The Roommate Clause(4)

Chapter 4

I lasted until Saturday.

Two full days of open doors, of Kai walking past my room without stopping, of my hands staying exactly where he told them to stay. By Friday night I was so wound up I could barely sit still. Every time I shifted on the couch I felt the ghost of his fingers. Every time he looked at me across the kitchen I had to force myself not to drop to my knees just to make the ache stop.

Saturday he came home late.

I heard the front door. Heard his keys hit the counter. Heard him pour something into a glass. Then silence.

I stayed in my room with the door open like he’d ordered, sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but an old T-shirt and briefs, waiting for whatever came next.

Footsteps stopped in my doorway.

Kai stood there with two glasses of whiskey. He set one on the nightstand without a word, then took a slow sip from his own.

“On your knees.”

I dropped.

The carpet was soft under me. I looked up at him and waited. He didn’t rush. He finished half the glass, set it down, and stepped closer until the front of his jeans was right in front of my face.

“Take it out.”

My hands shook when I opened his belt. When I freed him. He was already hard, thick, the head flushed and wet. I leaned in without being told.

He stopped me with a hand in my hair.

“Not yet.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “Look at me first.”

I did.

“You’re going to take all of it,” he said quietly. “And you’re going to keep your eyes on mine while you do. If you look away, I stop.”

I nodded.

He let go of my hair.

I opened my mouth and took him in slow. The weight of him on my tongue made my stomach flip. I kept my eyes locked on his the whole time, even when he pushed deeper and my throat burned. Spit ran down my chin. Tears blurred my vision. He didn’t look away either. Just watched me choke and adjust and keep going like it was the only thing that mattered.

When he finally pulled me off, a string of spit still connected my mouth to him.

“Up.”

I stood on unsteady legs. He turned me, bent me over the side of the bed, and dragged my briefs down. Cool air hit my skin. Then the click of a bottle. Lube. Warm fingers spreading it over me, pushing inside just enough to coat me, then gone again.

The blunt head of his cock pressed against me.

I sucked in a breath.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Beg.”

The word came out broken. “Please. Please fuck me. I need it. I’ve needed it since the first night you watched me.”

He pushed in.

Slow. Controlled. One long, relentless inch at a time until he was fully seated and I was shaking underneath him, forehead pressed to the sheets, hands fisted in the duvet. The stretch burned. The fullness stole the air from my lungs. He stayed still, giving me time, one hand braced on the bed beside my head, the other resting heavy on the small of my back.

“Breathe,” he said.

I did.

When he started moving it was deep and deliberate. Every thrust dragged against that spot inside me until my knees threatened to give out. He talked the entire time — low, filthy, calm.

“You’re so fucking tight. Taking me like you were made for it. Look at you. Dripping on the sheets already.”

I came the first time without a hand on me, body locking up, a broken sound torn from my throat. He didn’t stop. Just kept fucking me through it, slower, deeper, until the oversensitivity made me whimper and push back for more at the same time.

“Again,” he said against the back of my neck. “You’re going to come again before I fill you.”

He reached under me, wrapped a hand around my cock, and stroked in time with his thrusts. It was too much. Too good. I came a second time with his name in my mouth and tears on my face.

Only then did he let go.

His rhythm turned harder. Deeper. The sound of skin on skin filled the room. His grip on my hip tightened. When he finally came it was with a low, rough sound against my shoulder and a sharp bite that would bruise by morning. Heat flooded me. He stayed buried deep, pulsing, breathing hard against my skin.

We stayed like that for a long time.

Eventually he pulled out slow. I felt the warm slide of him leaving me, the mess that followed. He didn’t move away. Just rested his forehead against the back of my neck for a second, like he needed the moment as much as I did.

Then he spoke, voice quieter than before.

“Roommate clause is void.”

I turned my head enough to see him.

“You’re not sleeping in this room anymore,” he said. “From now on you sleep in mine. You come when I say. You ask before you touch yourself. And I fuck you whenever I want.”

He brushed a thumb over the bite mark on my shoulder.

“Understood?”

I swallowed.

“Yes.”

He helped me up, guided me to the bathroom, cleaned me with a warm cloth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he led me down the hall to his room, pulled back the covers, and waited until I climbed in.

When he got in behind me and pulled me against his chest, the last of the tension finally left my body.

I fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the quiet certainty that nothing between us would ever be the same again.