Page 20 of Only You
My arm is wrapped around him, and I feel like I’ve had more sleep—actual, restful sleep—than I’ve had in a decade.
This is fine, right?
Totally fine.
We’re just friends who happened to fall asleep with each other last night. It’s really not a big deal. It’s fine.
But I’m internally freaking the hell out because it feels so damn good to have his body against mine. To have him here—to know he’s safe. That he was safe all night long.
Something feels settled deep inside my soul, just knowing Remy is here with me and was all night. He starts to stir, and I stiffen slightly, wondering if he’s going to freak out.
But then he gives me this sleepy little smile, and my whole world turns upside down and settles at the same time. “Morning.”
His grin grows a little wider. “Morning.” He pulls back a little to sit up and yawns, and my body instantly misses his, but I try not to overthink that too much. He raises his arms over his head and does a little stretch. “This is a first.”
“What, waking up with an old friend?” I tease, stretching my legs out a bit and then letting my feet settle to the floor.
“Waking up with anyone at all,” he says with a cute little smirk. I try to ignore the obvious bulge in his jeans as he stands up, but it’s right there and kind of impossible to miss. I know that it’s just morning wood—it matches my own—but it doesn’t make me any less curious. I can’t help staring, wondering what his cock looks like under the denim fabric. Is he cut or uncut? Long and thin like him? And I seriously have no clue what is happening to me right now. This is not typical thinking for me at all.
He must not notice, though, because he’s grabbing the empty plates off the coffee table and striding toward the kitchen, like waking up with me this morning was no big deal whatsoever.
“I have to pee and brush my teeth. I’ll be right back,” he says, already heading down the hall to where I assume his room is. “Feel free to use the other bathroom, and I think I have an extra toothbrush. I’ll look for it,” he says, scrambling toward his room.
I sit there for far too long, my fingers going through my hair as I stare down at my lap—at my hard cock that is definitely not just morning wood anymore. I liked waking up with him.
I liked seeing him so intimately this morning.
I don’t know what to do with this information—but it’s a fact I can’t dispute. I look at the outline of my hard cock once again and then sigh, climbing up from the couch and walking to the bathroom, silently willing it to calm the fuck down so I can take a piss.
Normally, I’d just rub one out, but I can’t do that in Remy’s house while he’s just innocently going about his morning without a care in the world. I don’t want to be that guy.
Remy and I are friends—and despite this newfound obsession I seem to be experiencing around him—I can’t do anything that could possibly mess that up. I went far too long without him being in my life to do that.
So finally, I get my dick to cooperate enough to take a piss and wash my hands before splashing some water on my face, trying to snap out of this fog.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Remy is there holding a new toothbrush and toothpaste. “I knew I had one.”
I grin and take it from him. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem. How do you like your eggs?”
“You’re making me breakfast?” I ask, my eyebrows lifting as I lean against the doorway.
“Yup. Thought I’d lean into this whole waking up the next morning thing,” he says with a flirty little wink that makes my heart flutter.
“I love scrambled eggs,” I say, and he grins.
“Can do.” He starts to walk toward the kitchen, and I place the toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter of the bathroom. If I’m going to eat, I really don’t want it to taste like mint.
I follow him into the kitchen and find myself watching him as he flits around the room, grabbing ingredients and happily humming to himself. “Can I help with anything?”
“Oh yeah, I’m supposed to help you learn to cook, huh?”
I laugh at that and settle myself into a barstool at the kitchen island. “You’re going to have your hands full. Most mornings, I just pour myself some cereal, and I’m pretty proud of myself for doing that.”
He chuckles and then grabs a large mixing bowl and a box of pancake mix. “We’ll go slow, I promise.”
There’s a hint of teasing there, his voice sultry as his eyes meet mine, and I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat as my dick starts to strain against my jeans again. I know he means cooking, but my mind is going to all the things.
