’t say it in my head, therefore, I figured you would hear it.”