Fuck. My. Life.
I freeze on my back, my hands trapped behind my head, no breath passing in or out as she rolls to her other side, revealing full lips and long lashes. The dark green sheet tangles around her feet, showing off her petite ballet dancer’s body to me.
Imogen.
Everything from last night floods into my mind. The dinner at Haven and Wesley’s for their bridesmaids and groomsmen; Imogen flirting with me and making eyes at me throughout dinner and dessert; Imogen’s signature red nails grazing the length of my dick before her lips wrapped around the tip of it; Imogen sinking herself onto my cock and taking everything I gave her all night long.
And Imogen collapsing in the bed next to me, saying, “I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute before I drive back into town.”
And now it’s… Well, I don’t know what time it is, but based on the way the sunlight peeks through the off-white curtains, it’s morning.
Which means I had a sleepover with a female.
Which means I broke rule number three.
“I need to get out of here,” I whisper.
I can’t get caught like this. I can’t let anyone know what happened last night.
I glance at Imogen, at her dainty body and her chest as it lifts with each breath. Her small breasts are pale and smooth, with tiny pink nipples. Both of them stand at attention, perked up by the cooler air of the bedroom. She isn’t my usual type—she is soft, small, and delicate. But last night she showed me exactly what she could do with that flexible little body of hers, and damn, if she isn’t talented.
Both on the stage and off of it. Both in the bedroom and out of it.
I bite my knuckles as she shifts again. My morning wood makes itself known, hardening as the sexy thing next to me moans in her sleep, her lips parting with a soft sigh. Her hand rests on my chest, and her breasts nestle against my side, her thighs parting as her leg slides up mine.
I can’t see it, can’t see her shaved, pink pussy, but I remember the look, taste, and feel of it. The smell of her arousal releases into the room as she moves. And somehow, my dick is even harder.
Goddess, damn it.
“This is exactly why I don’t do sleepovers,” I mutter, rooted in place on the bed with Imogen sprawled almost on top of me.
What am I supposed to do? Do I slide myself out from underneath her? Should I cover her with the comforter when I leave? Do I write her a note or send her a text?
I am out of my element here. But I have to leave. I can not get caught having a sleepover. I can not get caught breaking one of my rules.
My teeth grit together and I scoot my body, pausing and holding my breath every time Imogen makes a noise or shifts her position. It is a slow game, a long game, but I have to make sure she doesn’t wake up.
Inch by inch, I make my way to the edge of the bed. Victory is within my sight. The finish line draws closer. I can taste freedom, sweet, sweet freedom and—
And Imogen’s eyes snap open, meeting mine.
We stare at each other—her, naked, still partially draped over me. And me, naked, trying to sneak away.
I grimace. “Um…”
She groans, rolling onto her back, her hands covering her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I rarely do sleepovers.”
I just stare, stare at her naked chest and her pointy pink nipples and her full lips, forcing my eyes to not travel to the apex of her thighs. To that tantalizing, tempting, delicious spot I found myself in several times last night.
I shake my head. “I don’t either,” I say, scrubbing my hand over my face.
She peeks at me from between her fingers. “Yeah, I didn’t peg you as the sleepover type.”
She rolls to her side again, sliding closer, giving me the same fuck me eyes complete with fluttering lashes from last night. Her hand glides down my abdomen, caressing every muscle with her small, delicate fingers.
“Since we’re like this, though,” she says, licking her lips, “we may as well have a little fun.”
She finds my hardened dick, and scratches her nails on it, the same way as the night before. My head tilts and I groan through my teeth, trying to hold it in. “Im-ogen…”