brushed against the hem of her shirt, where the fabric had ridden up slightly.

And fuck—there was skin there. Warm. Soft. Madelyn inhaled quietly, just a small intake of breath, but she didn't pull away.

I wasn't even thinking anymore. I let my fingers skim lightly over the sliver of exposed skin, barely a touch, just the ghost of one. And she leaned into it.

It wasn't obvious, wasn't dramatic—just the faintest shift, like her body was searching for more without her even realizing it. I should have pulled my hand away. I should have reminded myself that we were just friends.

But my fingers traced the barest circle against her skin, the softest, laziest touch, and she let me.

Madelyn barely moved, but I could feel it—the way her breathing had changed, the way her body had settled against mine more than before, the way her fingers curled just a little tighter around mine.

We still weren't looking at each other. It was almost as if we were pretending it wasn't happening, like if we didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't real. But it was.

My fingers kept moving, slowly, tracing absentminded shapes over the warm skin just above her hip. Her breath hitched. For a long time, we stayed like that.

The weight of her against me, the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, the slow, easy way our fingers were still intertwined, neither of us willing to let go.

It felt inevitable.

My thumb traced another absentminded circle against her skin, my hand resting just under the hem of her shirt, feeling the heat of her body through the light fabric. I wasn't thinking. Not really. If I had been, I would have stopped before I let my fingers drift lower.

But I didn't stop.

Instead, I let them move. Just a fraction. Just enough to skim the soft dip above her hipbone, the delicate curve of her waist, the faintest brush against the sensitive skin right near the waistband of her sweats.

Madelyn inhaled sharply. She didn't move away.

She shifted.

It was barely noticeable—just a small, almost imperceptible shift in the way she was leaning into me. But it was enough.

It was enough to make my breath catch, enough to make my heart stutter, enough to make the warmth in my stomach turn into something heavier, something more dangerous.

My fingers flexed slightly, pressing just a little firmer against the soft skin just above her waistband. The tension was thick now, wrapping around us, making it hard to breathe.

Madelyn was still resting against me, her head tucked just below my collarbone. I felt the weight of her exhale against my neck, the way her breath fanned over my skin, sending a slow shiver down my spine.

And then— She moved. Not away. Not to stop me. No. She adjusted.

She settled further against me, shifting in a way that made it easier for my hand to stay where it was, easier for me to trace just a little lower, easier for me to test that invisible line we kept dancing around.

I could feel the tension humming through her body, mirroring my own. I could feel the way her fingers, still tangled with mine, tightened just slightly, like she was grounding herself.

But she still wasn't stopping me. Neither of us were stopping. I swallowed hard, my fingertips now barely teasing the elastic band of her sweats. A light touch. A taunt. I let them linger there, tracing softly, just enough to make it feel like a possibility.

Like if she just let me, I would—

Madelyn exhaled again, slow, controlled. And then—She kissed my neck. Soft. Barely there. But it might as well have knocked the air from my lungs.

My fingers twitched, tightening against her waist for just a second as my breath hitched. My eyes fluttered closed on instinct, my heart pounding at the warmth of her lips, the softness of it, the way it lingered just long enough to make me dizzy.

She didn't say anything. Neither did I. Because if I spoke—if I even acknowledged what was happening—I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stop myself from taking it further.

Madelyn kissed my neck again. This time slower. More deliberate. And fuck, I felt it everywhere.

A sharp inhale slipped past my lips, and I knew she noticed the way my breathing changed, the way my grip tightened against her. Because suddenly, her own breathing wasn't steady anymore. It was uneven, just like mine.

My hand still hovered just near her waistband, fingers teasing but unmoving, waiting, wanting.

And she wasn't pulling away.

I knew I shouldn't. I knew if I let myself move even an inch closer, I wouldn't be able to stop myself. I wouldn't be able to stop from gripping her waist fully, from pulling her into my lap, from kissing her like I was meant to.

And maybe she was waiting for me to do it. Maybe she wanted me to do it. Because she was still leaning in. Still pressing closer. Her lips brushed against my skin again, a barely-there press of warmth against my jaw this time, lingering.

