Chapter 4: Morning Secret
The grey dawn hardened into a sterile morning light. Marcus was the first to move, groaning as he unfolded from the armchair, his back cracking audibly. He blinked, scrubbed a hand over his shaved head, and squinted at them.
“Christ. I feel like roadkill,” he announced to the room, his voice gravelly. He stumbled toward the ensuite bathroom without another glance. A moment later, the shower hissed to life, a steady white noise that filled the small space.
Tasha stirred on the other bed, stretching with a sigh. She sat up, her sharp eyes scanning the room, immediately taking inventory. She saw Demi in her own bed, facing the wall. She saw Josh on his back on the other, one arm thrown over his eyes. The charged silence between them was a physical thing.
“Well,” Tasha said, her tone dry. “That was a night.” She stood, arching her back, and wandered to the dresser mirror. She pulled a hairbrush from her bag and began working it through her dark hair, her gaze occasionally flicking to Demi’s still form in the reflection.
Demi listened to the shower, to the rhythmic scrape of Tasha’s brush. Josh hadn’t moved. His words—“This is a problem, Demi”—hung in the air, cold and definitive. But the ache between her legs, the phantom fullness, was a hotter, more compelling truth. The memory of him bending her over the sink, the ownership in his hands, flashed behind her eyes. A reckless, defiant heat coiled in her stomach.
Fuck your problem, she thought.
In one fluid motion, she threw back her duvet, crossed the two feet of carpet, and lifted the edge of his. He lowered his arm, his brown eyes wary, exhausted. She slid in beside him, the heat of their bodies meeting under the heavy blanket. The bedsprings creaked softly.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, his voice tense.
She didn’t answer with words. She pressed her body along the length of his, her tank top riding up, her soft stomach against his hip. Her hand slid down between them, over the rough fabric of his boxers. He was already half-hard, responding instinctively to her proximity. A low, frustrated sound escaped him.
“Demi, no. They’re right there.”
“The shower’s loud,” she murmured, her lips against his ear. Her fingers dipped beneath his waistband, wrapping around his hardening length. He jerked under her touch. “And Tasha’s not looking.”
She was right. Tasha was at the far mirror, humming along to a pop song only she could hear, fully engrossed in applying mascara.
Under the shield of the duvet, a world existed. Demi hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and his boxers, pushing them down just enough. She guided him, the thick head of his cock nudging against her dampness. She was already slick, her body betraying her bravado, ready for him. Holding his gaze, she slowly sank down onto him.
It was a deep, slow invasion. Her inner muscles stretched, welcoming the familiar ache. She took him inch by perfect inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her, their hips pressed together under the rough blanket. A sharp, quiet gasp caught in her throat. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, whether to stop her or urge her on, he didn’t seem to know.
She began to move.
SHE FUCKS HIM QUIETLY UNDER THE DUVET. It was a subtle, maddening rhythm. Just the slow, relentless roll of her hips, grinding down onto him, taking him deeper with each tiny undulation. The friction was exquisite, a hot, wet glide that made stars burst behind her eyelids. She kept her breaths shallow, her face buried in the hollow of his neck to smother any sound. His own breathing was harsh and ragged in her ear.
“You’re insane,” he choked out, but his hands were gripping her ass now, pulling her down harder onto his thrusts. He couldn’t stay passive. He met her rhythm, his hips lifting off the mattress in tiny, urgent jerks, driving up into her snug, soaking heat. The slick, filthy sound of their joining was muffled by the layers of fabric and the steady drone of the shower.
Her quiet control was a lie. Her cunt was clenching around him, a greedy, pulsing tightness. Each silent stroke hit a spot that made her thighs tremble. She rode him with a desperate focus, the need to come warring with the need for silence. His thumb found its way between their pressed bodies, sliding through her slick folds to rub hard, tight circles over her clit.
The dual sensation broke her. A silent, seismic orgasm ripped through her core. Her back arched, her mouth opened in a soundless cry against his skin, her inner walls clamping around his cock in frantic, fluttering waves. The intensity of it, the sheer forbidden thrill of coming while Tasha hummed and Marcus showered, tore a suppressed groan from Josh’s chest.
Feeling her convulse around him shattered his last shred of control. He slammed his hips up once, twice, burying himself to the root, and spilled into her with a violent, shuddering release. His cum flooded her, hot and claiming, as he pressed his face into her hair to stifle the sound.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of the shower and their ragged, synchronized breathing under the duvet. Their bodies were slick with sweat, glued together. He was still inside her, softening.
Tasha’s humming stopped. “You two planning to sleep all day?” she called out, not turning from the mirror.
Demi slowly, carefully, lifted herself off him, feeling the immediate, tender emptiness and the warm trickle down her thigh. She slid back to her own bed, pulling her duvet over herself just as the bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam.
Marcus emerged, towel around his waist, scrubbing his head with another. “Hot water’s all gone, you savages,” he said cheerfully, oblivious to the charged, secret air in the room.
Josh lay still, an arm over his eyes again. The only sign was the rapid rise and fall of his chest under the duvet.
Demi turned to face the window, the weak sun now bright against the glass. Her body hummed with satisfaction, but the chill was returning, faster this time. They hadn’t solved a thing. They’d just made the problem, and the addiction to it, infinitely worse.