If I’m dreaming, I never want to wake up. Zoë and me…it’s happening. It’s finally fucking happening. God, I never want to stop kissing this woman.
And she’s kissing me back. That sounds odd, I know. But fuck, she never kissed me back. She never showed interest in even wanting to kiss me.
And it’s her favorite fucking thing to do now? Am I alive? Did I die and this is some cruel joke some higher power is playing on me?
Shit, wishes really do come true. All because of that damn fairy dust Zoë sprinkled on me.
I chuckle thinking about that.
It wasn’t the fairy dust, dumbass. That shit doesn’t exist.
I glance up at the back of Zoë’s head to make sure she didn’t hear that somehow. If something is written in a book, it’s real to Zoë. No one can tell her otherwise. She’s supposedly “married” to hundreds of fictional men already. Because I know they are in fact fictional, I let it slide.
Walking behind Zoë as we head into her townhouse shared with Echo, I think about the little things that make her stand out to me. Zoë scrunches up her nose before she laughs. She looks down and shakes her head before she looks up and tells you that you’re wrong. Her eyes always shine, especially when it rains. When she’s turned on, she bites her lip and self-consciously rubs her collarbone twice before reaching out and touching you. I recently discovered that. And I also know that the second my fingertips graze her skin, she looks away. It makes me feel like I’ve hurt her in some way. Like I disgust her.
When the person you can’t get out of your head can’t even look at you when you’re touching, it hurts like a motherfucker.
Maybe that’s why she pushed me toward other women throughout the years. I’ve never looked at anyone because they’re not Zoë. She sets the bar high for me. No one compares. And yet, I still went out with my ex. That whole thing turned disastrous when she constantly told me to detach myself from Zoë because it came off creepy. She was the only person I ever had sex with. She was nice but never again will I put myself through that.
I know who I want. She’s standing right in front of me.
“Owen’s joining us,” Zoë announces when we enter the kitchen. “Is that okay?”
Echo is bent over, pulling something out of the oven. She rights herself and throws a curious look our way as she sets the food down on the counter. “I swear if you say my food tastes like shit I’m going to stab you.” That’s directed toward me. I’m always fucking with her, but the last time she did cook I tried a bit and had to excuse myself while I vomited what little I ate. It’s not her fault, it was the oven’s, she said.
“I’ll behave,” I answer.
“Good, now go change because you both look awful.” She winks at Zoë and shoos her upstairs. When I pass by her, asking if she needs help, she grabs my arm and looks up at me with a faint smile after making sure that Zoë is not around. “If you rush her or force her into anything, I will make your death look like an accident,” she says slowly.
My brows furrow. I don’t know if I should be insulted that she would even think such a thing. “Echo, I could never hurt her. I thought you knew that.”
She nods curtly. “I do. It’s just…she’s my friend. So are you. But she comes first.” Echo lets go of my arm and forces a smile. “I really do love that you two are doing whatever you’re doing.”
I do too.
I nod and move past her, heading upstairs so I can grab my extra clothes that stay buried in Zoë’s dresser. She mostly steals my hoodies but she has gotten her hands on t-shirts and sweatpants. Just the thought of her sleeping in my clothes turns me into an insomniac. Either I have to jerk off or call her in the middle of night in order to sleep. It doesn’t help when she says she’s sleeping in my shirt.
Walking up the last stair, I start to turn left but have to stop short when I see a half-naked Zoë through the small opening of her bedroom door, changing into pajama shorts.
Echo’s room is on the other end of the hallway, and the small bathroom is right in front of me. I don’t know why my legs don’t move. I don’t have to stand here and watch Zoë slip a toned leg into the tiny shorts and then gather her hair and twist it into a little bun, but I do. When she drops her arms and grabs her shirt, her head tilts my way and she stops moving.
We make eye contact for one, two, three seconds and I smile taking one step toward her room. We’ve never been in the same room while changing. Maybe today I can change that?
We’re doing a lot of things differently; I guess that is expected when we’re making out on my bed all night instead of just sleeping.
I’m still not over the fact that I kissed Zoë. And that she kissed me back.
Zoë cracks a tiny smile and walks toward the door, her eyes downcast, and then she pushes the door closed.
Um…
I drop my head and walk into the bathroom, hoping I can take a quick piss and not look like I was just rejected.
Is it the scars? I know some people don’t like other people seeing nor touching them. I don’t give a shit about the scars. Zoë is Zoë. She’s fucking beautiful with or without them.
After zipping up my jeans I wash my hands and head out into the small hallway. Zoë walks out of her room and heads for the stairs. “I left some clothes on my bed for you.”
“Thanks.”
She walks down two stairs before she stops and turns. “Owen.” I take a step forward. “Don’t creep up on me like that. You could have come inside or I don’t know, made a noise. I just…I don’t feel comfortable being watched without knowing someone’s there.”
I’ve never known that. It’s not like I sneak up on her often. “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll knock before I walk in and see if you need any help taking off your clothes.”
Her lips curl up and then I watch one plump lip being pulled into her mouth as she bites down on it. She debates on whether or not to go downstairs. It makes me chuckle and step forward again. “Do you need something?” I ask, watching her eyes shift to me then the stairs then back again.
She drops her head and brings her hand up, rubbing her collarbone once, twice. I fucking love that I know this about her. It kind of lets me know what she’s thinking.
“I think I need a refresher on what kissing in the rain was like,” she admits softly. “But you need to get out of your wet clothes.”
I break out into a wide smile. “Well, well, well, Zoë, are you trying to get me naked?”
“Something like that.” She walks up the stairs and reaches for my hand as she walks by, pulling me with her. Stepping into her room, she shuts the door and looks up at me with shiny emerald green eyes. “Your kiss is like an antidote.”
I cup the side of her face and bring my mouth closer to hers. “Antidote to what?”
“Everything.” Zoë pushes forward on her tiptoes until our lips touch.
I feel her fingers slip underneath my wet t-shirt, her nails softly scratching up and down my stomach before leaving my body completely to roll up my shirt. I help get it off and then my mouth is back on hers, taking as much as she’s willing to give.
When her fingers brush against my skin and she works her fingers around the button of my jeans and lowers the zipper, I groan and pull her closer.
A little squeaky noise escapes her mouth as she jerks back, giggling. “You’re freaking cold!”
“Warm me up then,” I say, winking as I drop my jeans and step out of them. I pull her back against me, loving how her warmth seeps into my skin.
Next thing I know, I’m being pushed back hard, falling onto the bed followed by a few bounces.
Zoë climbs onto my lap and Jesus Christ she’s rubbing her pussy over my dick painfully slow, and I hate that we’re both covered up, her in shorts and me still in boxers. “Five minutes then we have to go downstairs and see if Echo needs help.”
How did this happen? Am I dreaming? Are we really this undressed? Is she really on top of me? What happened to the Zoë who would take a step back if I touched her? What changed?
Whatever it was, I fucking love it.
Her mouth comes back to mine as she wiggles against me even more and all I want to do is make her feel good. Last time my fingers got too close, Zoë shut me out. I’m not looking for a repeat.
I slide my hands past her hips and grab her ass, pushing her down on me just hard enough to make us both groan as the dry humping continues. God, I haven’t dry humped in years. I don’t remember it being this good.
At some point I hear Zoë whisper, “it’s just us” and then she’s moaning into my ear as she squeezes her legs around me, grinding her hips slower and slower while her body trembles on top of mine.
When she looks up, her eyes don’t go past my lips. “You always make me feel like I’m flying,” she murmurs, her voice breathy and soft.
And that does it for me.
I make her fly while she makes me feel like I’m free falling. At some point we were meant to collide.