I let out a slow, shuddering exhale, my fingers flexing again, fighting the urge to slip beneath the waistband of her sweats, to feel her, to hear the way her breath would catch if I just let my fingers— No. Fuck. No.

This was dangerous. I knew it. And the worst part? She knew it too.

𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

This was a mistake. A beautiful, intoxicating, torturous mistake.

But God, I didn't want to stop it.

Not when Y/n's fingers were brushing so lightly over my skin that I felt it in every inch of my body.

Not when she was so close to crossing that line. Not when I could feel the tension thrumming between us like a live wire, daring us to finally snap it.

And I wanted her to. I wanted her to lose control. I wanted her to slip her hand down further, past the waistband of my sweats, to touch me.

I wanted to straddle her lap, to kiss her breathless, to let her hands roam freely, to feel her fingers gripping my skin the way I'd craved since the last time we were like this.

I wanted her everywhere. And that was the problem. Because we weren't supposed to want this anymore. We were supposed to be friends.

Friends didn't sit in the dark, tangled up together, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to each other's skin. Friends didn't let their hands linger, didn't tease, didn't dare each other to take that next step.

Friends didn't do this. But I didn't move away.

I didn't stop her hand from dancing dangerously close to where I desperately wanted it. I didn't stop myself from kissing her again, from tilting my head slightly so her breath hit my jaw, so her fingers pressed firmer against my skin.

I bit my lip, barely suppressing the shudder that ran through me. It wasn't just the way she was touching me—it was how slowly, how deliberately she was doing it.

The way her fingers traced feather-light circles over my hipbone, fingertips barely skimming the waistband of my sweatpants, each stroke teasing, cautious, yet firm enough that my skin burned in its absence when she moved.

My thighs clenched together, a subtle shift that only made me more aware of how much I wanted her. How easy it would be to grab her wrist, to guide her hand exactly where I needed it.

My breath hitched as she shifted, her fingers dipping just slightly beneath the fabric, not far, not nearly far enough, but it sent a sharp pulse of need straight to my core.

God.

I was already wet. I knew it. Could feel it. Could feel the way my body responded to her like it had been waiting for this, like it had been craving her touch since the last time we had been close like this.

Since that night.

The night we almost lost control on this very couch. The way she had grabbed me, pulled me onto her lap, made me feel like nothing else in the world existed except the way she was touching me, the way she was kissing me.

And then—then there was that other time. The time we actually gave in. The time she took me apart so thoroughly I was still haunted by the way she felt inside me.

The way she stretched me open, the way she filled me perfectly, how she knew exactly where to touch, exactly where to kiss, exactly how to pull sounds from me that I didn't even know I could make.

I bit back a whimper, inhaling sharply.

She couldn't know.

She couldn't know how badly I wanted her right now, how my body was betraying me. How every fiber of my being was screaming at me to let her go further, to let her fingers slip lower, to let her do everything we both knew she was capable of.

I let my lips part, exhaling softly against her skin, shifting just slightly—just enough that she could feel the way my breath stuttered, the way my body tensed.

My lips brushed against her collarbone, just a whisper of contact, but it made her grip on my waist tighten.

She felt it. She felt me.

A small, desperate ache pulsed between my thighs, my legs pressing together instinctively, and I knew I was fucked.

I knew I needed to stop this.

But instead, I tilted my head, pressing a soft kiss just beneath her jaw.

It wasn't fair.

I knew it wasn't fair, but I needed to see.

Needed to know if she was holding back as much as I was.

Her breathing changed. Shallow. Sharp.

Her fingers flexed against my hip.

I barely suppressed a smile.

So I kissed her again.

Softer this time. Slower. A warm press of my lips against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Her chest rose and fell, and I could feel the restraint in her. The way her muscles tensed, the way her fingers twitched against my skin.

She wanted this.

I could tell.

Because her grip on my side had tightened, because her thumb had started moving in slow, absentminded strokes over my ribs, lower, teasing. Because she wasn't pulling away.

