Page 77 of In the Net
There’s some kind of … pressure behind me. Wrapped around me. Gentle, but firmly supportive in the best way. It’s like a hug.
It’s too much like a hug.
My sense of that solid pressure behind me becomes more detailed as neurons switch on in my brain. It’s a wide, hard mass, with firm contours and solid planes molded against my back.
It’s Sebastian.
That firm, supportive pressure wrapped around me is his arm. It’s looped around my waist, tucking me close against his broad, warm chest.
The weight of his bicep rests right on my ribcage. His thick, corded forearm is right underneath my breasts.
My backside is flush against his pelvis, and a solid length presses against my ass.
I’m spooning with my fake boyfriend, in his bed, wearing his clothes, while his erection pushes against me.
In a flash, heat spills through me. Need gathers between my legs, tight and throbbing.
But it only lasts a few moments. The intense sensation recedes, like a wave pulling back to the ocean after breaking against the shore.
Mellow relaxation washes through me again. Maybe I am spooning with my fake boyfriend. Maybe I do enjoy it too much. But right now, I feel so good, so at ease, I’m willing to indulge.
I nuzzle my back against him, feeling the comfort of his muscles. I pull in a deep breath through my nose, the air full of his sharp, masculine scent. His body heat curls around me, and I let my muscles melt into it.
Sebastian is still asleep. I can give in to savoring this feeling. He’s not even aware of it, so it’s not something he’ll be able to tease me about. I’ll have to deal with my own conscience, but that’s a problem for later.
I let out a dreamy sigh. “He’d never let me live this down if he knew,” I breathe out in a careless whisper.
“Knew what? How much my girlfriend likes me spooning her?”
Awareness rushes through me, obliterating my relaxed sleepiness. In a flash, I’m out from underneath the covers, leaping away from his grasp and out of his bed, my feet planted on the floor.
Sebastian sits up, spearing his fingers through his sleep-tussled hair. His eyelids are heavy and drowsy, and seeing his eyes looking like that without his glasses gives me a strange pang of intimacy.
“Good morning to you, too,” he mumbles, his voice raspy.
Embarrassment tightens my throat. What was I thinking, letting myself get comfortable against him like that?
I shouldn’t have even let him carry me into his bed last night. But I was so tired and so uncomfortable on the floor that I just didn’t have it in me to resist.
Alarms are whirring in my brain. I’m at risk of things getting way too real with my fake boyfriend.
31
HARPER
In the middle of the week after I shared a bed with Sebastian, he falls into step next to me as I’m walking home from class.
How is he so good at sneaking up on me like that?
“So, I’ve been looking through your Instagram page,” he says.
I lift an eyebrow at him. “That’s concerning.”
He grins that way he always grins when I throw a verbal jab at him these days. “You don’t have any pictures of me.”
Something tugs in my chest. “Insecure, much?” I tease.
“If we’re a happy couple, shouldn’t we have pictures with each other on our social media?”
