as the elevator doors closed on us.

I tiptoed to reach him, and he curled his shoulder down to claim my lips in a searing kiss. I stumbled when the elevator jolted into its ascent, but Jamie pressed me back into the wall and steadied us with a hand on the metal.

His other hand raked through my shoulder-length hair and pulled gently, tilting my jaw up to him. My mouth slowly opened with a blissful sigh. His tongue swept in, exploring and inquisitive and tempting. It was all I could do to fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

In my defence, I had tried to stop thinking about Jamie in this way.

Clearly, it hadn't been successful. After the night Jamie and Krista ferried me home, the night Jamie and I talked about our childhood, I'd woken up in my bed—probably after he carried me back to my bedroom before Jake returned from town. That he maintained his gentlemanly control only added fuel to the fire, which imploded each time I drank.

I guessed my desire had been coming on slowly, unstoppably, ever since I woke up in his arms with no memory of our first tryst. The fact that I couldn't remember it was almost more effective in making me want him. All I thought about was what he might have been like. How it would feel to have those full lips capture mine, those powerful arms hold me against him, those long fingers wrapped around my hips. He was a fantasy I wanted to make real.

I didn't expect it would have been the same for him.

Tonight, I'd gone out with a group of girls from the WISA executive committee. At Topaz—where Krista had tried to no avail to cut me off, the nerve of her—we'd bumped into a group of boys that exactly matched our numbers, so things had been looking promising. Just as I was cozying up to a tall, bookish-looking man, someone had pulled me through the crowd away from him.

It was Jamie.

Never once seeing who he had arrived with, nor considering the dude I'd left hanging, I'd turned my back to him and resumed my dancing. I remembered how his hand kept brushing against my spine, then my side, and finally curling around my front and pressing me to him. I'd noticed instantly how hard he was.

An understanding had passed between us, silently. Then I left the group, claiming to get a drink of water. The desire raging in his eyes must have reflected my own. Two minutes later we were outside the bar waiting for an Uber. In the Uber I'd sat in the passenger seat, him in the back. No words were exchanged.

Even till now, after we'd practically raced to get inside the elevator, we hadn't spoken about what was about to take place. Instinctive. I wondered if this was how it had happened. The first time. The time that I didn't remember.

When the elevator doors slid open on the eighth floor, Jamie bent to wrap his hands around my thighs. I let him sweep me into the air and hooked my heels around his back. Most of my weight was held under the tensing of my legs, and the rest was held in Jamie's arms.

Relying on spatial memory, Jamie walked us through the common room, down the corridor and pressed me into my door. When he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it, a breathy moan tore out of my throat. Fuck. What had I been missing out on?

Jamie retracted his mouth to say, "Give me your key." Then we were joined again, my hands twisting in his hair and pulling his mouth closer. Ever since the first time I saw him, I'd wondered what it was like to run my hands through his curls. Now, I knew.

I pulled my key out of my bra and pushed it into Jamie's waiting hand. He was strong enough to keep me lifted with just one hand around me, which sent a thrill straight to my core. He fiddled the key into my lock and twisted, holding me securely against his chest when the wood behind me swung away.

He tossed me straight onto the bed and stripped off his shirt. I had only a split second to pore over his toned muscles and strong arms before he was on me once more. My eyes fell shut.

"Wait," Jamie said two moments later. He tore his lips from me with an audible smack.

"Yes?" I asked him. Letting him see straight to the pure lust building in me, I peered upward. I wondered what Jamie saw. Raw lips, my hair fanned out on the pillow, pleading eyes. Whatever it was, it made Jamie's eyes swim with something overwhelmed as he searched my face.

"Fuck," he swore. He captured my mouth again, unable to help himself.

I wrapped my legs around him and pulled his body down to me, revelling in the way his body felt against mine. All hard planes and firm flesh against my soft, eager skin. It felt amazing.

"No, wait. Wait," Jamie tried again. "I can't do this. It feels wrong."

When he pushed away from me, his hand propped against the mattress, I slipped my hand between our hips to brush lightly against his length. "Is that so? 'Cause this tells me you're feeling really good."

"I can't."

Aw. Poo. I shifted back and out from under Jamie. With my back resting against my headboard, I looked at him concernedly. "That's alright. Does it feel like you're fucking your sister?"

"What the fu—" Jamie asked, incredulously, horrified. "No. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because we're close friends," I shrugged. I was also drunk, and Drunk Viv was notoriously filterless. "So, what is it? Just for curiosity's sake. Don't want to mess up our friendship? Alcohol-induced performance anxiety? Is it my breath?"

"Firstly, half the thoughts I have of you are not friendly, Viv," Jamie assured me. "Secondly, I'm sure I could perform satisfactorily, and thirdly, your breath is fine. I just wish we were sober. Then I wouldn't feel like you're making impaired decisions."

"My decisions are impaired either way. It's alcohol now, and it'll be logic and society tomorrow. Why is one type of thought process considered better than the other?"

He let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head softly. "I'm not going to philosophise with you. It'll hurt my brain," he stopped me, rubbing his fingers against his temple. He pushed himself to sit on his haunches, smirking dangerously at me. One of his hands reached out to stroke my bare leg. "All I know is that I want you thinking clearly up until I make you stop."

"Hot," I nodded, arching an eyebrow. "But you're too chicken to make good on it."

"I am not. If you wanted me tomorrow, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I want you now," I argued. "Can't make promises about tomorrow."

Jamie's eyes fell unashamedly on my body. The short, revealing white dress I'd worn to Topaz; my legs crossed at the knee; the space between my thighs that was hidden to him. He swallowed, his Adam's apple rising and falling noticeably. "But you're not sober."

