Chapter 442: Awake The Whole Time
'What are the chances that he's actually dreaming about me?'
'No way it's me… he has other girls. They were cheering for him at that basketball game. The pretty one with the poster. The one who screamed his name like she already had a claim.'
She did not stop.
The hardness against her only made her braver.
After a while her hips found a rhythm, small, tentative grinds, the slow drag of cloth on cloth, her ass rubbing along the length of him as if she could apologize for wanting and take more in the same motion.
Breathy sounds slipped out. She was wet enough now to feel it when she pressed down, a secret slickness that made each grind sweeter and more dangerous. The fabric of her shorts clung. She wondered if he could feel that too, even asleep. She hoped he couldn't. She hoped he could.
Stan held his breathing by force. 'Fuck… if I let her continue, this girl will tease me to death.'
Fondness tangled with the heat. She was cute like this. Needy and careful and lying to herself about sleep. The way she used his hand like a tool and then got shy about the result. The way she kept checking, in tiny pauses, whether the shape of him was still only sleeping. He had seen enough.
He leaned forward. Lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"Boo…"
Mia jolted, whole body taut for a second. A full-body flinch that pressed her harder onto him before she could think to scramble.
Before she could, the hand she had been steering became his again. He caressed her waist, gentle and sure, then slid up to rest over her heart, fingers tapping lightly against the soft skin of her cleavage, a rhythm, a joke, a wordless easy. Not restraint. Not rejection. Calm down.
She had never been truly scared. Only caught.
Mia pressed her face into the pillow. Heat roared in her ears. Twice. She had fallen for the same sleeping prank twice, and her body was still fitted to his, still wet, still wearing his hand like a confession she had not meant to finish out loud.
"You…" Her voice broke on the first try. "You were awake the whole time."
"Mm." His mouth was still at her ear. "Most of it."
"Stan."
"You said my name three times," he murmured. "I almost answered the second."
She made a helpless sound. He felt it in his palm, the quick jump of her heart.
"I wasn't going to stop you," he said. "I just didn't want you thinking I was dead weight while you were doing all that." His thumb stroked once, slow, over the upper curve of her breast. "You put my hand there like you needed it."
"I thought you were dreaming."
"I was. Sort of." He kissed the place just below her ear, then the hinge of her jaw. "You were in it. Then you showed up for real and I decided not to ruin it."
Mia turned her face just enough to look at him in the incomplete light. "The girls at the game…"
"Are not in my bed." His voice stayed quiet, but it lost the joke. "You're the one who walked in. You're the one grinding on me like you've been thinking about it since last week. That's who I'm hard for."
The words landed somewhere low in her. She didn't have an answer that wasn't another small roll of her hips.
He didn't flip her. He kept her where she had put herself, spine to chest, ass seated against him, and let his other arm slide under her waist so she was held, not trapped. The hand over her heart slipped under the hem of her shirt. Bare skin. The heavy softness of her, no fabric to blunt it. When his palm closed she arched into it with a sound she tried to swallow and failed.
"Still think I'm dreaming about someone else?" he asked against her neck.
She shook her head. The motion rubbed her cheek on the pillow. "No."
"Good."
He guided her hand back, down between them, and let her feel him properly through his shorts, thick, obvious, unmistakably for her. She whimpered when her fingers closed. He hissed, forehead dropping to her shoulder.
"That's you," he said. "Not a dream. Not a poster. You."
She squeezed, then again with more intent, stroking him in the same shy rhythm she had used when she thought he was asleep. Behind her, his hips answered in a short, involuntary thrust into the give of her ass. The wetness in her shorts made the drag filthy and sweet.
The amber light held. The room stayed very quiet except for breath and cloth and the small sounds she couldn't keep in.
Mia turned her head. He met her there, awkward angle, hungry kiss, the same one they had stolen last week except this time neither of them was pretending. When they broke apart she was panting, lips wet, eyes dark in the gold dark.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
Stan smiled into her hair, fond and wrecked in equal measure.
"Wasn't planning to."
His hand left her breast only long enough to find the waistband of her shorts, thumb hooking, waiting. She lifted her hips a fraction, permission, and he slid his fingers underneath, over the soaked fabric first, then past it, finding her slick and swollen and already rocking into the touch like she had been waiting for his hand to belong to him again.
She gasped his name into the pillow.
He kissed the back of her shoulder and stayed exactly where she had climbed...
His fingers stayed where she had lifted for them, under the waistband, over the soaked heat of her, then past the last scrap of cloth until there was nothing between his hand and how wet she had gotten while she thought he was asleep.
Mia's breath broke. She pushed back into his palm and into the hard line of him at the same time, a helpless little rock that made the mattress whisper.
"Fuck," Stan said against her shoulder, quiet enough that it almost wasn't a word. "You were this wet the whole time you were using my hand?"
She hid her face in the pillow again. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what." His middle finger traced her, slow, not entering yet, just spreading the slickness he had found. "Like you climbed in here, put my hand on your tit, and ground on my dick until you soaked through your shorts?"
A sound left her that was half moan, half protest. His finger slipped between her folds on the next pass and she clenched around nothing, hips stuttering.
'He's going to make me say it. He's going to make me admit I came in here already thinking about this.'
"Stan…"
"I'm here." He kissed the back of her shoulder, then the side of her neck, open-mouthed, tasting the heat under her skin. "You can still pretend I'm asleep if you want. I'll keep my voice down."
She pinched the forearm wrapped around her waist. He smiled into her hair.