I sigh deeply and open my eyes, blinking into the hazy light of a December morning. I shiver, feeling cold just looking at the world outside. I wrap my arms more tightly around Monica, curling my body into hers, her back pressed tightly against my front. I press a kiss to the back of her neck and settle my head onto the pillow.
My life is so incredibly surreal. Sometimes, when I think too much about, I feel like it has to be a dream, or that I'm watching a movie of someone else's life, or I have a twin whose life is suddenly this amazing.
Monica is my girlfriend. "Girlfriend" sometimes sounds a little too trite for what we have, but if I say that Monica is my everything, I think that might be a bit much.
Even if it's the truth.
I don't think I could go back to a world where we're just friends. Hell, I don't know how I survived in a world like that before. Being with her feels so right.
She fits against me perfectly when we sleep, all of her curves molding against me. It's amazing how little effort it took for this to be comfortable—usually, trying to sleep next to someone new requires a period of adjustment as you try to figure out who has to sleep on their side, or who kicks, or who snores. But with Monica, it just works. With Monica, I don't feel the need to have my own space when I sleep anymore. In fact, I find it much harder to sleep alone these days.
She's good for me. I mean, she's always been good for me, but now it's even better. The connection we've had for years is deeper, more powerful…enough to knock the wind out of me sometimes.
Something happened with us last night—I can't quite put my finger on it, and I'd hate to bring it up in case I'm reading it wrong, but it feels sort of like she gave herself to me.
That seems a little weird, but that's what it felt like. That outfit she wore—holy God, that amazing teddy with all the ribbons…she looked like she'd been gift wrapped just for me. And she was so nervous about it; it took me a while to get what was going on because, let's face it, when Monica's near me in very little clothing, I'm not really able to concentrate on much else. My subconscious had to piece that one together for me.
Imagine my shock when I discovered that it didn't freak me out in the way it usually would. Sure—I live in a constant state of fear that she's going to wake up one morning, shocked to see me next to her in bed, and kick me out while she runs as fast as she can in the other direction.
I hope like hell that's never the case, but it's definitely a fear of mine.
But she seems happy. She seems really happy. The way she looks at me now…sometimes I don't know what to do with myself. I'm surprised that no one else has caught on to us yet, actually, because I feel like we can't possibly be hiding how we feel about each other that well. If nothing else, the fact that neither of us have dated anyone in months should be cause for suspicion.
This woman, though…this woman is incredible. I've never known another woman so ready for sex at almost any given moment, who is constantly buying fancy underthings just for me to see, who is willing to try kinky stuff, or use food products, or have sex in public. And that's just part of it. When we sit together—on the couch, at the coffeehouse, wherever—she leans into me a little just so we can be closer. She'll walk past me and just run a finger across my shoulders just to touch me. She puts up with my stupid jokes and awkward moments, and she actually seems to think I'm funny. She put a turkey on her head to cheer me up.
But, best of all…she smiles when she sees me. Her eyes light up and her face breaks out into a grin—sometimes big, sometimes not, depending on who's around us. It's not just that she's happy, but that I seem to make her happy. Despite the fact that I'm horrible at relationships and sometimes I think I truly have no business ever attempting one, we seem to be making it work, and she's just happy.
Personally, I've never been this happy in my life. My heart races every time I look at her—I would have thought that would go away or fade, but not yet. I hope it never stops.
She mumbles something suddenly and clears her throat; I wait to see if she's waking up or just dreaming. A few moments later, she mumbles again and turns around in my arms, burying her face in my chest. Her arms slide around my waist and I feel her lips against the hollow of my throat, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. Waking up with her is one of the best parts of my day.
"Good morning," I say softly, stroking her back gently.
"Yes, it is," she answers, and I can feel her lips curving into a smile. "It was a good night, too."
I press a kiss to the top of her head; it really was a good night. "Which time?"
