Chapter 3: Waking Up Naked and Needy
The first thing Zoe registered was warmth. A heavy, solid warmth pressed against her back, radiating heat like a furnace. The second thing was the arm—Sam's arm, thick and muscled, draped over her waist, his hand splayed flat against her stomach beneath the blanket.
The third thing was the hardness pressing insistently against her ass.
She blinked, the fog of sleep clinging to her brain like cobwebs. Morning light filtered through the thin blinds in jagged stripes, painting golden lines across the cluttered desk, the half-unpacked boxes, the Star Wars poster that had been there since move-in day. Dust motes danced in the beams, tiny stars in the quiet air.
Her laptop was still open, the screen dark now but humming softly. The game they'd been playing before the party—some co-op dungeon crawler she'd forced him to try—was still loaded, paused mid-level. She remembered laughing at his terrible aim, the way he'd blamed the controller, the way his knee had pressed against hers on the narrow bed.
And then the party. The gin. The walk home.
The kiss.
Her face flushed hot at the memory. Not just the kiss. Everything after. His mouth on her. His fingers inside her. The way she'd come apart beneath him, screaming his name like it was the only word she knew.
She shifted slightly, and Sam's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. His breath was warm against the back of her neck, slow and even. Still asleep. She could feel the steady thump of his heart against her shoulder blades.
And she could feel his cock. Hard and thick, pressing against the thin cotton of her panties through his boxers. The heat of it seeped into her skin, and her body responded before her brain could catch up—a slick, guilty pulse between her legs.
She should move. She should slip out of bed, brush her teeth, pretend like everything was normal. That's what people did, right? The morning after. The awkward dance of pretending you hadn't seen each other naked. Except they hadn't actually had sex. They'd just… done other things. Things that made her cheeks burn just thinking about them.
She tried to wriggle away, just an inch, just enough to give herself some space to think. But Sam made a sound—a low, sleepy grumble—and his hips shifted, pressing his erection more firmly against the curve of her ass.
Zoe's breath caught.
Her body was a traitor. Her nipples tightened beneath the thin cotton of her tank top, and she felt a fresh wave of wetness soak her panties. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the ache.
She failed.
This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. A second-year university student. She'd watched enough bad porn and read enough fanfiction to know what she wanted, even if she'd never had the courage to go after it. And now Sam—Sam, who she'd been in love with since the tenth grade, who she'd dreamed about in this very bed—was half-naked behind her, hard and wanting and completely oblivious.
She could wake him up.
She could just… turn around.
The thought sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. She bit her lip, her heart hammering against her ribs. This was insane. This was reckless. This was—
Sam shifted again, his hand sliding from her stomach to her hip, his fingers curling around the thin fabric of her panties. Not grabbing. Just… resting there. Like even in sleep, he wanted to hold onto her.
Fuck it.
Zoe turned.
She moved slowly, carefully, rotating in his arms until she was facing him. His eyes were still closed, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even. He looked younger like this. Softer. The sharp angles of his face relaxed into something almost boyish.
She wanted to kiss him.
She wanted to do a lot more than kiss him.
Her gaze drifted down his body—the broad planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. The tent in his boxers was unmistakable, the fabric stretched taut over the length of him.
Her mouth watered.
She'd touched him last night. Stroked him. Watched him come apart beneath her hand. But she hadn't tasted him. She'd wanted to—god, she'd wanted to—but she'd been too nervous, too unsure. Now, in the soft morning light, with the evidence of his desire pressed against her thigh, the nervousness was drowned out by something else.
Curiosity. Hunger. Want.
She slid down his body.
Sam stirred, a sleepy murmur escaping his lips. His hand reached for her, grasping at empty air. "Zoe?"
"Shh," she whispered, her breath warm against his stomach. "Go back to sleep."
His eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused. "What are you—"
She didn't answer with words. She hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down.
His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already slick with pre-cum. It curved toward his stomach, veins prominent along the shaft. She'd seen it last night, touched it last night, but somehow it looked bigger in the morning light. More intimidating. More tempting.
"Zoe," Sam breathed, his voice rough with sleep and something else. Something darker. "You don't have to—"
"I want to."
She leaned forward and licked the tip.
Sam's whole body jerked, a strangled groan tearing from his throat. His hands flew to the sheets, fisting the fabric like he was holding on for dear life. "Fuck," he hissed. "Oh, fuck."
She licked him again, slower this time. A long, wet stripe from base to tip that made him shudder. He tasted like salt and musk and something uniquely him—something she couldn't name but wanted more of. Her tongue swirled around the head, lapping up the pre-cum that beaded at the slit.
"Shit, Zoe," he gasped. "Your mouth. Fuck, your mouth feels so good."
His words sent a thrill through her. She'd never done this before—never wanted to, with anyone else. But with Sam, it felt different. Natural. She wanted to please him. Wanted to watch him fall apart because of her.
She opened her mouth and took him in.
The stretch was immediate, her jaw aching as she worked to accommodate his girth. She only got about halfway before she had to stop, her gag reflex threatening to rebel. But Sam didn't seem to mind. His hips bucked up, a desperate, involuntary movement, and he moaned like she'd just given him the world.
