𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗

Fevered

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It was too hot. Stifling, despite the cool air in the room.

Chaeyoung opened her eyes, on her side on the bed, feeling Jungkook wrapped around her like a vine, his legs twined with hers, his heavy arm across her stomach, keeping her prisoner against his solid back, his head completely on her pillow, buried in her neck. He was completely on her side, well his side originally, of the bed. Maybe he had gravitated because it had been his side. Good lord, the man was a furnace, and she meant that literally. He was warm, so warm that she had unconsciously kicked off the blankets in the night, her bare legs exposed completely and entwined with his rough ones. Her shirt had ridden up and bunched under her breasts, so she could feel his muscled arm against her tummy, his naked torso against her back, and well, his very happy morning self hard against her hips, just separated by thin layers of fabric.

She swallowed, feeling his warmth seep into her, slowly setting her on fire as she lay unmoving, her heart starting to hammer in her chest. Her body definitely wanted some hammering, if her tingling self was any indication. She gulped again, and looked at the clock on the bed. 6.30 AM. Too early for her to have woken up but she had to get out before she did something like press back into him. Oh dear gods of foreplay, she so wanted to. She wanted to press back and grind on him and see how he would react. Uh-huh. She had to get out.

Slowly, very carefully, she shifted just slightly and his hand tightened over her, pulling her back more solidly into him. Great job. Now she was completely pressed into him and it was like sin. So, so tempting. He grumbled something incoherent, his nose burying in her hair as he kept her in his hold and slept soundly, his very light snore tickling her neck. She wanted to squirm but she didn't want to wake him. She wasn't even daring to breathe.

Turning her head a bit, with the morning light seeping in through the curtains, basking the room in a soft glow, her eyes caught on the mirror above them on the ceiling and her heart stopped. She swore it did for a second before pattering with a vengeance. She looked at the image they created, with his big, hard, tanned muscled body engulfing her small, softer one, completely wrapped around her, fabric and naked skin peeking. It looked like he was devouring her. They looked like a picture one would hang in an erotic temple, the half nudity somehow even more erotic than complete nakedness.

She felt her breasts get heavy in a way she was unfamiliar with, her arousal hitting her so hard, turning her hotter than she was, a drop of sweat rolling down her cleavage. Maybe this was actually a really bad idea. She couldn't wake up next to him like this every morning. She would combust. Spontaneous combustion. She would literally evaporate.

But she remained absolutely motionless, just staring at the mirror, the crane in her neck starting to hurt but she couldn't remover her gaze. The mirror was HD. If mirrors could be HD, because she could actually make out every twitch in every muscle, every movement of the strand of her hair against his nose as he exhaled softly, all in the reflection. She would have really appreciated the mirror and its HD-ness some other time.

His hand slowly shifted, his rough palm and calloused fingers grazing over her stomach, sending electricity running through her spine, and she barely stifled her gasp, as it settled up on her breast, just laying there. Wonderful. Her husband was a sleep grabber. With grabby hands. What the heck did he even dream about to zero in on her babies? Was it person specific or just anything soft would do? Did he grab cushions when he slept on the couch, like he did to her boob? The thought was funnier than she thought.