She chuckles against me, her whole body shaking. "Hmmm. Good question. How many times did you wake me up?"
"Just twice. As I recall, you woke me up once."
"I would never. A girl's gotta get her beauty rest."
I can't help the scoff that escapes me. "Yeah; beauty rest is totally something you need."
She finally tilts her head back, smiling at me, her eyes bright. "Thank you. You know, we should both be pretty exhausted right now; we didn't really get a lot of sleep and it's still pretty early."
"We can sleep when we're dead," I tell her, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. She moans softly, her body molding against mine more firmly, her leg sliding gently against mine. I feel my body respond to hers, part of me amazed that I can go again. "You want to?" I ask between kisses.
She nods, smiling, her leg draping over my hip, and I let out a shuddery sigh.
"Do we have time?" I whisper.
"It's only seven," she answers, her lips leaving mine to slide down my neck, her fingers kneading circles in my back. "It's the day after Christmas, and it's a Saturday. Rachel won't be up for a while, and Ross is supposed to go over to Carol and Susan's to spend some time with Ben. I think we'll be okay for a little while."
It doesn't take much to convince me. I roll onto my back, pulling her with me. She brings her lips back to mine, and we kiss slowly, leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world. She pushes her hips gently against mine and I shudder, my fingers digging into her back. This shouldn't happen—I shouldn't be able to get this turned on by this woman this often. But all I want is to be with her, to make her happy.
She shifts her hips again, sliding a hand in between us, capturing my erection. A moment later, she sinks down on top of me, both of us making soft noises at the contact. We both know we have to be quiet right now—Rachel can be like a dog with a bone once she gets an idea in her head, and the last thing we need is her sniffing around because she hears something.
Monica lifts her head and looks at me; I push her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as her hips start to move against me and my breath catches in my throat. I can't get enough of looking into her eyes while we do this; it's unbelievably intense and so erotic.
"Chandler," she whispers, and I thrust up against her quickly a few times; her breath comes out in short gasps and she bites her lip, trying to keep quiet. She braces her hands next to my head, lifting herself off me just a bit, her hips rotating against me slowly, tiny moans escaping her lips despite her best efforts. I lift my head a bit, kissing her chest, sucking gently at her soft skin; I can feel her heart thumping beneath my lips.
She drops back down to me, our lips seeking each other out; I slide my hands down to her ass and she shudders, her fingers digging into me again for a second, her hips losing control for a few moments before she slows down again, moving against me gently.
"Are you trying to kill me?" I whisper, and her eyes pop open, looking down into mine. She looks so serious. She licks her lips as a couple of high-pitched noises escape her lips. I run my hands up her back again, caressing her sides, feeling her body twitch in response.
She sits up suddenly, pulling at my arms, her hips still undulating against mine. I sit up with her, wrapping my arms around her; her ankles cross at the small of my back. "The bed'll make less noise this way," she says softly.
I take her face in my hands, gazing into her eyes. "You're incredible," I gasp, and I feel her quiver around me, her inner muscles pulling at me.
"I love doing this with you," she tells me, moving her hips against me faster, and I groan into her shoulder. I don't know what brought that on, but I certainly wasn't expecting it. I feel my heart beat faster and I pull her closer. I swallow heavily; her nails dig into my shoulder blades, her breathing heavy in my ear. I can tell by the way her hips are moving that she's not going to last much longer. Any time we have to try to hold ourselves back, especially when Monica has to be quiet, sex winds up being intense in a different way. All the feelings have to come out in differently, and it usually equals a fairly quick session for us. It's an interesting tradeoff.
She buries her face in my neck; I can hear her making tiny noises, her entire body shaking from the effort. I dig my fingers into her hips, holding her still, pushing into her as fast as I can. A few moments later, her limbs tighten around me, a low moan escaping her anyway, my hands relaxing their grip as she thrusts against me violently, and I let myself go, getting us as close to simultaneous as I can.