I swallowed, my lips grazing her pulse point.

And then—then her hand moved.

Not far. Not nearly far enough.

But it was enough for my breath to catch, for my entire body to burn at the fact that she was still dancing the line, still giving in, still letting this happen.

Her fingers brushed against my exposed skin, and I shivered, my back arching slightly in response, pressing closer to her, silently daring her to move further.

And for a second—a full, painfully long second—she did.

She let her fingers dip lower, just barely teasing beneath the waistband of my pants.

I sucked in a breath, my hands tightening where they rested on her. My nails dug into her skin, my body reacting entirely on its own, arching, aching, begging her for more.

She had to feel how much I wanted this.

I could tell she was unraveling too, her breath coming uneven, her fingers lingering for just a moment too long.

I shifted, pressing closer, and a quiet, breathless sound slipped from her lips.

And fuck.

That sound.

That low, needy little sound that told me she wanted this just as badly as I did.

I clenched my jaw, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment.

We were so close.

Too close.

I wanted her inside me.

I wanted to pull her hand lower, wanted to guide her, wanted to tell her exactly how to touch me, how to fix this ache she had created.

I wanted to hear her groan when she realized how fucking wet I was for her.

I wanted to kiss her, to pull her onto my lap, to straddle her the way I had before, to let her wreck me all over again.

My thighs squeezed tighter. My hips shifted, instinctively pressing into her touch, and I could feel the heat between us, the way her own body was reacting just as much as mine.

Y/n's fingers barely moved, just the softest graze against my side, featherlight but electric. My breath hitched.

My entire body felt hypersensitive, every nerve on edge, every inch of me acutely aware of her. I shouldn't have let this happen—I knew that—but I didn't move away. I couldn't.

Her fingertips traced slow, teasing circles over the sliver of exposed skin between my waistband and shirt, sending a shiver down my spine. It wasn't intentional, at least I didn't think it was, but god, it felt good.

I swallowed, trying to keep my breathing steady.

Then—her fingers dipped lower.

Barely a centimeter, but it was enough to make my stomach clench, enough to make a soft, shaky breath escape my lips before I could stop it. Y/n froze. Just for a second.

Then, slowly, cautiously, she let her hand drift again, fingertips grazing over the band of my sweatpants.

I felt my pulse hammer in my throat. I should stop this. I should move her hand away. But instead, I shifted—just a little—making it easier for her to keep going.

I was losing control.

Her fingers hovered there, right at the waistband, so close I could feel the heat of her hand through the fabric. I held my breath. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to stop or keep going.

Y/n exhaled, her breath warm against my temple. "Mads..." Her voice was low, rough, almost unsure.

I barely turned my head, enough that my cheek brushed hers. "Don't stop," I murmured, the words slipping out before I could think twice.

Her fingers twitched. Then—she moved. Down.

A sharp inhale left my lips as her hand slid lower, fingertips pressing lightly over my underwear, over the damp heat she was surely noticing now. My back arched, my body reacting before my brain could catch up.

She stilled for a second, like she was testing the waters, waiting for me to pull away. I didn't. I just let out a slow, shaky exhale, my legs parting the slightest bit in silent permission.

Y/n groaned softly, her forehead pressing against my temple for half a second, like she was trying to keep herself together.

Her fingers brushed over me again, more deliberate this time, slow, teasing strokes over the fabric of my panties.

I let out a quiet whimper.

That sound—it did something to her. I felt her tense beside me, felt the way her breath stuttered against my skin before she moved again, pressing a little more firmly this time, rolling slow, lazy circles against my clit through the fabric.

My hand, the one still intertwined with hers, gripped tighter. My free hand clutched the front of her hoodie. My body was on fire.

Her name slipped from my lips in a breathless whisper, and she let out a soft curse under her breath.

Then, torturously slow, she hooked a finger beneath the fabric of my panties.

I gasped—soft, needy, barely a sound, but it shattered the tension between us in a way that only made it heavier. I could feel Y/n's hesitation, the way she paused for half a second like she was giving me a chance to stop this, to stop her.

