Scott—So I had a sex dream

Earlier that day… 

"I think you're being a little bitch," said Willow, sipping on her smoothie. 

"You've said that already. Thanks for siding with your brother by the way," I said, nudging her gently. 

Not two hours after walking away from Stacy, I picked Willow up at the airport. She was here for the weekend, checking out NYU to see if she might want to go here next year and I was showing her around. 

Seeing Stacy upset had caused me physical pain, a tightening in my chest, but I needed to get away from her. It felt like there was nothing else to say. She was going to do what she was going to do. That was probably the anger talking, but I didn't want to hurt her by saying something I couldn’t take back. So I left. Now the whole thing was haunting me. 

"You didn't let me finish. You're being a little bitch and I think it's great. Fantastic in fact," Willow continued, as we walked the same paths I used to walk with Stacy. 

"I went on live television and declared how well I know her. Well joke's on me, because she hid everything that's important about herself from me. If that wasn't enough, she's engaged and I kissed her. On live television. I'm a dumbass," I said, going on the same rant for the umpteenth time. "She's so—" 

"Hot? Good kisser? Out of your league?" 

"Infuriating," I said, shaking my head. "And yes, that other stuff too."

"And that right there is why this is fantastic. Beautiful," Willow spread her arms into the air and spun herself around. "Mr. I don't feel anything for anyone sure sounds like he's caught feelings."

I wanted to deny it, but I hadn't been able to get Stacy off my mind all day long. The idea that I was never going to see her again drove me crazy. For goodness sake, I was talking to my baby sister about it. 

"You know what, end of discussion. Let's show you the library, where you'll be spending all your time," I said, ushering a protesting Willow away. 

Willow and I hung out for the rest of the afternoon. After the college tour, I took her sightseeing. 

When we got home, the emotional turmoil of the day had caught up with me. 

"Going to take a nap. Leave this apartment and I'll kill you. That is if mom doesn't kill me first for letting you out of my sight," I said, yawning as I headed to my room. 

"You know, one way to make sure I stay out of trouble is to take me over to Stacy's. We've narrowed my prom dress down to two options. How great would it be—" 

"I'm not falling for that," I said in response. "Stacy's leaving for Chicago tonight. Nothing I can do about it."

"You're still being a little bitch," Willow called after me. "Obviously the thing to do is show up at the airport at the eleventh hour."

"Too many chick flicks, Willow," I called back. 

And despite the words, I spent the next half an hour staring at the ceiling, willing myself not to call Stacy. Maybe this was for the best. Did I really want to get involved with the mafia? Was Stacy worth pissing off the mob for? 

"Of course she's worth it. Fucking dumbass," I said to myself, tossing and turning. 

I gradually drifted off to sleep, thinking of her lips lingering on mine. 

"Ready whenever you are Scottie," said Stacy's giddy voice. 

She was holding onto the hem of a knee length white dress, spinning herself around and coyly looking back at me over her shoulder. Her flirtatious smile was dazzling. We were in a studio and there was a spotlight on her. 

"Are you going to take the photo or what?" she asked. 

I looked down. In my hands was a camera. 

"Sorry. Sure," I said, swallowing. 

My throat was dry as I advanced on her, taking one step forward with every picture until I was right in front of her. 

Without a word, she smashed her lips against mine, laying claim to my mouth with her own like I was hers to do with as she pleased. Her arms wrapped around my neck as she pulled me closer, deepening the kiss with gusto. I obliged her, eagerly returning her attention. I grabbed ahold of her ass to pick her up as our tongues battled it out, her legs wrapping around me. 

My pulse skyrocketed, euphoria shooting through my nerves until I was buzzing with joy. She pulled back reluctantly, dragging a finger down the side of my face. 

"Was it the photo shoot of your dreams?" she asked, warm, affectionate eyes staring straight into mine, both of us slightly breathless. "Are you happy, Scottie?"

Before I could answer her, the scene changed. I found myself in bed with her, sharing a slow, passionate kiss, both of us naked as the day we were born. 