I rolled my eyes. Way to state the obvious. "So if I got an urge at a random time in the future and clicked my fingers—"

"I'd be yours," he said decisively.

"Really?" That was a lot to think about. It was one thing to fuck him drunk and forget. It was another to fuck him drunk and remember. It was yet more significant to do it sober. We were already close friends and living together. It just seemed like a perfect recipe for drama.

"That's a huge offer to make."

"Maybe," Jamie shrugged noncommittally. "But I think you're too chicken to do it sober. To be fair, I doubt you'll even remember this conversation." He leaned forward to kiss me slowly, sweetly, dragging out the moment in which we were just two sparks colliding.

Jamie pulled back and whispered against my lips, "Goodnight, Viv."

Then he got off my bed and moved to leave.

I bid him a scathing farewell, feeling tortured and immensely sexually frustrated. "Go fuck yourself."

Tomorrow came.

Unlike I did last night.

I woke without a conscious stream of thought. I just knew what I was feeling—a tumultuous concoction of sexual frustration, offence and determination. Jamie had such a stick up his ass sometimes. He was also occasionally condescending, taking the moral high ground like he had such a stable and balanced life compared with me.

Along with his newfound attraction to me, that overbearing behaviour had gotten worse. He'd shit-talked Devin last week. Last night, he'd yanked me away from a guy before I even got the chance to decide for myself if he was worth my time. He was acting like a pick-me-ass bitch, and it grated my nerves. Most of the time, the bookish-looking men were super sweet and considerate in bed; as I'd said before, smart guys were better lays.

Then, after dragging me away in the first place, Jamie had gone and rejected me. As if his drunk decision-making was somehow better than my drunk decision-making. I would be lying if I said being turned down didn't offend me, but that was one of my more minor objections.

As consciousness returned fully to my faculties, alongside a mild headache, I started articulating my anger with Jamie.

He was interfering with my sex life.

He was making calls that weren't his to make.

But the most overpowering thing I felt was determination. I never backed away from a challenge. Beer pong, endurance chugging, Drunk Jenga, or screwing my smoking hot, infuriating, patronising floormate.

I think you're too chicken to do it sober.

Ooh, he had no idea how much that made my blood boil. How much he made my blood boil. Not only did I remember last night clearly, but I was also resolved to prove him wrong. I wasn't going to fuck him out of competitiveness. I was going to do it because I wanted to—that I would be proving a point was just a cherry on top of the whole, delectable ice-cream sundae.

All the desire Jamie stoked with his kisses flared up in my gut like I'd combusted some hydrocarbons. Fantasies that had been prevented from materialising last night filled my head. The hard planes of his naked body pressed to mine. The way his jutting hip bones would press against the inside of my thighs. Those god awful, irresistible curls clutched in my hands.

While I took a shower, I considered my next steps.

Glancing at my phone had confirmed what I suspected. I'd overslept way past the start of my Histology lecture. I had Biochemistry later in the day. Attendance was mildly pressing since the mid-semester test was tomorrow. So was my Toxicology test, to be fair. But what use would be sitting through the lectures if my head wasn't clear? If I was tense and fidgeting? Surely I deserved some stress relief before the midterm.

I studied my ass off during the weeks anyway. As a Pre-Med upperclassman, I volunteered my services to the peer tutoring and mentorship centre. I had a solid grasp of foundational content. Coupled with my own revision, my extensive practice with explaining concepts to someone else repeatedly gave me rote confidence in written exams.

Plus, if I wasn't ready to sit the test today, there was nothing I could do between now and then that would significantly affect my performance. The more productive option was getting Jamie out of my system so I could sit my tests with perfect clarity tomorrow.

Once back in my room, I dried my body and wrung most of the water out of my hair. The strands were slightly damp still as they brushed my shoulder, but I paid them no attention as I messaged Jamie. I got the vibe that au naturale was more his thing anyway.

Vivian: Come over.

Five minutes later, I heard a knock at the door.

"Viv? I got your message," he said curiously. I swung my feet off the bed and walked to let Jamie in. "Did you need something— Fuck."

The look on his face!

It was so gratifying I was tempted to always answer the door for him naked. His jaw slackened, and his eyes seemed unable to settle on a singular part of me. They flitted from my shoulders, breasts, down my navel, over my legs, back up. Jamie's gaze went dark.

He strode into the room, herding me back as I danced away to avoid touching him. The door slammed closed. I watched him press his hands against the wood for some long moments. His back was tensed underneath his thin green t-shirt, trembling slightly.

Eventually, he turned to face me, obstinately concentrating on my face. "What are you doing? Someone could have seen you."

"Doing you, hopefully," I answered. Jamie's eyes widened and he swallowed. I arched an eyebrow cockily. "Well? I'm completely sober, by the way—"

His mouth sealed over mine before my last breath had left me.

The only way he touched me was a hand pressed lightly in the small of my back, without pressure or pulling. I slid my hands under the hem of his t-shirt as his tongue slid into my mouth, finally matching a sensation to the image of his hip bones, the chiselled V that led into his pants.

A surprised yelp escaped me when he picked me up and crossed the room in two quick strides. I felt the smooth linen of my bedsheets against my bare back as Jamie pressed me down gingerly.

Book-smart guys were amazing, I'll admit. But there was something about being caught unawares, blindsided by speed, agility and strength. It sent a bolt of wet lightning from my fingers to my toes.

Except, maybe it wasn't the athleticism in particular that did it.

Maybe it was just Jamie.

Welp. There you go. Things are getting more steamy from here on out. ;)

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Aimee x