Page 50 of Roommate
Then I hear a beautiful sound—the creak of a stair tread. And then another. He’s walking slowly up the stairs. Or at least considering it.
“Get your ass up here,” I growl. I don’t sound like myself at all. But I don’t feel like the same old me, either. That’s the point.
Roderick appears in the doorway a moment later, his big eyes taking in the scene. “Hello, fantasy. Wowzers.”
I close my eyes and stroke myself. Faster now. I love that he’s watching, even if I’m way past my comfort zone.
Again, that’s totally the point.
With my thumb, I catch a bead of pre-come on the tip of my cockhead and smear it around. I’m rewarded with a breathy little sound of appreciation.
He’s watching. And he likes what he sees.
I’ve got goosebumps up and down my body now. I feel his eyes on me, and it’s invigorating.
“Touch your nipples,” he whispers.
With my free hand, I do it. Circling one and then pinching the other. A new bolt of lust runs through me.
The bed depresses slightly, and my eyes fly open. He’s right there, eyes wide, pupils enormous. “Close your eyes,” he orders.
So I do.
“Rub your taint.”
“My what?”
“Your…” Roderick swallows a laugh. “Below your balls.”
I drop my hand to that stretch of skin, and everything tingles when I probe there.
“Unngh,” Roderick says with a sigh.
“Touch me,” I beg, opening my eyes again.
“I’m here to watch,” he says. “Not that it isn’t tempting.” Roderick lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it off the bed, and I feel like cheering. Now I can see his lean, seriously fit chest, and those strong arms I dream about. He’s a smaller man than I am, but the proportions are nice.
“Close your eyes,” he repeats quietly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m a bossy little fuck,” is his response. “Close them.”
I do it, because arguing would just take longer. I feel his hand land on my thigh. He lets out a sigh, runs his hand up to my hip, and gives me a squeeze. “So fucking hot. I thought so when you were seventeen, too. But the view is even better now.”
The words of praise make me swell with pride. Fine—they make me swell, period. My cock has never been so hard. With my eyes shut, I can’t anticipate Roderick’s next move. All I can do is take a deep breath and experience the drag of his fingertips across my stomach. My abs clench under his touch.
“Nice,” he whispers. “Turn your head away from me.”
I do, not knowing why. But a moment later, his lips drag along the sensitive skin on the underside of my jaw, and I groan from the contact. “Yes, fuck. Kiss me,” I beg.
Those firm lips find my neck, then my clavicle. Slowly he kisses his way to my chest. I’m dying as he licks and sucks and nibbles across my ribcage. I weave my fingers into his hair and rub my hands all over his bare shoulders and back. I want everything at once. I want kisses and a blowjob, and I want his hands to roam the way they are right now—over my knee and up my thighs.
Being tortured by Roderick is the hottest experience of my life. Not that there’s a great deal of competition for that title. I spent my teenage years trying to pretend that I was attracted to girls. Although when Susie Nordstrom put her hand down my pants on prom night, it felt pretty great. Teenage hormones powered me through a few hasty sexual encounters. I lost my virginity on the backseat of a pickup truck, like every other kid around here.
But nothing I ever did before felt as right as this. Every inch of me wants Roderick. I’m made up of yearning. And it’s not because of the tequila.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and repeats the torture he began when we were downstairs—he sucks on my thumb. On my forefinger. Then he places my wet fingers on my dick. “Jerk for me,” he says. “I want to watch you shoot.”
