Are you just jumping into Barely Contained? Get caught up on Part One: The Hour of Quarantine first!

Reader’s Note: Well, installment one ended up being longer than planned, so naturally, installment two is a wee bit shorter. It doesn’t skimp on the sexiness and humor, though. 😉

If you are jumping in as a new reader, let me just tell you a little bit about BC.

Firstly, this story is along the lines of flash fiction. I took the prompt “when quarantine strikes, who would you want to be stuck with,” and ran with it. Details and backstory are sparse, but it does not make the story any less relatable and (hopefully) funny. Secondly, I am not making light of current events. I am doing what I do best, and taking a shit sandwich and making it tolerable with wit, humor, and a whole lotta steam! Lastly, I am not profiting off of this in any way. Once all installments are complete and have been live for six weeks, Barely Contained will still be FREE for my newsletter subscribers. I do not aim to profit off the chaos of the world. I just want to give everyone a little balm for their anxiety and something to look forward to each week.

I hope you enjoy Honey’s chapter!

XO,
Brit (B.L.) Olson

CHAPTER TWO: HOUR ONE TROUBLES

 

            Waking up Monday morning with no work to ready myself for meant I had oodles of motivation to put towards whatever random task I could find.

            Despite my boss, whose egotistical mindset rivals that of Donald Trump himself, I look forward to each day at the dental practice I work for. Not having that outlet, my regular patients whose lives I care for as much as my own, doesn’t sit well with me. I am going to need as many projects as possible to keep me busy and moving so I don’t stop to think about things too much.

            I especially can’t dwell on the fact that stupid Liam is here with me. I had mapped out careful avoidance of him during his two-week stay, but that plan is now null and void. The man will be here indefinitely, enticing me to do something I wouldn’t normally do and instead of my yoga mat, performing my squats in his cucumber patch.

            My attraction to Liam was sudden and suffocating. Tamsin frequently showed me pictures again and again over the duration of our friendship, and none of them did the man any justice.

            That first day I met him at his sister’s graduation was beyond anything I had ever experienced with anyone in my short two-ish decades on this planet.

            I am a bit of an optimist, and my outlook on life is painted with my positivity, but even I swore that love at first sight was nothing but a crock of bullshit. My parent’s marriage fell apart before I was even old enough to remember them having one, and their failures with every relationship since their separation only solidified that belief.

            But then my eyes met Liam Turner’s in a packed stadium amidst a crowd of strangers, and it was like my heart recognized him, even if my eyes weren’t so sure it was Tamsin’s brother.

            A glance at my clock reveals that it is 5:00 am; my brain clearly never received the memo that my early wake-up call to open the office was no longer in effect for the next several weeks, or possibly longer.

            Such a shame; I have nothing but time now and sleeping in would have been nice, but by that same logic, I can always take a nap later.

            Look at me, planning out my day with ways to fill the time.

            But what to do now? Surely Liam isn’t awake yet with his own office closed, and I don’t want to cause a commotion so early in the morning.

            He may not be the roommate I signed on to live with, but he is my roommate for the foreseeable future, and it would do to consider his needs, especially if I expect the same in return.

            I could read a book, but something tells me that I want to do that sparingly or else get burnt out, and then not able to get into anything a few days from now. There is always something to clean, but again, that would just wake Liam up.

            I gaze intently at the wall, as if I could see through it to the slumped form in my friend’s queen-sized bed. I will him to sleep deeply, for his own internal clock keep him asleep for another hour or so while I focus on my first task this morning: a little self-loving.

            My attraction to Liam was a lot easier to maintain when there was an entire continent between us, so having him in the next room for the past week has been the worst kind of torture.

            I can look, but I cannot touch.

            Him, that is. Touching my body is completely at my own fingertips.

            But fuck if my imagination isn’t a bitch and focused on the one man who can never do the touching beyond my mind. Liam is as much of a father to Tamsin as he is a brother, taking on the role of parent when their parents bounced on his eighteenth birthday.

            He took on student loans, worked two jobs, and put himself through law school. Responsibility is hot and Liam Turner’s level of responsibility means my loins are freaking burning like the heat of a thousand fires.

           Don’t judge a girl for her word usage until you can understand the torment, okay?

            Liam is six foot two inches of all man. I don’t know if it’s because I am short and lack height myself, but there is just something about a man that can pick you up and toss you about with the barest of efforts.

            And Liam’s arms? Yeah, they don’t look like they have spent most of his life in a classroom, boardroom, or courtroom. They’re toned and perfectly sculpted, constantly testing the constraints of his clothing. How that man fits working out into his busy schedule is beyond my comprehension.

