Page 51 of Catching Feeling

Wait.

Both of my eyes snap open this time when I see the bookshelf full of trophies and realize I’m not in my bedroom. The warm, fluffy cloud that I feel all around me? It’s definitely not a cloud.

Carefully, I pull the covers up and see the tan, muscled, veiny forearm slung around my waist, tucked under my side.

Reese. I’m in his bed, and he’s got me hauled against the front of him, all of him. Every hard inch.

Last night comes flooding back in a wave of embarrassment and regret.

I was so drunk.

Sloppy, make a fool out of myself drunk, and I literally threw myself at him. Right before I puked in his bathroom and he held my hair because, of course, throwing myself at him wasn’t mortifying enough already.

Reese shifts behind me, and I feel his thick cock hard against my back. My teeth bite into my lower lip as I stifle a moan. God, I’m so embarrassed I want the ground to open up and swallow me into it, but this also feels good. Entirely too good. Being held tightly in his arms, surrounded by his scent, feeling him pressed into me like this.

Waking up… not alone.

As the memories start to flood back, what I can’t stop thinking about is how he took care of me last night. When I was the definition of a hot mess express, he treated me with kindness and compassion. With respect. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I was completely vulnerable with someone. I needed someone to look after me for once, and instead of him throwing it in my face or making a joke about it, he took care of me when he didn’t have to.

He held my hair when I was sick and pulled me into his arms when I felt the walls closing in around me. When I crawled on top of him and propositioned him, he turned me down gently. Most guys would’ve taken advantage of the situation when I threw myself at him, but he didn’t. He was a gentleman when he didn’t have to be.

And instead of pushing him away, I let him in. I asked for his comfort. I let him past those walls that I’ve spent years building. Just for a little bit. That feels like a completely different version of Reese than what I had convinced myself that he is.

And I think I might have been wrong about him. Truthfully, I think I’ve known that for a while now, and I’ve just not wanted to see it. But last night proved that without a doubt, and now I’m entirely unsure what to do with this new realization.

I sigh, burrowing further into the covers, into his warmness, and when I accidentally rock against his cock, he lets out a deep groan that vibrates my entire body to my core. My thighs press together of their own accord, and my clit begins to pulse.

I’m too horny to be half-dressed in this guy’s bed with his cock digging into my ass as he spoons me.

His arm tightens around me, pulling me even closer against him, and I squeeze my eyes shut when I realize he’s awake, not quite ready to face him.

I feel the pad of his thumb brushing against the exposed skin of my stomach where the baggy T-shirt I threw on has ridden up. My mind drifts back to last night when I told him how tired I was of fighting my attraction for him and how every part of it was true.

What’s the saying… drunken words are sober thoughts? Should I make an excuse that I have to go to the bathroom so I can flee, or do I ask him for the second time in twelve hours to have sex with me?

Because honestly, both options seem great right now.

I want him in the dirtiest, filthiest way, and I’m aching for a physical release. I’m aching for a repeat of the night that we spent together, and it’s only because of my liquid courage last night that I could stop overanalyzing and overthinking for five seconds to ask for it. That and maybe a bit of jealousy that drove me to the tequila.

Even though we’re both awake, neither of us moves aside from his fingers grazing my skin. Neither of us wants to be the one to make the first move, but I’m done holding back. I’m so turned on right now from the barest of touches that I feel like I’m going out of my mind, and I want to say fuck it for once.

Let my body make the decision and not my brain.

My hand moves over his on my stomach, and I slowly inch it lower, holding my breath the further it goes until his fingers sweep along the edge of my panties.

This is as close as I’m going to get to asking for him to touch me. It’s a clear go-ahead, and now I’m leaving it to him.

For a second, his fingers don’t move, and neither does he.

They rest above the waistband, but he doesn’t dip his fingers inside. My heart is racing inside my chest as beats pass.

I’m about to flee with what’s left of my pride when I feel his lips near my ear. “Is this what you need?”

His voice, hoarse and gravelly from sleep, combined with the brush of his lips against the shell of my ear, causes an involuntary shiver to rack my body, straight to my aching clit.

God, I’m so wet that it’s almost embarrassing.

But after last night, I think we’re past the point of embarrassment.

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