As my lips found hers again and again, I gently pushed her onto her back. When we broke the kiss, her eyes were back on me. She looked so content, so at peace in my arms as she played with my curly hair. Suddenly the answer to her question was glaringly obvious to me. 

"I'm always happy when you're in the room. Even when I really, really don't want to be. You've always been the dream, Stace," I said, getting in between her legs, a hand gliding up her thigh.

All this time, chasing the elusive happiness, how did I not know that she was right there? Always right next to me. 

"Good, because you're stuck with me," she said, reaching down between us to position me at her entrance. "Now fuck me."

Taken aback by the sudden edge in her voice, I plunged straight into her. Unfazed, she raised her hips to meet my thrust and let out a long, loud, pleasurable moan. Not taking her eyes off me for a second, she demanded once more, this time through gritted teeth, "I said fuck me, Scott."

Her legs wrapped around me and we started moving together. Once we'd established a rhythm, she pulled me down to her, kissed me and said, "Faster. Deeper."

"Demanding little freak," I said, but whatever she wanted she would get. 

I increased the pace, made sure to bury myself deep inside her every time, and lavished her breasts with attention. 

"Yes yes yes. Fuck me, fuck me," she screamed. 

She wasn't satisfied until she was screaming her head off and I was pistoning in and out of her so fast and deep sweat was dripping into my eyes. Delirious with trying to keep up with her, I barely recognized her. She was slick with sweat, had unkempt sex hair and overlapping orgasms rocked her body, the second hitting her just as the first was ending. She insisted I didn't stop even then. She was an absolutely stunning mess. 

"More," she insisted. "Fuck me more Scott, please," she begged feably.

"So impatient. Such a spoiled brat," I said, breathing heavily. 

I had given in to her every whim and it was going to cost me. I was going to blow any moment now, but it was just as well. She was well fucked and thoroughly exhausted. 

"One more time for me, baby," I heard myself say. "Come for me."

Only when I felt her pussy tighten around my dick one final time did my own release come. 

The orgasm was so powerful, it had me sitting up in bed faster than the dream could fall away from my consciousness. I whipped the soiled sheets off of me to confirm what had just happened. 

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" 

That photo shoot was a real memory from my college days. She'd graciously agreed to be my model for a project and here my brain was, using this against me years later. 

One little kiss and she had me dreaming about fucking her like a whore. What a kiss it was though. 

"How does she know how to use her tongue like that anyway? Nope, I don't actually want to know that," I chastised myself. 

I wish I could say that was the end of it. Once I had stripped the bed of the soiled sheets, I went to get new ones to replace them when I walked by one of the photos from the very photo shoot in question. 

"No," I scolded myself, forcing my eyes to travel onto other photos of us stuck to the mirror. "Well that's not helping. Don't objectify her. She's your best friend. She's getting married. You're better than this."

Turned out, I really wasn't. I snatched the photo off the mirror and jacked off to it and the dream I'd just had. Every night she'd spent in my arms without me making a move. Frustration and all these foreign emotions I couldn't place combined to torment me as I came. The worst part? That was the best orgasm I had had in years. 

If you're ever lucky enough to be so emotionally scarred by your parents' divorce that you feel nothing for the people you date, note to self: do not befriend Stacy Kendrick. 

"Shit. I'm so fucked."

After putting fresh sheets on the bed and taking a shower, I hauled myself up in my dark room. 

"Never going to see her again. It's fine. It'll be fine. I'm a creep. It's Stacy, dammit," I grumbled to myself as I developed the pictures of Amanda's brother's wedding. 

"As expected, absolute crap. At least that's still true," I said, finding a strange comfort in criticizing myself. 

Sometime later, I heard a knock on the door. 

"You have a visitor," said Willow through the door. 

"Can't be bothered," I called back. "Tell them to come back tomorrow."

"No can do. It's Stacy," Willow said, opening the door.

Mercifully, staring at bad photos taken by me was enough to keep me from getting hard again.

"Of course it is," I said, my pulse picking up speed.