But I didn't.

I didn't move away. I didn't close my legs. I didn't tell her to stop.

Instead, I tilted my head just enough for my lips to graze her jaw, my breath shaky, uneven. A silent confirmation.

Y/n exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on my hip before her fingers moved—just a small shift, just enough to brush against the slick warmth between my thighs, just enough to make my stomach clench and my breath hitch again.

She let out a soft, barely-there groan, her forehead pressing against mine for half a second. "Fuck," she murmured under her breath.

I whimpered at the sound.

Y/n's fingers stroked along my center, slow, teasing, just barely dipping beneath the fabric, brushing where I needed her most but not quite giving me what I wanted.

It was torturous. It was perfect.

My thighs clenched around her hand instinctively, a silent plea for more, and I felt her smirk against my skin. "So sensitive," she whispered.

I swallowed hard, my free hand gripping the hem of her hoodie, grounding myself.

Then—her fingers pressed firmer, slipping past my panties entirely, stroking me in slow, lazy circles.

A broken moan slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Y/n's breath stuttered. Her fingers twitched. "Madelyn..."

The way she said my name—it was almost reverent, like she was feeling just as undone as I was.

I barely registered the way my own hand moved, the way my palm slid down from her thigh, fingertips tracing over the thick outline of her dick through her sweatpants.

Y/n tensed, her hips jolting slightly at the first touch. A deep inhale left her lips, her forehead pressing against my temple, and suddenly, I wasn't the only one losing control.

I bit my lip, letting my hand explore, stroking over her clothed length, feeling the way she twitched beneath my fingers.

Y/n let out a quiet groan. "Madz..."

God, the way she said it.

I was throbbing.

Her fingers slid lower, parting my folds, circling my entrance but not pushing in just yet. My hips lifted, chasing the friction, silently asking for more.

"Please," I whispered, barely able to get the word out.

Y/n cursed softly, her restraint hanging by a thread. Slowly—so slowly—she pushed a single finger inside me.

A shuddered breath escaped my lips. I felt her tense against me, felt her body go rigid at the feeling of me wrapped around her.

"Jesus," she whispered. "You're so—"

I gasped as she curled her finger slightly, stroking me from the inside, teasing me, making me fall apart in the most agonizingly slow way possible.

My grip on her thick length tightened slightly, my fingers wrapping around her, stroking over the clothed fabric.

Y/n groaned again, the sound vibrating against my skin, sending a fresh wave of heat through me.

I wanted her. Desperately.

I wanted her fingers deeper, I wanted her to lose control, to stop teasing me, to fuck me the way she had before, the way that had ruined me, the way I still thought about late at night when I was alone.

Her fingers pushed deeper, a slow, steady rhythm, her thumb brushing over my clit, making my stomach tighten.

I whimpered.

I couldn't help it.

Y/n cursed again, her free hand gripping my waist, grounding herself, like she was afraid she might lose control completely.

And god, I wanted her to.

I wanted to tell her to forget the rules, to fuck me on this couch, to take what we both wanted.

But then—

She exhaled sharply, her forehead pressing against mine. "Madz..."

I knew that tone.

I knew what was coming.

I felt her hand slow, felt her hesitation, felt the reality creeping in between us like an unwelcome third party.

She was trying to stop herself.

And I hated that I knew she was right.

Because I wanted it. I wanted her. And for a second, just a second, I almost said fuck it.

I almost turned in her arms, almost let my lips find hers, almost let myself break the one rule we had just barely started following.

But then—

I swallowed hard.

I let my fingers flex against hers, as if memorizing the feeling of her warmth before I finally let go.

I pulled away. She pulled away.

Not far. Just enough to breathe. Enough to stop what was happening.

Y/n's hand twitched slightly, like she was debating whether to chase after me, whether to pull me right back in. But she didn't. She let me go.

And that? That almost made it worse. Because I knew we both wanted to cross that line.

And yet, somehow, we had managed to stop. Somehow, we had stopped just short of