"God, yes," he panted. "Just like that. Fuck, Zoe, you're so good at this."
She pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. "I've never…" She swallowed hard. "I don't know what I'm doing."
He laughed, a breathless, incredulous sound. "You're doing great. Trust me. Fucking incredible."
She smiled—a small, shy thing—and went back down.
This time she was more confident. She used her hand to stroke the base while her mouth worked the top, her tongue pressing flat against the underside where he seemed most sensitive. His reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, a twitch of his hips, a low groan that rumbled through his chest.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
His hand found her hair, fingers tangling in the tangled red mess of it. He didn't push, didn't force. Just held on. Anchored himself. His grip tightened whenever she did something he liked, loosened when she pulled back to catch her breath.
She learned quickly. What made him gasp. What made his thighs tremble. What made him curse and moan and call her name like a prayer.
She took him deeper, ignoring the ache in her jaw, the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She wanted all of him. Wanted to feel him hit the back of her throat. Wanted to be the reason he lost control.
"Zoe," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm close. If you keep doing that, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and slick. "I know."
She straddled his thighs, her wet panties pressing against his bare skin. His cock stood proud between them, red and glistening, twitching with every beat of his heart. She wrapped her hand around him and started to stroke.
"I want to watch," she said, her voice low and rough. "I want to see you come."
His eyes went wide, pupils blown so dark they were almost black. "Fuck, Zoe."
She stroked him faster, her grip firm, twisting slightly at the top the way she'd read about in one of her romance novels. His hips bucked into her hand, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She could feel him pulsing, could see the tension coiling in his body, the way his abs tightened, his toes curled.
"Come on," she whispered. "Come for me, Sam. Let me see it."
He came with a guttural cry, his whole body convulsing. Hot, thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, painting her chest, her stomach, her hand. She kept stroking him through it, watching his face contort with pleasure, the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes squeezed shut.
It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
When he finally went limp, she released him and collapsed onto his chest, not caring about the sticky mess between them. His arms came around her immediately, pulling her close, holding her like she was something precious.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
She laughed, a breathless, giddy sound. "Yeah."
He was quiet for a moment, his hand tracing lazy circles on her back. Then, "Where did you learn to do that?"
She snorted. "The internet. Where else?"
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her cheek. "Remind me to thank the internet."
She smiled against his skin, her eyes fluttering closed. She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear, steady and strong. The morning light was warming the room, chasing away the last traces of night. Outside, she could hear birds singing, the distant sound of someone's music drifting through the thin walls.
"I should probably shower," she murmured.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
Sam's hand slid down her back, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hip. When he reached the waistband of her panties, he paused.
"These are ruined," he said, his voice low and amused.
She felt her cheeks flush. "Whose fault is that?"
"Yours." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're the one who decided to wake me up with a blowjob."
"You weren't complaining."
"I'm not complaining now."
She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. His gaze was soft, warm, filled with something she was too scared to name. She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to stay in this moment forever, tangled up in him, the world outside forgotten.
But reality was creeping in. The sticky mess on her chest. The fact that they both had classes later. The fact that they'd crossed a line neither of them could uncross.
"I need a towel," she said, sitting up.
Sam caught her hand before she could move. "Hey."
She looked back at him.
"I'm going to buy condoms today." His voice was steady, serious. "A whole box. I'm not done with you, Zoe. Not even close."
Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He tugged her back down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "So don't go anywhere."
She laughed, the sound bright and real. "Where would I go? This is my room."
He grinned, that wide, easy grin she'd fallen in love with years ago. "Good point."
She climbed off the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the pile of laundry on her chair—his t-shirt, she realized, from the last time he'd crashed here after a late-night study session. She wiped herself off as best she could, then tossed the shirt at his head.
"Gross," he said, catching it.
"Efficient."
She padded to the tiny bathroom down the hall, leaving him sprawled on her bed like he belonged there. Which, she supposed, he did. He always had.
When she came back, freshly showered and wearing a clean hoodie and sweats, Sam was sitting up, his boxers back on, scrolling through his phone. He looked up when she entered, his eyes tracking her across the room.
"I ordered an Uber," he said. "Gonna go home, shower, hit the gym. But I'll be back tonight."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." He stood, crossing the room in two strides. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her chin up. "We're not done. Not even close."
He kissed her then—soft, sweet, nothing like the frantic desperation of last night. It was a promise. A beginning.
When he pulled back, her lips were tingling, her heart full to bursting.
"I'll text you," he said.
"You better."
He grinned, grabbed his jeans from the floor, and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at her.
"Hey, Zoe?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad we went to that party."
She laughed. "Me too."
He winked, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. Zoe stood in the middle of her messy dorm room, surrounded by Star Wars posters and half-unpacked boxes and the fading scent of sunscreen and chlorine and him.
She smiled.
Then she grabbed her laptop and opened a new tab. If they were going to do this—really do this—she was going to be prepared. She had a box of condoms to buy.
And maybe a few other things too.