She breathes heavily against me, her hips slowing down, her body still wrapped around mine. I kiss her shoulder, holding her tighter, never wanting to let her go. "Can we wake up like this every morning?"
She laughs shakily against me, lifting her head to smile at me. "I don't think we'd ever get anything done if we did this every morning." She kisses me, and it's filled with promise and contentment. "But don't you think it's about time you considered calling in sick again so we can spend all day in bed together?"
"Mmmm, yeah." I cup her face, kissing her softly. "I haven't done that in at least a month."
"December has been busy," she agrees, rubbing her cheek softly against mine.
"We'll make time for it. Soon."
We hold each other like that for a while—it's not many mornings we actually get to do this, and even now it's kind of risky. She's worth it, though. This is worth it; wrapped up in the arms of the woman of my dreams, the woman who has fulfilled all of my fantasies and then some. She's perfect.
I sigh against her and kiss her neck. "I should go soon."
If possible, she wraps herself around me tighter. "No."
"I don't want to, but people will start coming over at some point, and they'll probably question why we're in bed together, naked."
"Can't you just put your pajamas back on and stay here? You can go sit in the living room while I make breakfast—no one will ever know."
"That's the best offer I've had in a while. You don't mind?"
She leans back, giving me a look. "Does it seem like I'm ready for you to leave? We finished having sex, like, ten minutes ago, and I'm still on your lap."
"That's a good point." I lean forward and kiss her. "But I don't have a toothbrush over here."
"So use mine," she tells me, shrugging, and I can't help but feel incredibly surprised.
"Really? Share a toothbrush?"
"Honey, think about where you so frequently put your mouth when we're naked." I grin a little at the thought of it. "Now think about the fact that I let you kiss me after that." I nod, suddenly feeling a little smug. "Do you really think that sharing my toothbrush would be weird to me after that?"
"I guess when you put it that way…if you're sure."
"If it keeps you here a little longer, then I'm sure." She gives me another kiss, and I chase her lips as she tries to pull away, capturing her briefly. She slides off my lap; I feel very chilly all of a sudden. "I'm gonna go scope out the place first; make sure that no one's around. I'll come back in a few minutes when I know the coast is clear." She goes to her dresser, pulling out a pair of underwear and pajamas, before grabbing her robe off the pile of clothes on the floor. She comes back over to me as she shrugs the robe into place, leaning over to grab my face. She studies me for a few moments before sighing and kissing me again.
"I'll just go commando," I finally say, trying to break the heavy mood. "Then you can try to deal with the knowledge that just underneath my snowman pajama pants there's only me."
"Oh! But there's—" She cuts herself off, suddenly looking embarrassed.
"There's what?"
She sighs, hanging her head. "There are few pairs of your boxers in my underwear drawer."
I absolutely cannot help the grin that spreads over my face. Yes; I've been keeping some of her underwear at my place, partially because I'm a little bit of a pig, but also because…well, it's nice having something of hers over there, even if it's just panties. But I had no idea she was keeping anything of mine over here. Though I guess that would explain, when I've had to hurry out of here and later couldn't remember what happened to my boxers, where they went. Interesting.
She tightens the robe around her waist, going to her bedroom door. "And, you know, if you happen to see a few t-shirts in there that look familiar, they're definitely not yours and I totally did not hang on to them. I just like to shop in the men's department from time to time." With that, the door closes behind her, and my smile manages to grow even larger.
Cautiously, I stand up and head over to her underwear drawer, which, amazingly, I've never rifled through. I only know what's in there because I've seen what she pulls out. I open it slowly, sort of feeling like I've found the holy grail as her undies come into view. Not shockingly, they're all folded nice and evenly. I peek in a little farther; in the back is the fancy stuff she's bought to wear for me. A pleasant shiver runs down my spine at the sight of it all. But there, nestled right next to her lacy little thongs, are several pairs of my boxers and at least half a dozen t-shirts. My heartbeat speeds up a little at that—I know it's just underwear, but it looks kind of nice all co-mingled like that.
