Ugly Sweater Weather

"Mmhmm," I agreed, eyes drifting closed as his arm pulled me closer.

"We'll be back in a couple minutes. You're gonna crash with me." It wasn't a question. Usually, Crosby wasn't that demanding. He always asked, made suggestions. He never told me what I was going to do. He knew I didn't like that, had seen endless men talk to my mother that exact way, and she just dutifully followed their demands.

But, somehow, I didn't mind. Just this once.

"Okay," I agreed, voice slow and sleepy.

I was half awake for walking out of the subway, for getting ushered into a cab, then riding up the elevator to Crosby's apartment.

I stripped out of my outerwear at the door, not even sure I bothered to hang any of it up, making my way down the hall toward the guest room since the dogs were passed out on the couch.

"What's the matter?" Crosby asked when a whining sound escaped me when I stood in the doorway to a room I'd crashed in a few times in the past.

"Clarence," I grumbled, waving toward the bedroom as I backed out of it, closing the door.

"It's late," Crosby reminded me, sounding more sober than I felt. "I guess he decided to crash."

"I want to crash." I was a whiny, miserable thing when I was overly tired. I would regret that sound in my voice after I got some proper sleep, but at the moment, it felt warranted.

"I know. Come on," he said, putting a hand to the small of my back, leading me across the hall, into his room. "Got a bed here," he reminded me, pushing me toward the side of the bed. "Kick out of your shoes and climb in before you fall over," he added, voice light, teasing, as he moved across the room, kicking out of his own shoes as I did what he demanded.

"Ugh, I can't breathe in this," I grumbled, reaching down to rip the sweater off, tossing it to the ground.

I was too tired to truly analyze the look Crosby gave me right then, as I stood there in my leggings and my tank top as I reached up under my shirt in the back to work the clasps of my bra free, feeling like the underwire was cutting off my air supply.

I was too drunk and too exhausted to understand that pulling off my bra in front of him was not exactly like doing so in front of my girlfriends. Was I naked? No. But my tank top wasn't exactly hiding anything either.

"Get in the bed, Dea," Crosby demanded, voice tight as he stood there, frozen in place as I lifted the comforter and climbed under.

Only then did he move. I could hear the shower running as I drifted off to sleep.

But I was dead asleep when he climbed into the bed as well, situated as far to the other side as possible.I woke up many hours later to the bright morning light on my face.

I was warm, I realized, and not just because of the light on my face, or the blankets up over my body. Oh, no.

There was a body under mine.

My mildly hungover brain only took all of five seconds to realize who that body belonged to.

Crosby.

I'd never felt it like this, so up close and personal, with so little between us. Because Crosby had gone to bed without a shirt on, with only thin pajama pants on. And my tank top and leggings weren't exactly much of a barrier either.

I'd always known he was fit, had even seen him without his shirt, but it was a different thing entirely to feel all those hard lines of muscles beneath my much softer body.

It felt good.

He felt good.

The kind of good that had my belly tightening, that had my pulse quickening.

I became aware of so many things all at once.

The rising and falling of his chest beneath me, too slow and steady to be awake. The beating of his heart against my ear. The way his breath was warm on the top of my head. His heavy arm around me.

Desire spread slowly through my body, warming me even more, making me acutely aware of the ache between my thighs. My nipples hardened, and I had this unexpected desire to shift slightly, to feel my breasts press to his hard chest.

Every alarm bell went off in my head, telling me to pull it together, to slide back off his body, to get out of his bed.

But I didn't seem to hear them as I shifted slightly, just enough to slide completely over his body, legs on either side of his hips, my face burrowing into his neck.

I didn't move then, just lay there, let myself feel all the things, all the lines of his body.

Hunger gripped my system as I felt him start to respond to me, even in sleep, feeling his hardness grow against the most intimate part of me. I could feel my own desire respond to him, create this clawing desire to grind down against him, feel his need rub against my own, provide a small bit of relief.