A/N: This story is strictly a flashback of Suzie and Moriah's escalating relationship. No present day scenes will occur in this one.
The events pick up after "Dream A Little Dream Of Me."
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I was doing the crossword in the Boston Globe on a lazy Sunday morning. The kitchen was so airy and inviting, I couldn't help but relax there in the early morning sun.
Technically, my living space was the small guest house in the backyard and use of the main house restroom plus the kitchen. Over time, though, my best friend/crush/landlord became more than comfortable with me when I was lounging in the kitchen or in her living room.
If I was in the kitchen, she would sit down next to me with a snack. If I was in the living room, she'd sit down next to me to ask annoying questions about the show or movie I was watching. I didn't feel guilty about being in her space because of our history. She'd always sought me out, and readily accepted when I invited her anywhere.
That day, I read an article from one of my favorite journalists on the front page of the newspaper then immediately gave up on the rest of the paper to do the crossword puzzle and read the funnies.
"Six letter word for 'primal drive.'" I muttered quietly as she came in to the kitchen.
"Morning, Mor!"
"Good morning." I still wracked my brain for something that would fit the across word of
oboe.
Instinct doesn't have a "b" and was the wrong number of letters. Another word--
oh fuck
--she was wearing a very sheer nightgown. My mouth hung open as she poured her coffee.
The outline of her figure teased through the mauve silk. I was a sucker for silk but this was so
sheer,
I could feel her hips in phantom caresses.
The hem stopped mid-thigh, and I followed the curve of her calves down to her bare feet. She turned around, and the peaks of her nipples were barely visible.
She looked at me while she stirred her coffee. Her hair fell over the side of her face as she smiled slowly.
"Libido." I said hoarsely.
"Sorry?"
"Uh--the--um--crossword. Another word for 'primal drive.'" I shook my head then looked down. The black and white type swam around the paper, and I felt as if I'd lost at least 30 IQ points.
I focused on writing "libido" in the column. She toasted some bread then spread butter and jam on it. She found a seat next to me then took the fashion section out from under my crossword puzzle, crossing her legs in front of me.
My eyes tracked the movement, and I caught a glimpse of her pink panties. I took a sip of my coffee, and the liquid dribbled over my chin a bit.
I cleaned myself off as my blood turned into a churning boil.
"What the hell are you wearing?" I asked pathetically.
"A nightgown. It's Sunday."
"I'm aware. You can't wear actual clothes?"
"This is my house, Mor. If I wanna walk around in the buff, I should be able to."
I pressed my fingers to my eyes, trying to erase the mental image her words painted. "I live here too! Even if it's temporary. You don't see
me
walking around in my underwear!" I tried to get it through her head.
"You could if you wanted! I wouldn't mind."
I groaned in frustration. I looked in her eyes finally, and she stared back, stubborn as hell.
"Fine!" I stood up then stormed out. Going back to my guest house, I paced angrily in the tiny space. Wrenching open a drawer, I pulled out the most expensive sports bra I owned. It was a silver piece with a slight sheen that showed cleavage and crisscrossed in straps across my back. It had tiny matching biker shorts that I stretched over my butt as well and they rode up a little.
I looked at myself in the mirror to see the peaks of my nipples were visible too. I fixed my breasts until they looked perfect in the bra then went back to her in the kitchen.
"All right! Let casual Sunday officially begin!" I said smartly as I walked back in and plopped down in front of her again.
She looked me up and down over the lip of her mug. She just hummed and went back to reading.
The minutes stretched agonizingly slow with not even our usual chatter to fill the air. My heart was clutched in an iron grip as my traitorous eyes kept sliding over to admire her. The way she pushed her hair back delicately when it fell onto her face. The way she grazed her legs against one another in the morning light.
I didn't finish the crossword puzzle that morning.
By midday in the middle of our
Real Housewives
marathon, I started to get more relaxed around her, and we started to banter like we always did. Her legs were still mostly bare, and the curves of her breasts were still teasing me whenever she shifted on the couch.
"I think I'd like to be in the cast for Beverly Hills," I said finally.
"Of course you would!" She exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on! I saw the way you were ogling Kyle Richards!"
"Oh."
"Yeah.
Oh.
"
"Yeah, she's hot."
"You'd be a menace on a
Real Housewives
cast."
My eyes glazed over as I imagined working my way through the whole cast.
"Mor! Stop it!"
"What?"
"I can hear your filthy thoughts all the way over here."
I raised my eyebrow at her. "What about you?"
"Dubai."
"Figures..."
"What?"
"All their husbands are super hot."
"They're smart savvy businesswomen who are independently wealthy. But yes, I'm starting to lean towards the dusky skin tone recently."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, like you."
I gulped. "Yeah, I agree. You definitely need a little caramel latte in your life."
She hummed in assent as she ran a hand over her neck.
I'd been staring too long, and she turned to look at me. I blinked and turned back to the TV.
My heart refused to slow down for the rest of the show. All I fixated on was her bare skin and her closeness on the couch.
I wasn't completely sure if she was getting more handsy, brazen, and comfortable with me or if it was just me losing more self-control every day. Either way, I was about to combust in arousal every day and I wondered in a haze how much longer I could continue living with her like this.
My new editor/publicist was in talks with a second publishing company this month after a failed attempt with a horrible contract a couple of weeks ago. If it went well that week, I'd meet with them and draw up a potential new contract.
Suzie and I were going on almost a year of cohabitation. I was simultaneously trying to outline a new book, waitress enough to make a tiny amount of money a month, sell my finally-finished manuscript, and trying to not jump into bed with my best friend and semi-roommate, Suzie (who was straight.)
She went to the kitchen where her phone pinged, forgotten on the island. When she stepped in front of me on her way back to her end of the couch, I tapped the back of her knee with a foot, and she tumbled backward, squeaking out a yell. I grabbed her at her hip and led her fall to thump down heavily on my lap.
My fingers were clutched over the silk at her warm hips, and her bottom felt so lovely on my thighs. I held her securely, and she held on to my shoulder and bicep.
"Hi!" I grinned. "Glad you could drop in!" Her face was inches from mine. She froze with her eyes wide before snapping back.
"Mor! Let me go!"
"Sorry! Be a little more careful, though. You could get really hurt if you don't look where you step." I said seriously. I pushed her at the small of her back, and she scrambled to the other end of the couch.
She glared at me with red cheeks. "You did that on purpose!"
"What do you mean?"
She scoffed, and tossed on the couch, getting more comfortable. I grabbed a throw blanket and offered it to her. She snatched it angrily from me, tucking her feet under her as she covered herself.