I realize I have no idea how long I've been staring at this sight and hurriedly grab a pair of underwear, sliding the drawer shut behind me. I pull on the boxers and find my pajamas under her bed; I'm just tugging up the pants when she walks back into the room, smiling at me.
"The coast is clear," she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck, kissing me. I pull back a moment later, suddenly aware of how bad my breath must be compared to hers, which is now minty fresh. I purse my lips and point at my mouth, hoping she'll understand. She just rolls her eyes and pokes her head out her room again, gesturing to me to follow. I tiptoe across the apartment into her bathroom, easing the door shut behind me. As I pee, I can hear her futzing about in the kitchen, probably making coffee—I'm sure we'll both need lots of it today.
I go to brush my teeth, forgetting my concern about figuring out which brush is hers when I see she's left it on the edge of the sink, loaded up with toothpaste.
This woman is too much.
I pick up the toothbrush, staring at it cautiously for a moment—I've never shared someone's toothbrush before. Shouldn't it be kind of gross?
But I suppose she's right; if I'm willing to go down on her, using her toothbrush shouldn't be that weird. It is intimate in a while different way, though.
I sigh and shrug, brushing my teeth, and somehow…it's not that weird.
A few minutes later, I shuffle out of the bathroom and into the kitchen; Monica grins at me out of the corner of her mouth and I know what she's thinking—this is what it'd be like if we weren't in hiding. I have to admit—I don't hate it.
We've both been back and forth about coming clean to our friends for some time now. It's tough to act like we're just friends all the time, but we both realize that telling our friends about us will open us up to joking and mocking and ridicule, and that's just when they're being friendly. So, for now, until we're completely sure that telling everyone about us is the best thing to do, we're going to stay as we have been.
A secret.
She silently hands me a cup of coffee then glances over at Rachel's closed bedroom door. I follow her gaze for a moment and shrug. I look at her lips before leaning down, kissing her softly. She sighs against me before we pull apart, and we nod at each other. I go sit down on the couch, picking up a magazine, while Monica goes about cooking breakfast.
I hear Rachel's door click open suddenly, and force myself not to look up from my reading.
"Morning, Mon. Oh—morning, Chandler."
I look up for a moment, trying my damndest to be casual. "Hey, Rache."
"What're you doing here?" she asks, moving across the apartment to the kitchen.
I search my mind in a panic, suddenly coming up blank, when my eyes land on the mug in my hand. "I smelled coffee."
I see Rachel nod out of the corner of my eye. "That's what did it for me, too." I see Monica hand her a mug as well, and Rachel smiles gratefully.
"Hey, Mon," she says as she's about to head into the bathroom, coffee still in hand.
"Yeah?" To her credit, she barely looks up from the bowl of eggs she's whisking.
"Are you all right?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
Rachel just shrugs. "I thought I heard you moaning last night."
I bite the inside of my lip, staring at the magazine page in front of me, no idea what it says, when I realize that it might look even fishier if I don't seem concerned with my friend's wellbeing. I look up, hoping my expression is concerned even though I can feel my heart pounding.
"Oh. Oh, yeah. Uh…I think I ate too much Christmas junk yesterday. I had a little stomach ache last night. Sorry if I kept you up."
Rachel just shakes her head. "You're fine. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not, anyway." With that, she closes the bathroom door behind her, and I look over at Monica, who's biting her lip to keep from laughing.
"I hope you're feeling better, Mon," I tell her, my face splitting into a grin.
"I'm feeling much better," she assures me, her smile matching mine. "Thank you." She tiptoes over to me, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "Multiple orgasms will do that to a girl," she whispers before going back to breakfast.
I shiver and go back to the magazine in front of me; I still have no idea what the page in front of me says.
I think the woman is trying to kill me.