Despite growing up together, Catherine Simmons and Mattis Reed were never close.
Cat was inseparable from Mattis' younger sister, Chloé, while he was busy running around on the football field.
But when Cat's new dream drags her across the country du...
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It doesn't take Mattis long to fall asleep.
He does it with such ease that I feel a pang of jealousy. I've never been able to drift off like that. He didn't use to, either, awake in the middle of the night watching sitcoms on the Reeds' couch almost as often as I was when we were younger. I wonder if he's found some magic solution or if it's just from sexual satisfaction and exhaustion.
I feel it, too, my eyelids growing heavier, the desire to pass out on his chest almost too big to resist. Yet, now that the worst of the lust has lifted from my brain, the anxious thoughts have started up again, chasing each other. And I know spending the night here would be a mistake.
I steal a few more moments, though, waiting for the party to die down, so I won't raise any suspicion sneaking out. I use the time watching Mattis.
He looks so young when he sleeps. The stress lines on his forehead are gone, skin smooth. His mouth is slightly open, and just looking at his lips reminds me of what we just did.
What I started. What he did to me, what I did to him...
My cheeks burn at the memory. I'm usually confident in bed, but that's with people I don't know, where it doesn't matter. Mattis knows me too well. He's seen both the bold and the vulnerable side of me. Being this comfortable in his company shouldn't be possible.
And the way he took control, ordered me around, used me for his own pleasure - well, it was fucking hot. I'm still dripping, and I rub my thighs together.
I wanted us to go further, but I'm thankful that Mattis stopped it. Now I can see what I was too consumed by desire to before. Having sex would only complicate this further, and it's already a cluster fuck as it is.
With a sigh, I untangle myself, rolling away as quietly as possible, but Mattis doesn't stir. I sneak around the room, putting on my clothes, finding my possession strewn about the floor. I borrow his jersey since the idea of putting on the beer-soaked shirt makes me want to gag.
Standing at the door, heels in hand, I glance at him one more time. He's so peaceful, somewhere lost in dreams, expecting me to be here when he wakes.
I feel sick to my stomach, leaving like this.
What we did tonight, it's been a long time coming. Part of me thinks it's been inevitable since the first night I saw him here. But it was just sex.
In the few months I've been here, I've heard countless people, including Mattis himself, say that he doesn't date. And I am not conceited or naive enough to think I'll be the girl to change that.
Besides, I have a strict no-dating policy, too.
I'm lucky, only encountering a few very drunk people downstairs, none I recognize. The blond football player, Sanders, is passed out on the couch, bottles and solo cups littering the room.
