Chapter 1: Midnight Bargains Under Silk
The city’s hum was a low, steady drone beyond the window, a sound Aidan had learned to sleep through years ago. In his room, the only light came from a sliver of moon cutting between his mismatched blinds, painting a silver stripe across his chest and the rumpled sheet tangled around his legs. He slept deeply, on his back, one arm flung out to the side. The room carried the quiet, lived-in scent of lavender laundry detergent from Catriona’s side of the apartment, undercut by the ghost of yesterday’s coffee from the mug still on his desk.
The door clicked open.
A shadow, slender and silent, slipped inside. Catriona paused, letting her eyes adjust. The floral pattern of her own pajama pants seemed absurdly loud in here, against his stark black-and-white posters and the simple furniture. She could make out the shape of him in the gloom, the steady rise and fall of his bare chest.
Her breath caught, held.
She’d known, abstractly, that he slept in the nude. A forgotten towel, a morning hallway dash—these things had hinted at it. But the reality of him now, so vulnerable and still, sent a jolt through her that was equal parts shock and a thrilling, guilty warmth.
She moved to the edge of the bed. The old floorboard under the rug creaked, a tiny protest. Aidan didn’t stir. He was a rock when he slept.
“Aidan,” she whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound.
Nothing.
She reached out, her fingers brushing his shoulder. The skin was warm, smooth over the hard muscle of his arm. “Aidan. Wake up.”
He groaned, a low, sleepy rumble. His head turned toward her on the pillow. “Mm? Cat?”
“I had a nightmare,” she said, the lie coming easily, softened by a genuine tremor she willed into her voice. “A really bad one. Can I… can I just sit in here for a bit? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Yeah, ‘course,” he mumbled, his words thick with sleep. He shifted, rolling slightly onto his side facing her, one hand scrubbing over his face. The sheet dipped lower. “S’fine. Whatever you need.”
He was already fading again, his breathing deepening. The invitation, though sleepy, was sincere. It was all the permission she needed, and maybe more than she’d hoped for.
Carefully, she perched on the edge of the mattress. The springs sighed. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drum solo he couldn’t hear. She watched his face for a long moment, the strong line of his jaw relaxed, his lips slightly parted. The crush she’d carried for two years, since the day they’d decided to be roommates, solidified into a single, piercing point of want.
With slow, deliberate movements, she pulled her own top over her head, the cotton whispering in the quiet. The cool air touched her skin, raising goosebumps. She hesitated only a second before hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama pants and sliding them down her legs, kicking them softly onto the floor.
Fair’s fair, she thought, a wild, bold logic taking hold.
She lifted the sheet and slid in beside him. The warmth hit her first, then the scent of him—clean skin, his deodorant, sleep. It was utterly intoxicating. She moved slowly, pressing the length of her body against his back, curling into the shape of him. Her front met the solid plane of his back, her knees fitting behind his. Her skin was suddenly alive, every point of contact a tiny, electric shock.
Aidan stirred again. He was half in a dream, aware of a shift, a new warmth. “Cat?” he murmured, more clearly this time.
“Shhh,” she whispered into the space between his shoulder blades. Her hand came to rest lightly on his hip, her fingers just brushing the dip there. “Just sleeping. You’re fine.”
He was quiet for a beat. Then, a low, sleepy chuckle vibrated through him. “You’re not… wearing anything.”
“Neither are you,” she whispered back, her voice a blend of teasing and something far more serious. “Fair’s fair.”
He let out a long, slow breath. The atmosphere in the room changed, the air thickening, charged with a new awareness. The casual roommate dynamic was gone, shed with their clothes. What was left was raw and unspoken. He didn’t pull away.
Her hand drifted, of its own volition, from his hip. It glided over the taut skin of his abdomen, feeling the muscle clench slightly under her touch. She trailed lower, her touch feather-light, exploring the trail of hair that led down. Her own breathing shallowed, matching the pace of his.
When her fingers finally brushed against him, she felt him jump. He was already thick, hardening rapidly under her tentative touch. A sharp, triumphant thrill shot through her. She’d done this. She’d broken the unspoken rule, and he was letting her.
“Cat,” he breathed, and this time it wasn’t a question. It was a warning, or maybe a plea.
She ignored it, closing her hand around him more firmly. He was long, impressively so, and thick in her grasp. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips. She’d imagined this, wondered, but the reality was better.
She shifted then, moving with a sudden, surprising decisiveness. She pushed at his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, looking up at her with wide, dark eyes in the semi-darkness. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain as she leaned over him, her blue eyes piercing even in the weak light.
Without a word, she bent her head.
Her tongue touched the tip of him first, a soft, testing lap. He gasped, his hips lifting off the mattress. Emboldened, she took him into her mouth, slowly, savoring the feel, the weight, the faint, clean taste of him. She’d always enjoyed this, the power of it, the intimacy, but with him it was different. It was worship.
Her head began to bob, a slow, deep rhythm established by sheer instinct. One of her hands braced on his stomach, feeling the muscles there coil tight, while the other cupped him beneath. Her world narrowed to this: the sound of his ragged breathing, the feel of him sliding between her lips, the faint taste of salt and skin.
Aidan’s hands came up, one tangling in her hair, not guiding, just holding. The other fisted in the sheet beside him. “Jesus, Cat,” he choked out. “Where did you… god…”
She hummed in response, the vibration drawing a ragged groan from him. She lost herself in the act, in the greedy, hungry way she took him deeper, her tongue working along his length. This was no longer about a nightmare. This was about every stolen glance, every shared laugh, every time she’d wondered what if.
His breathing grew frantic, his thighs tensing. The hand in her hair tightened. “Cat, I’m gonna…”
She didn’t stop. She wanted this. She wanted all of it.
His release hit him sharply, a strangled cry torn from his throat as his body arched. She took it, swallowing, keeping her mouth on him until the last shudder passed through him and he collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and breathing hard.
Slowly, she lifted her head. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, her own heart still pounding. She looked down at him, his eyes closed, his chest heaving.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their breathing in the dark room.
Then his eyes opened. They found hers in the shadows. The sleep was completely gone, replaced by a stunned, dazed clarity.
“The nightmare,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare.”
Catriona didn’t smile. She just watched him, her expression unreadable. She leaned down, bracing her hands on either side of his head, her hair falling to cage his face. She kissed him, deeply, letting him taste himself on her tongue.
When she pulled back, her voice was a low, intimate whisper in the silent room.
“It wasn’t a nightmare, Aidan,” she said. “It was a dream. And I got tired of waiting for you to have it too.”