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This was why I’d never been a big drinker.
But I’d had a lot of fun.
Too much fun.
Finn and I danced for hours.
I stumbled to my feet and found my phone. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I’d been asleep for less than an hour. I made my way to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water, chugging it beside the sink.
I heard a noise.
It sounded like someone was groaning.
Finn was known for sleepwalking, and I couldn’t even count how many times he’d wandered around when we were kids and when we lived together as adults.
“Chewy?” I whispered as I tiptoed down the hall toward his bedroom.
The house was dark, but a light was coming from beneath his door, which was cracked open. I stood beside it and heard a deep moan.
I pushed the door open the slightest bit and saw the lamp sitting on his bedside table was turned on, providing just the slightest bit of light. I heard the gruff noise again, and I tiptoed toward the bathroom. I was still drunk enough that my walk felt a little wobbly, but I was sober enough to be curious about what was going on.
Was he sleepwalking?
Did he have a woman here?
We’d come home alone together.
I held my breath as I moved through his dimly lit bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar. The light from his closet must have been on, because there was just enough light to make out his silhouette. He stood over the sink, head down, boxers shoved down as he gripped his dick and stroked himself.
I’d never seen anything more magnificent in my life.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the muscles in his back strained with each pump of his hand.
I pushed into the bathroom further, and he froze for a moment before glancing over his shoulder.
“You watching me, Reese?”
“I am,” I whispered.
“Come here.” He turned toward me, stroking himself slower now. “Does this turn you on?”
I nodded because it did. Carl and I had never discussed touching ourselves. He’d certainly never let me watch him get himself off.
But Finn had always been more confident in his own skin.
It was one of the things that I loved most about him.
He continued sliding that big hand of his up and down his engorged shaft. It was long and thick, and I moved on instinct, stopping directly in front of him.
“It’s normal to want to feel good. There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he whispered.
“I’m not ashamed. I want to feel good.” My voice was quiet, but it sounded huskier than normal. My head was still fuzzy, and the tequila was clearly still present or I’d never have had the nerve to be standing here.
“Slip your hand into your shorts and touch yourself.” He continued to slide his hand up and down his erection.
I squeezed my thighs together because I was so turned on, I couldn’t think straight. I slipped my hand beneath my pink pajama shorts and closed my eyes as my fingers grazed along my most sensitive area, and I let out a deep breath.
A deep groan left his mouth. “Are you wet?”
