Always Us

at 3:35am

Yeah, idk. Another revived draft. All I gotta say about this one is don't go looking for a plot. It doesn't exist 🙄
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The dream had been too realistic. Every touch, every kiss. Every thrust. Her body had been on the cusp, teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy.

And then she woke up.

In the fog of sleep, she rutted her hips, only to find that Spencer wasn't actually inside her. Instead, he was sleeping peacefully next to her, his mind far, far away, in his own dreams. Instinctively, her head rolled to her right, bleary vision trying to make out the blurred numbers on the alarm clock. 3:35 am.

A frustrated groan fell from her lips. Her thighs were wet, muscles tense in anticipation. Most times, she had no issues getting him to help. On some of her worst nights, even going as far as slipping him inside, and letting him stir from the sensations because he loved waking up inside her, and it always ended heavenly for her.

A chill ran up her spine at the potential chain of events.

But it was 3:35am, and she knew he had an early wake up call. As much as he insisted that she could wake him whenever, she couldn't do it to him. Not tonight.

She'd have to take care of it herself.

Closing her eyes, she willed herself back to the dream. Slipping her hand between the soft skin of her thighs, she moaned quietly when her fingers came in contact with the pool of wetness. She hummed as her fingers ran through her slick, coating them properly before dragging them up to her bud. As she circled, the previously flickering warmth burst to life.

And it needed fuel.

Her other hand slipped past her clit, and she pushed a finger into her soaking folds, feeling an added layer of pleasure as she stimulated herself from inside.

"Fuck," she mumbled as her fingers stroked in and out. The intention had been to get it over with quickly, but now that the pleasure had kicked in, she found herself dragging it out, reveling in the buzz. In rhythm with her hand, her hips rocked slowly, maintaining the sweet tension as she built up to her climax.

"What are you doing?" A gruff voice whispered behind her.

Olivia gasped, but too deep in heat, she maintained her rhythm. Gratitude quickly replaced the shock. "I didn't want to wake you," she moaned, "but now I need you to fuck me."

"No."

Her hand froze, and she threw her head in his direction.

"Keep fucking yourself." Still laced with sleep, his tone was clear. "Sit up."

Her breathing stilled, but she didn't hesitate to follow his command. At three in morning, his usual gentleness was no where to be found, and for that, she was grateful.

Sitting up against the headboard, she let her legs fall to the side as her fingers slid back down to the throbbing ache. The pads of her fingers started rubbing, and her eyes fluttered shut as the warmth pulsed back to life.

"Keep your eyes open."

Obliging, her gaze met his, but she was unable to hold it for long.

More interested in other views, his eyes trained themselves on the motion between her legs, his focus steady on her hand as it moved in and out, alternating between slow strokes and rough thrusts. Every dip and squelch caused his breathing to deepen, pulling him fully from the depths of sleep.

Her juices dripped down her fingers, and what she thought had been enjoyable, now felt ten times more intense with his eyes on her. "Fuck," she muttered.