Page 35 of Once Upon a Dream
“She’s poly,” Camille said with the smugness of someone with good gossip. “She likes threesomes, foursomes, that kind of thing. Guys and girls, wild stuff. Way too wild for you, Miss Snowdrop Lewis.”
I’d looked away then, a bit embarrassed at how obvious my attraction to this Scarlett Rosenthal was. It was no secret to my friends that I identified as bisexual…but it was also no secret that I’ve only ever had one boyfriend and had spent the last year living like a nun.
I couldn’t have found a worse girl to start falling for than the rowdy and shamelessly carnal Scarlett. But fall for her I did, doomed from the moment I saw her, even more doomed from the moment we were assigned the same freshman art history course to TA in. But I was so agonizingly shy. All I wanted was to tell her I needed to know what her neck tasted like, but all that ever came out was stammering small talk.
Somehow, she still wanted to spend time with me, talk to me, and over the course of the semester, she managed to become both my closest friend and the sole thing dancing behind my eyelids when I touched my pussy alone in bed at night.
When she invited me up here for part of the winter break, she’d added, “It’ll just be the two of us, Snowdrop.” And then she’d put her fingertips against the place where my heartbeat thudded against my chest, right above the teardrop curve that swelled and sang for her touch.
I knew what she meant, I knew what agreeing to come would mean for the both of us, and I assented eagerly. Austin was crowded—between roommates and classes and other grad students and the inevitable amount of drinking and concert-going that came with being a grad student in art—there was never a moment between the two of us that could really turn sexy. And short of her showing up on my doorstep in the rain, being holed up in a snowy cabin in the middle of nowhere felt like the next best thing, even if I would be the only black person for untold miles around and I would have to make Scarlett walk with me inside every rural gas station whenever we stopped along the way.
But after I agreed to come, I added in a brave rush, “It doesn’t always have to be only the two of us, you know. I want—I mean, I’ve never—I’d like to try—” I broke off, totally tangled up in my own inexperience and awkwardness.
She gave me her signature Scarlett smile, the one with her tongue curled temptingly against the edge of her top teeth, and said, “You’d like to have more than two in a bed, you mean?”
I nodded eagerly.
“That’s like four-hundred-level sex,” she said after a minute of thinking and running her tongue along her teeth. “Let’s get you past your 101s first. Walk before you can run and all that.”
But here we are now, with a beautiful male sprawled out on the floor in front of us, and I’m ready to run. Maybe Scarlett and I didn’t get much past kissing, but it’s hard not to feel ready for four-hundred-level sex anyway.
Slow down, Snow, I chide myself. The man isn’t even awake. There’s no wedding band on his hand, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t already got someone or just plain wouldn’t be interested. And even if he is interested, it doesn’t mean that his body is ready for fun after near human-popsicle levels of cold.
So instead, I focus on his hair. I finish brushing it, and then I start stroking his scalp, enjoying the feeling of his silky, soft hair moving through my fingers. I think I could pet him this way for hours, but maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it’s better to let him rest.
Except then I stop petting him and he growls.
Growls. Like a bear.
Surprised, I start petting him again and the growl settles back down into his chest. His eyes remain closed the entire time and his breathing doesn’t change.
Scarlett giggles again. “Did he just growl at you?”
“I guess so,” I laugh, testing it again by lifting my hand from his hair.
Another growl. Deeper this time.
“Shh,” I soothe, running my fingers along his scalp again. “Shh. I won’t stop, don’t fret.”
The growl slowly tapers off and he seems at peace again, except Scarlett starts giggling uncontrollably.
“Snow,” she whispers. “Look.”
I look at where she tilts her head and can’t stop my own little gasp and giggle.
He’s hard. In fact, he’s so hard that his erection is tenting the blanket.
Scarlett sighs. “I’d pay lots of real American dollars to see that thing.” She pats his shoulder in a resigned, I’m too ethical to take advantage motion. “Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll want to thank us in orgasms.”
He stirs with another growl, his eyes behind his eyelids moving restlessly, and he manages to mostly kick off his blanket. Scarlett reaches for it to pull it back up, but not before we both see that the plum-like tip of his cock is rising a good few inches above the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Shit, he’s big,” Scarlett breathes. “Look at that thing!”
I am looking, and she’s not wrong. It’s long and thick as hell, with two tantalizingly plump veins snaking down the underside. At the tip of the wide crown, pre-cum beads up like dew.
We yank the blanket back up to his chin, bu
t I’m already breathing hard. So is Scarlett, her pupils wide and her lips parted.
