I toss and turn in bed until I am fed up. I rise sharply flicking the bedside lamp back on. Sighing, I completely fling the covers from my body. My throat is parched. My body feels hot. I need some water.
I step onto the cool the marble floor and walk downstairs. I am surprised the kitchen light is still on. Devan forgot it on again.
I stop mid step when I notice him, bare chest in the kitchen. The moment feels like a scene from a romcom. The kind where everything goes in slow motion. Devan lifts his eyes and they meet mine.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks politely.
"Yeah." I reply walking further inside the kitchen and to the refrigerator to pour myself some water.
"Let me."
Devan is suddenly behind me, hands on mine where I hold the jar. A chill goes does my spine immediately. Either his touch or the proximity that my ass is a few centimetres from his front unsettles me.
Even the cool air from the refrigerator doesn't dissipate the immediate warmth in my body. This is the man that had just accused me of bringing men into his house. I am supposed to be mad at him. Not feel aroused by our proximity.
I can't help the stiffening of my nipples. I am reminded that I am only in a tank top without a bra. Crap!
"Sure." I pass him the jar and close the fridge, walking away trying to put as much space between us as possible.
Devan doesn't seem to get the memo because he crosses the room until he's right in front of me. He hands me the glass of water.
Muttering a thank you, I gulp the contents of the glass. Devan watches me openly. His eyes darken when a little drool of water escapes on the side of my mouth.
Suddenly his eyes are glued to my lips. The air between us is more charged than before. He stops my movement to wipe away the water. His fingers ghost over my neck.
The touch is deliberate. Like he needs me to feel something. His fingers move over to my chin wiping away the water. The act so slow yet so arousing sending zings of electricity to my core.
"Devan."
It is a whisper. I am not sure what exactly I want to communicate. For him to step away. For him to continue. Devan's blue eyes are darker now with something that is mirroring mine.
Lust.
"I want to kiss you."
The words should make me run for the hills. He is my best friend's brother. If we cross this line, there is no turning back. The warning bells sound louder in my brain but the pull he has on me is too much.
"Nellie please, let me taste you."
The words settle lower in my abdomen causing my pussy to clench.
Devan searches my eyes. The words are right there on my tongue.
This is wrong.
We shouldn't be doing this.
But his hand clasps around my waist, a little lower to the curve of my ass. He tilts my head to his, his lips only a breadth away.
"Please." Devan begs.
I loose all the control left in me. I find myself nodding. That's all Devan needs before he closes the distance between us and claims my lips.
The kiss begins soft and gentle. When I let out a little moan, his lips move harder against mine like a starved man. His hands fall lower to my ass, kneading softly, letting out a groan.
"You're beautiful Nellie."
My reply is a moan as his hands continue to knead my ass.
His lips lover to my throat kissing there delicately. I am putty in his hands as he kisses just the spot between my neck and my shoulder blade.
"Fuck!"
I wake with a gasp.
My sheets are twisted around my legs, my pulse racing, skin flushed as if I'd been running instead of sleeping.
For a split second, I don't know what had pulled me from sleep.
Then it all comes crashing back.
His mouth on mine.
His hands warm, firm sliding over my waist, pulling me closer. The heat of him. The slow drag of his lips down my throat. The sound of my name in his voice, low and rough.
It had felt real. Too real.
My body still hums with it.
And when I shift under the covers, I freeze. My pajama shorts are damp.
"Oh my God."
I push myself upright, staring at the wall as if it had personally betrayed me.
Totally unacceptable.
Yes, I thought Devan was hot. I had eyes. I wasn't blind. But it was an innocent attraction, kind of the one you have for your celebrity crush.
But a wet dream? About him kissing me like that? Touching me like that?
That was something else entirely.
I hate him right now.
I hate that after the argument the other night, after he'd looked at me like I might disrespect his home, my subconscious had decided to script something so shameless.
Devan had been gone for three days.
The morning after our fight, I had come downstairs expecting something. Tension. Awkwardness. Maybe an attempt at conversation.
Instead, I'd found an empty kitchen and a Post-it note on the counter.
Out of town. Cincinnati. Back in three days.
That was it.
