Chapter 104

Rosalie swung open their room’s front door, rolling her shoulders as she walked in, working out sore muscles. Today had been a good day. She’d made progress with her newest skill, and had driven herself into the ground—her entire body ached in that comfortable, if painful, way of a training session properly seen through.

She noted Zoey’s shoes set aside at the doorway, then frowned, because she hadn’t called out to greet Rosalie, as she usually would’ve.

“Zoey? I’m back.”

She tossed her room key back into her inventory, eying how Zoey had left hers out on the hallway side table. It wasn’t unusual to not use your inventory for everything, since in many public spaces, doing so was banned—to prevent theft, primarily—and habits built before receiving one’s class could be difficult to kick, but Zoey especially seemed to disregard her inventory to an unusual level. It was far from the oddest habit of hers, but Rosalie still noted it.

Walking into the bedroom, frown deepening at the continued lack of response, Rosalie discovered the reason why. She froze at the sight awaiting her. Not that she should have. Considering her perverted girlfriend—girlfriend? When would that word stop making her flush?—the position she found Zoey in shouldn’t have made her pause. It was downright expected, even.

Laying across the bed, head propped up on a pillow, but fully dressed and on top of the covers, Zoey snoozed. That wasn’t the surprising part. It was the outrageous bulge in her pants, and the way she squirmed side to side, mumbling in unmistakable noises of pleasure. Her face was red; whatever dream she was experiencing, she was having fun with it.

Rosalie’s own cheeks heated at the sight, and something in her stomach clenched, heart rate picking up.

Something was odd about this, though. Taking a mid-day nap? That wasn’t something Zoey usually did. And ... that paper on the night stand. A note?

Walking over, Rosalie picked up the paper and scanned it.

Ah.

Testing that dream potion she’d made. Well, it was clearly working. Specifically, in the way Zoey had expected it to. An indulgent fantasy, not a mundane one.

Rosalie huffed, flicking the paper back on the nightstand. She crossed her arms and glared at the dark-haired woman laid across their bed. How could a single person be so insatiable? If she’d asked, Rosalie could have taken care of her. And that way, her own pesky urges could’ve been solved. Pesky urges which were decidedly produced by Zoey. Rosalie hadn’t had nearly as many problems managing her libido before Zoey had entered her life.

“Ridiculous,” Rosalie said firmly.

At the lack of response, Rosalie glared harder. Then, shaking her head, she uncrossed her arms and sat on the edge of the bed.

She observed Zoey closer. Her girlfriend was really having a fun time. Her breath came fast and shallow, and her hips squirmed side to side. Slowly, and only in muted motions, being firmly asleep, but still noticeable. The sight had Rosalie’s face burning.

Her girlfriend was having a wet dream. What, specifically, was she doing? Or who?

And how asleep was she? Rosalie pursed her lips. She got the feeling that potion-induced unconsciousness wouldn’t be as easy to stir her from as its natural counterpart.

Rosalie poked Zoey’s ankle. Seated on the end of the bed, it was the part closest to her. Zoey didn’t react. She continued making breathless noises and wiggling.

Rosalie eyed the bulge. It strained against her pants, lifting them a ridiculous distance. With its size, it couldn’t even stick straight up; it poked down toward her knee, bending fabric upward in a tent.

“Disgusting,” Rosalie said.

She scooted up the bed.

A dark spot gathered near the tip, her girlfriend’s precum dampening the fabric. Zoey’s shaft made a clear outline in her pants, and so did the ridges of her cock tip. Everything about Zoey was so excessive. Her cock, her output ... and the even grosser parts, too. The nauseating compliments and how she doted over Rosalie, always putting her first.

“Obscene,” Rosalie declared, poking Zoey’s tip through her pants. “You realize if you finish, you’re drenching our bed? Of course you don’t.” She huffed. “No foresight. You should’ve put a towel down.”

Rosalie’s heart skipped at the idea. Zoey, finishing in her pants. Emptying that ridiculous sticky load of hers straight into her clothing.

Why did that excite her?

Why did Rosalie want to watch it happen?

“You are so gross,” Rosalie growled, and this time, she wasn’t sure which of them she directed it at.

For a while longer, she alternated between glaring at Zoey’s face and her cock. Then she sighed, and scooted closer.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she mumbled. Blushing, she placed a hand on Zoey’s shaft. It pulsed heat into her hand, even through the fabric. Zoey let out a little moan, and Rosalie jumped. But Zoey didn’t wake. For all Rosalie knew, she’d been reacting to whatever happened in her dream. She was well and truly out; even Rosalie’s hand hadn’t stirred her.

“Let’s get you situated.”

With some finagling, she had Zoey’s cock not sticking so uncomfortably up, straining into her pants. Still hard, it kept struggling against its confines, but now pointed more down toward her knee, a less cramped position.