Beakers bubbled, glass clinked, and the sterile smell of chemicals lingered in the air. Alex was bent over her workstation, laser-focused on her notes—until she felt eyes on her. Again.
"You know," came Jasper's voice, low and velvet-slick, "if you keep wiggling your ass at me like that, I'm going to start thinking you want something."
She didn't look up. "What I want is for you to shut up."
"Then come shut me up."
Something in the air shifted.
She turned slowly, eyes locking with his. He was lounging in his chair like he owned the room, legs spread, fingers tapping against the edge of the counter. That smirk of his—the one that made her blood boil and her thighs press together—was already there.
Without a word, she crossed the space between them and shoved him back into his chair. The metal legs screeched against the tile. His smirk faltered for half a second, replaced by something darker—hungrier.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Dunphy," he murmured.
"Good." She straddled him in one swift move, her hands gripping his jaw as she crashed her mouth onto his.
The kiss was filthy. Desperate. Her lips moved fast and hard against his, all teeth and tongue and frustration. His hands clamped down on her thighs, then slid up under her lab coat to grab her ass, pulling her closer until she was grinding against the bulge in his pants.
She gasped against his mouth. He groaned, biting her lip.
"Fuck, Alex…"
"Shut up," she hissed. "You talk too much."
He grinned. "You say that, but you're dripping on my cock right now."
She growled and shoved his shirt up, her nails dragging down his chest. He hissed in pleasure. Her hips rocked forward, pressing harder, wetter, hotter. She could feel the heat building between them—every roll of her body over his cock making her breath catch in her throat.
Jasper cupped her face suddenly, eyes wild. "You keep grinding like that, and I'm going to fuck you right here, chemicals be damned."
Her answer was to kiss him again—sloppier this time, with a moan. His hands slipped under her waistband, fingers sliding over slick heat.
"Shit, you're soaked," he breathed. "Is that all for me?"
"Shut up," she groaned, but her voice broke—needy, breathless, already falling apart.
He moved his fingers just right, teasing her folds, circling her clit. Her head fell forward into the crook of his neck, gasping his name. She ground down on him harder, desperate for more—for everything.
He leaned up to whisper in her ear, voice all gravel and heat.
"I'm going to ruin you."
Alex jerked awake with a choked gasp.
Her chest rose and fell in harsh, panicked breaths. The sheets stuck to her skin, soaked with sweat. Between her thighs, she throbbed—achingly wet, the dream so vivid it left a physical mark.
"Fuck," she muttered.
Her hand flew to her face, covering her eyes. Her heart was racing, her body begging for a release that wasn't going to come. Not like this.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
Except… she didn't want to forget.
"Fuck, no," Alex cursed under her breath, a rush of embarrassment washing over her. She scrambled to pull the sheets off her sweaty skin, feeling the undeniable ache between her thighs that told her how real it had felt. Too real.
She leaned back against the headboard and squeezed her eyes shut, dragging a hand down her face, trying to shake off the hazy, erotic images that still haunted her mind. "God, what the hell is wrong with me?" She muttered aloud, trying to force the images away. "I don't even—Why would I dream about him? That asshole?"
Her pulse hammered as the memory of pushing him back into his seat, of grinding down on him, of feeling him hard beneath her, flooded her thoughts again.
Her stomach turned with disgust and arousal in equal parts. This is insane, she thought. She didn't even like him. She hated him, in fact. But the dream... the dream was so real, her body reacting like she'd actually felt him, smelled him, tasted him. And now it was all she could think about. That wicked grin, that cocky attitude, the way his hands had felt on her skin, the filthy things he'd whispered in her ear.
She shoved her face into her hands. "Fuck me."
Her mind was whirling as she squeezed her legs together, desperate to stifle the ache still pulsing between them. She couldn't look at the damn pillow anymore. She couldn't look at the damn sheets either.
Nope. Nope. Not happening.
She stood up, pacing the room, her mind refusing to let her forget the damn dream. If she had to see him today—if she had to be in the same room as him—there was no way she could act like this didn't happen. She couldn't stop thinking about his damn hands on her skin. She couldn't stop thinking about how his lips had tasted, how fucking good he'd felt under her.
"God, I'm such a mess," she muttered, pressing her palm to her forehead. She needed a cold shower. A distraction. She needed anything that wasn't this mental trainwreck of a memory.
She glanced down at her phone, scrolling aimlessly, hoping it would give her some relief, but the thoughts came flooding back like a damn tidal wave. She could still feel the heat of him. His voice. His goddamn smirk.
Shut up, Alex. It's just a dream. Get your shit together.
She groaned again and buried her face in the pillow. She was never going to live this down. The next time she saw him, she'd have that image locked in her head, no matter how much she tried to push it away.
"Fuck," she whispered again, hating how much she couldn't stop thinking about it.
AN
Funny fact . In the first version I had a chapter like than one but I wrote it off, wander why.