He was asleep on the couch. Her couch. Crashing at her place overnight, as he had so many nights before.
Her friend. Her buddy.
The man she wanted more than she'd ever wanted anyone in her life.
She couldn't sleep, tossing and turning and thinking of him lying not thirty feet away from her on the other side of her bedroom wall. He had stayed over countless times, what was it about tonight that had her squirming beneath the sheets, unable to ignore the warmth between her legs? It had been an average night with friends over, nothing special. He'd thrown a few meaningful glances her way, or at least that's what she'd thought she'd seen. He'd stood a little too close to her at the door when bidding their other friends goodnight. And when he had, God...the subtle, masculine scent of him, the warmth of his body so close to hers....maybe he'd actually seen the little shiver of sexual awareness that had rippled through her then.
Whatever it was, she was suffering now. His smile, his voice, his deep, infectious laugh...so what if he had been her friend since college, so what if he could be a bit of a doofus at times....okay, a lot of the time....so what if they were both single now and feeling that familiar itch, that longing, that uncomfortable awareness of being without someone just a bit too long....
Fuck...
They had talked about this. Once. They had agreed; getting involved wasn't the right thing to do....look how many friendships were ruined by sex. And it would be 'just sex', right?
Right.
Neither of them were looking for love. Neither of them wanted to get serious, it would only be sex, and that just wouldn't be worth risking their friendship over.
They were friends. Period.
Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.
She threw back the duvet and swung her legs over the side of the bed, wiggling her toes nervously as she bit her lip. She didn't want to use her vibrator, not with him just on the other side of the wall. What if he heard her? And somehow even just the thought of pleasuring herself seemed....well, not wrong but just....so unappealing. He was right there....so close....so touchably close....stroking herself to a quiet little orgasm seemed like such pale consolation.
She needed a drink, that's what she needed. Not
that
kind of drink - although God knew she wasn't far from it. She needed a cool glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge....and maybe some splashed on her face for good measure. Then she could come back to bed and read. Or listen to some music. Or... something. She had an early start in the morning, she had to find some way to get some sleep.
If she was really quiet, she could slip right past him and he'd never even know she'd been out of her room.
She creaked open her bedroom door and listened for the sound of his quiet snoring. Sure enough, the soft sounds of sleep drifted towards her and she straightened, relaxing a little. Great. He was sleeping just fine. He wasn't tossing and turning thinking about
her
...
She slipped out into the chilly living room, and shivered involuntary. She'd set the thermostat low in the living room to save energy, completely forgetting to turn it up for his sake, so while her bedroom was toasty warm, the living room was cold and still. Guiltily she cast her eyes over his sleeping form, sprawled inelegantly over the couch with one hand thrown over his eyes and one leg up over the back of the sofa. He wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and lying there without so much as an afghan to cover himself with, he looked vulnerable somehow, and uncomfortable.
And incredibly, almost achingly sexy
Her eyes roamed over him in blatant appreciation. He wasn't a muscle-bound freak, he was just a nicely filled-out man, broad shouldered, solid, with muscles in all the right places. She let her eyes slide down his legs, to where the swell of his thigh muscle peeked out from beneath the hem of his shorts. He'd never win Mr. Universe, but he was undeniably, utterly male. His stubbled jaw caught her eye, and she let her gaze linger on the lips she'd imagined kissing so many times...too many times, in fact. So often that sometimes she imagined the fantasy as if it were memory. So delicious, so sensual and hot....
Only he wasn't hot. She dragged herself back to reality, frowning as she looked down at him. He was cold.
She went back to the bedroom and pulled an extra blanket off the closet shelf, and carried it back to lay across his sleeping form. He stirred slightly as she draped it over him, and his eyelids fluttered open.
"Hmmm..." he mumbled thickly, his voice hoarse and low. "Good morning."
"It's not morning, it's two a.m," she whispered. "I was just getting you a blanket. Go back to sleep."
"Mmmmm..." he said, cuddling it around him.
He pulled his leg down off the couch and straightened himself out, stretching languidly, shuddering, like a cat. She loved watching the way his muscles tensed and relaxed. She loved watching him do anything, in fact.
"It's so cold," she said by way of an unasked-for explanation, and looked away from his body. His eyes were still closed so she could have looked a little longer, but didn't want to risk it.
"Cold?" he murmured. "Just a second." He pushed aside the blanket and reached for her, tugging her down towards him.
She gasped and lost her footing, sitting down hard on the couch beside him. He pulled her down and enveloped her in his arms, pulling her tight against his chest.
He flipped the blanket over top of both of them. "There. I'll keep you warm."
A sleepy duskiness coloured his voice, and something in the intimacy of it, the familiarity of it, made her heart flutter rebelliously in her chest. He smelled so damn good, like a mixture of soap and the sweet warm scent of a clean cotton shirt. He drew her in closer, moulding his body against hers, and God help her, she let him. She settled in more comfortably beside him, her leg thrown over his, her arm stretched across his chest.
