Page 49 of Roommate
“I work fewer hours than you do,” he points out. “Although—look at you! Drunk on a Thursday night.”
“That was intentional,” I admit. The last drink especially. I did a final shot of tequila to amuse Griffin, but also to loosen me up. “Liquid courage.”
“For?”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “I need to ask you if you were serious. About what you said.”
Roderick sits up a little straighter. “About…you being as hot as Henry Cavill?”
I laugh, which is proof that I am still drunk. “I’ll take the compliment. But I meant about you being willing to, uh…”
“Tutor you,” he guesses.
“Yeah.”
“Any day of the week, hottie. Except for right now. Because you’re wasted.”
“Not wasted,” I argue. But it doesn’t help that I slur the word a little. “I’m a little drunk, but I did that on purpose.”
Roderick chews on his lip, and it only makes me want to push him down and own his mouth. But then he shakes his head. “Nope. If you have to get drunk to let me suck your cock, then it definitely isn’t a good idea. That’s a big problem for me.”
I let out a groan that’s half frustration and half lust. “You have it wrong. I don’t have to be drunk to do it. I have to be drunk to ask for it. I hate talking.” And just to demonstrate my willingness, I lean forward until I can cup the side of his face. With my thumb, I trace the shape of his top lip. I’ve been picturing this mouth on my body for quite a while now. Years, if I’m honest.
Roderick’s eyes gleam. Then he stuns me by opening his mouth and sucking the pad of my thumb inside. Those eyes are full of challenge as he gives a good, hard suck, his tongue sliding hotly against my flesh.
I make an unrecognizable noise as my body flashes with heat. Everywhere. “Jesus.” And it’s only my thumb. If he puts that talented mouth of his on my cock, I’ll probably die.
Roderick pops off me and sits back, grinning. “You’re drunk, and I have poor impulse control. What a pair we make.”
I’m breathing too fast, and my dick is already hard inside my jeans. “Look. If you won’t come upstairs with me, you know I’m just going to go up there and jerk off. And the whole time I’ll be thinking about your mouth on me.” This wordy bit of honesty brought to you by Jose Cuervo.
He lets out a dramatic sigh and then falls back down on his pillow. “Nobody is fucking anybody while drunk. But I want to watch.”
“What?”
His eyes find mine. “Show me how much you want it. And then some other time we’ll fool around.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure.” He shrugs, as if he’s made a totally normal request. “I used to put on a show for you. Seems like you’re overdue to return the favor.”
I blink. Is he even serious? Right now I’m not thinking very clearly—he was right about that. But I’m overheated and horny and about to pop out of my skin. “Okay. I’ll be upstairs. Show starts now.”
I stand up and walk out of his room. I take the stairs two at a time. In my room, I don’t bother turning on the light. In the street lamps’ glow, I begin to shuck my clothing.
First my shirt hits the floor, and then my shoes. Socks. My jeans land with a jingle. I’ve lived in a small house with my family my whole life, so I’m almost never naked unless I’m in the shower.
That seems like a mistake now.
I pull my comforter down and expose the white sheets. They’re the brightest thing in the room. I lie down diagonally across my new bed. It’s no accident that a bed is the first thing I purchased. I’ve waited too long to unpack certain truths about myself—things I never felt comfortable exploring before. One second after my back hits those sheets, my hand is on my cock.
The house is quiet, though. I guess he wasn’t serious after all. But, fuck it. I need to come.
Touching myself isn’t something I ordinarily do. I could blame the thin walls of my parents’ house, but my reasons were bigger than the limitations of four walls. I’d felt claustrophobic because of the constant sense of being judged, being found wanting.
That place is behind me now. So I make myself comfortable, curving my hand around my aching dick. I’m desperate for relief, but I make myself go slow. First I just touch the shaft. I let my fingertips drift low, measuring the weight of my balls in one hand. I spread my legs wider, because this is my house and the only other person home is the one I’m fantasizing about.
I picture Roderick crouching between my legs, his eyes on me as his cheeks hollow…
