Page 67 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Force of habit,” I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Then I’m clearly not doing my job properly.” She smirked, sliding down my body with deliberate slowness.
“Kate,” I groaned as her fingers hooked into the waistband of my sweatpants. “We should probably talk more about tonight?—”
“Later,” she insisted, tugging the fabric down my hips. “Right now, I need you to focus on my experimental methodology.”
And then her mouth was on me, hot and wet and determined, making coherent thought impossible. My hands tangled in her hair as she took me deeper, her tongue doing things that had my hips lifting off the bed involuntarily.
“Jesus, Kate,” I gasped as she worked me with relentless precision, her eyes locked on mine with an intensity that was almost too much to bear.
“I love watching you lose control,” she murmured before taking me in her mouth again, one hand gripping my base while the other explored lower.
For a man who built his entire life around discipline and restraint, there was something profoundly freeing about surrendering to Kate’s ministrations. I let go, let her take me apart with her clever mouth and hands, trusting her in a way I’d never trusted anyone before.
When I finally shattered, her name torn from my throat in a ragged groan, I understood with perfect clarity that I wasn’t just falling in love with Kate Ellis—I was already completely, irrevocably in love with her.
The Capital Grille was exactly the type of restaurant my father would choose—old-school steakhouse with dark wood paneling, white tablecloths, and waiters in formal attire. The kind of place where status was as much on the menu as the food.
“Your tie is crooked,” Kate whispered as we approached the host stand.
I’d insisted on wearing a suit, knowing my father would judge every detail. Kate had traded her usual lab attire for asimple green dress that brought out her eyes and made my mouth go dry when she’d emerged from the bedroom earlier.
“You’re beautiful,” I’d told her, momentarily forgetting my anxiety about the evening ahead.
“And you clean up nicely, hockey boy,” she’d replied with a wink. “Now, ready to test our hypothesis?”
Now, as we followed the host to our table, I felt Kate’s fingers brush mine reassuringly. My father stood as we approached, ever the gentleman in public, his critical eyes sweeping over both of us before he offered a perfunctory smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Austin,” he said with a nod, then turned his attention to Kate. “And you must be Katherine.”
“Kate, actually,” she corrected, extending her hand with a confident smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Callahan.”
My father shook her hand, his expression giving nothing away. “Harold, please.”
We sat, and I fought the urge to loosen my tie. The weight of my father’s expectations pressed on me like a physical force, just as it had throughout my childhood.
"Where's your mom tonight?" Kate asked as we were seated.
"Paris," my father answered before I could. "Art exhibition. She sends her regards."
I nodded, unsurprised. My parents had mastered the art of living separate lives while maintaining the appearance of marriage for public consumption.
“So, how did you two meet?” my father asked after we’d ordered drinks, his tone casual but his eyes calculating.
Before I could answer, Kate jumped in. “Austin was gracious enough to offer me temporary housing when my university accommodations fell through. I moved to Minneapolis in January for a research fellowship but arrived to find my apartment wasn’t ready.”
My father raised an eyebrow. “Quite the coincidence.”
“Actually, probability studies would suggest that unlikely events occur with surprising frequency given enough opportunities,” Kate replied cheerfully. “Though I’ll admit, the odds of me spilling coffee on Austin’s floor within five minutes of meeting him were statistically significant.”
I suppressed a smile at the memory, feeling some of my tension ease at Kate’s easy confidence.
“And what exactly is this research fellowship?” my father asked, his tone suggesting he viewed her work as a cute hobby rather than a serious career.
I tensed, recognizing the dismissive tone, but Kate remained unruffled.
“I study antibiotic resistance in bacteria,” she explained. “Specifically, I’m developing compounds that prevent bacteria from sharing their resistance genes, which could help address the growing crisis of untreatable infections.”