No explanation. No apology.
I'd stood there longer than necessary, staring at the slanted handwriting.
What had I expected? A detailed goodbye? A "We need to talk."
Still, it had stung.
And now here I was, waking up drenched in the aftermath of a dream that made me feel feral.
I throw the covers off and march to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.
I need to forget it. More than that, I need to get laid.
That was the problem. Three months without sex and suddenly my brain is casting my housemate in starring roles it has no business assigning.
He is Rachel's brother.
My housemate.
Completely off-limits.
The shower isn't going to fix this. Cold water will not erase the memory of his hands.
I need to cool down literally.
Twenty minutes later, I slip into my oversized onesie and pad downstairs. The house is quiet. Dark. The clock reads almost ten.
The backyard pool glows under soft underwater lights, steam barely rising from its heated surface.
Perfect.
I step out of the onesie at the edge, leaving myself in minimal layers and slip into the water.
The coolness wraps around me like a reset button. I exhale, letting myself float for a moment, staring up at the night sky.
Calm down. It was just a dream.
I swim lazily to the other end, pushing away lingering thoughts of blue eyes and calloused hands.
When I turn, I freeze.
Devan stands at the edge of the pool.
I didn't hear a car. Didn't hear the door.
He is dressed in his suit, tie slightly loosened, briefcase still in one hand. His silhouette is sharp against the patio lights.
He is staring down at me.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin. I can just pretend it's the water but I know different.
"Hey." he says.
My throat feels dry. "Hey."
"When did you get back?" I ask, trying for normal.
"Just now."
"How was Cincinnati?"
"Productive." His gaze doesn't waver. "Trip went well."
There is something in the air. Not the easy familiarity we usually share. Something tighter. Charged.
Devan sets his briefcase down slowly.
"I have been meaning to talk to you." he mutters.
My stomach flips immediately.
"About the other night, I shouldn't have reacted like that." he continues.
I blink.
"I don't think that lowly of you." he adds, quieter now. "I know you wouldn't disrespect my house."
The sincerity in his voice disarms me.
"It's fine. I am over it." I say quickly.
I am not sure if that is entirely true. But standing half-dressed in a pool while the man I have just dreamt about in obscene detail stares at me makes it difficult to process anything rationally.
He reaches up and loosens his tie further, tugging it free from his collar.
My thighs clench involuntarily.
This is ridiculous.
I swallow. "You want to join?"
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
His eyebrows lift slightly. "Join you?"
"In the pool." I clarify
As if it isn't obvious. He hesitates.
For a long second, I think he will decline. Then Davan sets his tie aside.
My breath catches in my throat.
He shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over a chair. Unbuttons his shirt slowly, deliberately not in a showy way. Just unhurried.
My mouth goes dry as I stare.
Devan isn't built like a model. He is built like someone strong without trying to be. Broad shoulders. Defined lines. A body that looks solid and real and devastatingly male.
He toes off his shoes, steps out of his trousers, and walks to the edge in nothing but his briefs.
The pool suddenly feels very small.
He descends the steps slowly, water climbing over his calves, his thighs, his hips.
When he reaches me, the distance between us is barely an arm's length.
I feel like a small fish in a tank with something far more powerful. He doesn't look predatory but he damn looks tempting.
Infuriatingly, dangerously tempting.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks softly.
Probably not.
But instead of answering, I find myself drifting closer.
He doesn't move away. He doesn't move at all.
The water laps quietly around us.
"You've been avoiding me." I say, though it comes out breathier than intended.
"I gave you space." he replies.
His voice is lower now. Rougher.
This is a mistake.
My brain knows it. My body does not care.
"You're flirting," I accuse weakly.
A faint smile ghosts his mouth. "Am I?"
The challenge in his tone snaps something inside me.
I shouldn't have invited him. I shouldn't have let him get this close. I shouldn't have...
I close the distance between us and kiss him.
It isn't graceful. It isn't planned. It is desperate and impulsive and fueled by three nights of absence and one reckless dream.
For half a second, Devan doesn't respond. My heart pounds in my ears.
"I'm sorry, I..."
My apology never finishes because his hand slides into her hair and he kisses me back.