            I bring on a lot of tasks and events in my life, but the things Liam Turner can juggle truly astounds me – and it takes a lot to do that. Awe is in my nature, but to surprise me in a world that is so full of them? That is some serious talent.

            Fish stick, if thinking about how responsible Liam is isn’t the most effective form of foreplay.

            I cautiously reach for my nightstand and grope for my television remote, wanting the low hum to drown out any escaped moans or harsh intake of my breath.

            I turn on the television and cross my fingers that the sound isn’t blaring when the damn thing finally boots up. I continuously mash the button to turn down the volume on my TV in a preemptive effort to keep it quiet and am pleased to find that the volume was at an acceptable level when it was turned off last.

            Considering it was yesterday morning at about the same time plus ten minutes, that isn’t too horribly surprising, but we aren’t gonna think about that. No ma’am. Not today, sir.

            I wait a few minutes, one ear turned toward where Liam is sleeping, and mentally will him to stay that way. After falling asleep angry, I woke up with that emotion turned to lust and the only way to satisfy the craving is to give in.

            Giving in always feels so good and imagining the forbidden? Even sweeter.

            My fingers slowly feather from my sternum to my navel, circling it lightly a few times to build the anticipation as I lay back on my bed and set the scene behind closed eyes. 

            Liam is above me, both of us naked. His hazel eyes are boring into my own as his hand, not mine, trails farther and farther south until he reaches the slit between my legs. He finds my lips wet and waiting, the surprise on his face not matched on my own.

             Everything about Liam gets me wet. Hot things like his muscles and height, but also stupid little things. How he tugs on his hair when addressing his sister, or that he puts freaking butter on his sandwich before he puts on mayo, because that is how his grandma made them when she would come visit and help with his sister.

            Butter on a sandwich, not even used in a sexual way. Yeah, that simple little endearing thing is a bigger turn on than if Liam were to start a strip show in my living room.

            If that ever actually happened, I may change my tune, but right now I have butter in my reality and strip shows in my dreams.

            Er, except right now. Awkward Honey derailed her imagination a bit, even if reminiscing on Liam’s odd quirks isn’t a bit of a turn on.

            Bad. I have it baaaaaad.

            Liam Turner makes me want to do wild, crazy things that my prude persona would never suggest I am into. But with him? Shoot, I would allow him to start with spanking my ass and then go on from there.

            Okay, better direction, Honey. We may just resurrect the mood yet.

            Liam’s mouth meets my own, his tongue not waiting to ask for entry, but taking what it wants.

             Everything about Liam is demanding. His attitude, his kisses, his fingers that have spread me open with a deftness that every other man I had been with before seemed to lack.

             The usual control on his face slips a little when a wicked gleam shines in his eyes and a smirk I can only describe as devilish flashes for a moment before his forefinger contacts my clit and I am lost to an assault of sensations.

             The vision I have laid out in my mind is so vivid that a primal need to follow through overtakes my body, but before I can get there, a soft knock on the door renders me a statue.

            My fingers, my brain, the very freaking blood cells pumping through my heart and veins are all stone cold.

            “Y-y-es?” I call out tentatively when the capability of speech has returned to me.

            Liam’s gruff morning voice sounds from the other side of my door, “Did you call for me? Is everything okay?”   

             Shit, did I say his name? I scramble to come up with an acceptable answer, the lack of caffeine and denied orgasm not working in my favor.

            “No, I uh… Was talking to the tv. There is this character named-” crap, what rhymes with Liam!? “Ian, who is being a real asshat. Sorry if I woke you!” I squeak, hoping my response is enough to make him leave my door and let me silently die of shame with some dignity intact.

            Silence reigns for what feels like forever, the obvious sounds of the morning news playing softly in the background. I silently beg whoever is in control of my destiny to let that man believe my lie and freaking leave me alone already.

            But I know he is still there, on the other side of my door, weighing my words against the clues set before him.

            He’s not an idiot, and right now, I really wish he was. That would make my life so much more tolerable at this moment.

            “Okay, well,” he clears his throat. “I’m awake and going to start wading through my email. I’ll get a pot of coffee going so it’s ready when you get up.”

            “Thanks!” I squeal.

             The sounds of his steps slowly fade away and some of the tension I felt at his nearness and the situation eases.

            I throw my comforter over my head and slide down my mattress, the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks enough to cause me to feel overheated in a matter of moments. 

            But it’s safer under here, where I can’t mortify myself in front of my best friends’ older brother again today.

            I just hope he can make like Elsa and let it go when I deign to resurface.

 

Check out Installment Three: Day One-Mageddon