“Hush,” he said quietly. “Just try to rest.”
She relaxed a little and pressed her head against his hand. Her face was so small and delicate. He didn’t have the biggest hands, but next to her cheek, his palm seemed enormous. He stroked her soft skin carefully.
Slowly, and like he was in a dream, Samuel lay down on the edge of the bed. She was in the middle but moved a little to give him space. He settled down and pulled her into his arms, her head on his shoulder. She pressed closer and sighed deeply, muttering something in a language he didn’t know.
He was delighted and terrified. She was going to be livid with him for sure when she got back to her senses. A plea to run her errands surely didn’t include an invitation to get into her bed. Still, she was more at ease now that he held her, and he realized her head was properly elevated on his shoulder, making her breathe a little easier. He felt like he was actually helping her, and it made him feel better about being there.
After a few minutes he realized he was relaxing as well. There was something very comforting in being so close to another human being. It had been a long, long time since he’d been this close to anyone. He wasn’t cut out for casual relationships, so the last time must’ve been with Susan, and it was… was it five years already? No, four.
Johanna’s feverish dreams were restless, and she stirred every once in a while to utter words in a language Samuel now thought was maybe Swedish, or Danish. She quieted down every time, if he just said something soothing and stroked her a bit, her matted sweaty hair or her narrow back. She didn’t exactly smell like roses, but he didn’t mind.
He drifted slowly to sleep as well, holding her.
—#—#—#—#—#—
Samuel woke up. It took a moment to remember where he was, and why. He blinked in the predawn gloom and wondered what had awoken him. The clock on the nightstand was half past five.
Johanna twitched beside him, and he turned his attention to her. She was breathing better and didn’t seem as restless as before. She let out a soft sound and made a small movement, pressing closer to him.
“Johanna?” he whispered.
She wasn’t awake, and she didn’t wake at his whisper. She quieted for a minute and then let out a heavy breath. She was dreaming.
He hesitated, not knowing if she needed soothing or not. She didn’t seem as agitated as before. Her back pressed against his side, and he could feel her wonderful, round bottom against his hip. She made the sound again and jerked a little.
It was a moan. He blushed furiously when he suddenly realized what kind of a dream she was having. Oh, fuck.
He was petrified. He was intrigued. To his horror, his dick started to stiffen rapidly. He was acutely grateful it was pointed away from her, so she didn’t feel it.
She moved a little more, her hips rolling, and sighed. She wasn’t touching herself, but her dreams resonated in her body, making her press against him and move her hips. She moaned again, and her breathing got heavier.
He wondered what she was dreaming about, what would make her sound so wonderful. There was no denying how much this aroused him. His cock was throbbing, he couldn’t remember when it had last been this hard. He was acutely aware of every place where her body touched his.
She came. She had an orgasm in her sleep. He had feared she would wake before it, but no. She shuddered, let out the cutest whimper he had ever heard, then became quiet again.
He lay still with his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Oh, god. There was absolutely no way to sleep again after that. He knew he had to sort himself out, but he didn’t dare move until she relaxed more and rolled a little further from him.
He got up as slowly and quietly as he could, tiptoed downstairs and into the bathroom. He locked the door and fumbled in his haste to get his pants down. His dick was hopelessly hard, pointing straight up towards the ceiling. He grabbed for toilet paper, pressing it against the head with his left hand, and stroked his right up and down on his shaft tentatively.
He remembered the sound she made when she came. He thought about her small, delicate body and how much he would love to witness that for real. It would be so wonderful to get to touch her, to hear those small moans so that he would be the one drawing them out of her.
His cock surged in his hand, his knees wobbled, and he shot load after load of cum into the toilet paper. It was powerful, overwhelming, convulsive, but for all that force it wasn’t very satisfying. He felt vague guilt and shame. He felt like he had spied on her, that he’d seen – or heard? Felt? Witnessed? – something that wasn’t meant for him. Something private.
He flushed away the evidence and stuffed his penis back into his pants. He double-checked the bathroom to see whether he’d left a mess. He left the bathroom, wondering what to do. He had work that day, and he knew he needed to get back home for that. He couldn’t imagine getting any more sleep, and most definitely he couldn’t imagine crawling back into her bed, now that she wasn’t as sick as yesterday. And after… that.
He took up a fresh glass of water and put it on her nightstand. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
He left her a note saying he had gone back home to work, leaving his cell number and a wish that she’d let him know how she was doing, and if she needed anything. Then he filled up Musse’s empty dry food bowl, changed the water in the water bowl, and went back to his own apartment.