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Without thinking twice, I reach behind my head and tug off my shirt and then shuck myself out of my pants. I shut the door to my room, go brush my teeth, and then climb into bed, adjusting Layla so that she joins me beneath the covers. For a few minutes, I stare at her unconscious form. Words like lovely and beautiful and even stunning have been invented to describe women like her.
She surpasses them all, even in her sleep.
“Just don’t ruin us,” I plead to her, knowing it might already be too late. I might be ruined on her.
I push her hair back from her face and then roll over, intentionally giving her my back so I don’t have to look at her all night, and then will myself to fall asleep.
Warmth engulfs me from head to toe and I groan at the sensation.
“Layla.”
Her name sprouts like a geyser from my lips as she tugs my cock. My hand drags along smooth, soft skin, up, up until my thumb reaches the gentle undercurve of her sweet tits. Tits I want to devour with my tongue and teeth and lips.
“Layla.”
Again her name drips from me and my groan builds higher, harder when yet another tug on my dick rips the sound past my lungs.
“Callan.”
“You feel so good.”
“Callan, wake up.”
Do I have to, I wonder, already somewhat aware this is a dream because real-life Layla already made me painfully aware that my dick is a no-go for her.
“Callan!”
My eyes slash open to find Layla’s face right before mine, the side of her head on her pillow exactly where I left it.
“You’re moaning,” she accuses.
I blink. Then I think. Then Ifeel.
“Your hand is on my dick.”
Now it’s her turn to blink and then she glances between us. I follow suit because her hand is wrapped around my painfully hard shaft encased in only thin boxer briefs. I also take note of the fact that one of her legs is hiked over my hip and my hand is under her sweatshirt, cupping her bare breast.
I should pull away. I don’t.
Instead, I ask, “Are your nipples hard for me or is this part of their morning routine?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I figured.” It doesn’t stop me from squeezing her tit. “Can I make you come or am I reaching for the stars with that?”
A blink. A swipe of her tongue ring. A gnaw of her bottom lip. “I said no sex, right? I mean, I was drunk last night, but I said that?”
It’s a question to which I remorsefully reply, “Yes, you said that.”
“So you should probably stop rubbing my boob.”
I grin like a high schooler. “And you should probably stop rubbing my dick unless you want me to come in my briefs.”
Her breath hitches and suddenly she’s staring back down at the space between us. “You’ll do that if I keep this up?”
“Don’t seem so enthralled. You’re jerking me off through stupidly thin cotton. I’ll come and I’ll come hard if you keep doing that.”
“I’m not jerking you.”
