A Hard Bargain

Morning arrived slowly, warmly, cruelly. Even before waking fully, Evan knew.

The feeling came first. That impossible sense of peace the potion kept wrapping around them whenever they shared a bed. Heavy comfort pressed down over his thoughts like a weighted blanket, muting anxiety, dulling guilt, smoothing away sharp edges until everything felt calm. Safe. Correct.

Wrongly correct.

Some buried part of him recognized it immediately and tried to fight upward through the haze.

Too late.

Warm sheets tangled around his legs. Soft skin pressed against his side. The scent of Stacy's shampoo lingered on the pillow beside him, sweet and maddeningly enticing. Somewhere in the background, morning light filtered dimly through half-closed curtains, painting the bedroom in muted gold.

But Evan didn't open his eyes.

God, he should have prepared for this. Meditation. A cold shower before bed. Sleeping on the floor. Anything. Every morning since the potion had rewritten their lives followed the same pattern: waking beside Stacy felt so profoundly right that it became almost impossible to think clearly.

And this morning was worse. Much worse. The bed felt like paradise. Like the entire world beyond the blankets had ceased to matter. Bills, school, guilt, morality, consequences; all of it drifted far away whenever Stacy lay with him like this. All Evan wanted was to stay there forever.

With her.

The thought should have horrified him. Instead it settled warmly into his chest, pumped through his heart, and filled every inch of his being. Arousal pulsed low through his body, steady and intense. Not painful. Not awkward teenage-morning hard. This felt good. Pleasantly heavy. Warm. Almost ****. Every nerve ending seemed tuned directly toward the woman beside him.

Somewhere through the haze, he became vaguely aware of touch.

Soft.

Slow.

Pleasurable enough that his brain initially refused to examine it too closely.

Probably Stacy.

That should have been another warning sign. Another reason to wake up immediately and stop whatever was happening. Instead, Evan melted deeper into the mattress with a quiet exhale.

But her touch felt incredible. Better than yesterday morning. More deliberate. More focused. Up and down the length of his erection. Gentle. Hot. A soft moan slipped out of his lips.

Heat coiled low in his stomach as sensation rolled through him again, sending a pleasurable shiver up his spine. God. Every instinct screamed at him to stay still and enjoy it. To stop fighting for once. Maybe just for a minute.

Maybe...

Wait...

That wasn't her hand.

The realization cut through the haze like ice water.

Eyes snapping open, Evan looked down sharply. Stacy was already awake. Very awake.

Blonde hair spilled across the sheets and over his thighs, her body draped against him beneath pink lace lingerie the potion had apparently chosen for the night. One hand rested lightly against his hip while her mouth bobbed up and down on his stiff member.

"Oh, come on."

The words came out half-whispered, half-****.

Stacy looked up at him immediately, lips parting from him just enough for their eyes to meet. No confusion. No sleepiness. No shame.

Only hunger.

And happiness.

Actual happiness.

"Stacy!" he hissed.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Then, impossibly, she winked at him and lowering her head again, taking him back into her mouth.

"Stacy!"

This time the word came out louder as Evan jerked backward, grabbing gently but firmly at her shoulders to stop her. The movement broke the contact, leaving him painfully aware of exactly how hard he still was. She frowned up at him immediately.

"Baby," she whined softly, trying to pull herself closer again. "C'mon, just let me finish taking care of you." Warm fingers slid across his stomach. "You've been so good to me."

Every word sent another pulse of heat through him.

"You deserve it."

God.

At nineteen years old, every instinct in Evan's body screamed at him to let this happen. Stacy was gorgeous. Way beyond gorgeous. And despite everything, despite the guilt and the magic and the nightmare their lives had become, what she'd been doing had felt incredible.

For one dangerous second, he almost gave in.

Then another voice cut through the fog.

"I need you to call it when something's off. When I cross a line."

Stacy's voice. Yesterday in the kitchen. ****. Frightened. Trusting him. The memory hit hard enough to steady him.

"No," Evan said roughly, pulling away from her completely.

Ignoring the way his entire body protested, he rolled out of bed and sat heavily on the mattress's edge, elbows braced against his knees. Cool air hit his skin immediately. His erection throbbed unpleasantly now, damp and aching and impossible to ignore.

Behind him, the bed shifted. Then arms wrapped around his chest from behind. Warm. Soft.

Dangerous.

"Come back to bed, baby," Stacy murmured against his shoulder, voice thick with need. Her hands wandered slowly across his bare chest while her body pressed fully against his back. Lace brushed against his skin. "I'll make it worth your while."

Another hard pulse of arousal nearly broke his resolve completely.

Instead, Evan **** himself upright.

The sudden movement left her kneeling alone on the bed behind him, sheets pooled around her thighs. The sight nearly destroyed what little composure he had left. Pink lace clung to curves he'd spent years trying very hard not to notice. Flushed skin. Kiss-swollen lips. Eyes locked onto him with open longing.

The potion had turned Stacy into every fantasy he'd never allowed himself to entertain.

And somehow the worst part was that she looked sincere.

"I can't do this," Evan said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "We can't do this, Stacy."

Confusion flickered across her expression first. Then frustration.

"You asked me to help you resist," he continued firmly. "Remember? That's the deal. So resist."

Silence stretched between them. A whole storm of emotions crossed her face in rapid succession. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. Hope. Need. Then quietly:

"I don't want to stop."

The honesty in her voice hit him harder than yelling would've. Slowly, Stacy crawled closer to the edge of the bed again, eyes never leaving his.

"Can we just..." Her voice softened. "Just this once?"

God.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful like this. ****. Wanting him.

"Please?"

Evan swallowed hard enough it hurt.

"That's the magic talking," he said, though his voice sounded thinner now. Less certain.

"What if it isn't?" she asked immediately.

The question landed like a punch.

"What if this is just how I feel now?"

For one horrible second, he didn't know how to answer. Because part of him wanted that to be true. Part of him desperately wanted to believe she really wanted him. But that wasn't fair. Wasn't real. And deep down, both of them knew it.

"Trust me," Evan said quietly, forcing himself to hold her gaze, "you don't."

Pain flickered across her face.

"Stacy..." He exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're beautiful. Seriously. You have no idea how hard this is making things for me right now."

Understatement of the century. Every inch of him still ached to climb back into that bed.

"But we made a deal," he continued. "And I'm keeping my end of it."

His voice dropped softer after that.

"Besides... this whole mess is my fault."

The words sat heavy between them.

"The potion. Our lives getting screwed up. Your marriage with my dad. All of it." Shame crawled up his throat again. "I have to keep trying to fix this somehow. Or at least stop it from getting worse."

Tears gathered slowly in Stacy's eyes. That hurt worse than anything else had. Her gaze dropped briefly down his body before returning to his face again, and the raw longing there nearly cracked his resolve completely. Then, without warning, she turned away from him.

Her shoulders trembled. Crying.

"Stacy..."

"Go."

The word came muffled.

"You win. We'll stop." Another shaky breath. "Just don't expect me to be happy about it."

Concern pulled him forward instinctively.

"Stacy..."

"Get the fuck out of here, Evan."

Not shouted. Exhausted. Broken.

"Go take a shower or something," she muttered bitterly. "Deal with that so I don't have to look at it anymore."

Evan hesitated only a second longer. Comforting her felt dangerous right now. One touch and both of them would probably lose whatever fragile control remained.

So instead, carrying guilt, frustration, and an aching body with him, Evan turned and walked naked into the ensuite bathroom.

Behind him, his crying wife remained curled alone in the bed.