Hushed Moans

[Kinks: Roommates, secret sex, risk]

Her roommate was asleep. She wasn’t. Not anymore.

The digital clock blinked 2:13 a.m.

The room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the fan and the soft rustle of sheets every now and then. In the bed across from her, Lena’s roommate was sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the storm brewing under the covers on the other side of the room.

Lena lay still on her back, heart pounding, breath shallow. She could feel him beside her, his body hot and heavy under the same blanket, their limbs barely touching, yet her skin burned.

This was dangerous.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Boys weren’t allowed in the girls’ dorm after midnight. If they got caught, they'd both be in trouble. But she hadn’t told him to leave. She hadn’t wanted to.

He turned his head and whispered her name, low and deep, his breath tickling her cheek.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “It’s so loud.”

She swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet…” he leaned in closer, “here I am.”

A small whimper escaped her lips as his hand found her thigh, slowly sliding up beneath the oversized t-shirt she wore. His fingers were warm, his touch confident—teasing but careful, like he was waiting for her to stop him.

She didn’t.

Instead, she parted her legs just a little, barely enough for him to notice.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice hoarse with restraint.

She nodded.

That was all he needed.

He kissed her then—not her lips, but her neck. Feather-light, soft kisses that traveled downward slowly, lingering along her collarbone, then down the center of her chest. Her breath hitched with every inch he explored. The t-shirt rose with his touch, until it was bunched around her hips.

Lena’s eyes darted toward her roommate’s bed, only a few feet away.

“We can’t,” she whispered, breathless. “She’s right there.”

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. The room was dark, but she could still see the glint in his gaze.

“Then be quiet for me,” he said, lips brushing hers in the barest kiss. “Can you do that, pretty girl?”

She shivered.

He shifted down the bed, dragging the covers with him. Her body tensed, her thighs clenching, but he slid his hands underneath and gently pried them apart. He kissed the inside of her knee first. Then her thigh. Higher. Higher.

She grabbed the pillow and hugged it to her chest, biting into the fabric as he pressed his face between her legs. She could feel the heat of his breath through her panties before he hooked a finger under the waistband and tugged them down, slow and deliberate, until they slipped off her ankles.

Then his mouth was on her.

Her hips jumped from the shock of it—his tongue warm, firm, licking her slowly, savoring her like dessert he’d been craving all night. She gasped, hand flying to her mouth to smother the sound.

His hands held her thighs apart, thumbs stroking her skin, grounding her as his mouth worked in maddening circles. He didn’t rush. He licked and sucked, then flattened his tongue and dragged it upward in one slow motion that made her back arch.

“F-fuck,” she breathed against her palm.

“Shhh,” he chuckled softly, breath warm against her. “Don’t wake her.”

Her whole body ached with need. Every time she thought she’d gotten used to the feeling, he changed the rhythm—slowed down, then sped up, keeping her on the edge. When he slid one finger inside her, she clenched so tight it made him groan into her core.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered. “So wet. All for me?”

She whimpered again, nodding frantically.

His finger curled just right, finding that spot that made her toes curl. He added another, thrusting them slow and deep while his tongue flicked her clit in gentle, teasing strokes.

She was trembling.

Her hand fisted the sheets, her other hand clamped over her mouth, trying so hard not to cry out as pleasure coiled tight in her belly, ready to snap.

“You gonna cum for me?” he asked, voice low and full of heat. “You gonna be my good girl and take it quietly?”

She didn’t answer—she couldn’t. Her voice was lost somewhere between her shallow breaths and the rush of heat building low in her belly. Every muscle in her body was pulled tight, her fingers gripping the sheets like a lifeline. Her thighs quivered around his shoulders, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers inside her.

He knew her body now. Knew exactly how to push her closer to the edge, slow enough to tease, deep enough to drive her wild. Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore—when the ache inside her had stretched to something unbearable—he flicked his tongue against her one more time, slow and deliberate.

The pleasure snapped through her like a whip.

Her body arched off the mattress, back bowing as the orgasm slammed into her. She buried her face in the pillow, a strangled moan slipping from her lips despite her best effort to stay quiet. The world fell away, and all she could feel was him—his mouth, his hands, the pulse of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She came in waves, shuddering through every pulse, every breathless moment. Her toes curled, her body trembled, and her chest heaved with shallow, broken gasps. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. All she could do was hold on.

Slowly, carefully, he eased his hand from between her legs and kissed the inside of her thigh, like a promise. Then he crawled back up beside her, moving the covers back over them. His touch was suddenly soft, almost reverent, like he didn’t want to break the spell.

His lips brushed her temple.

“You didn’t scream,” he murmured with a lazy smile in his voice. “I’m impressed.”

Lena turned toward him, her cheeks still flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. Her breathing was uneven, her body still humming.

“I hate you,” she whispered, voice weak but teasing.

He smirked, resting his forehead against hers. “No, you don’t.”

She didn’t. Not even a little.

He pulled her close, one arm wrapping firmly around her waist as she curled into his chest. His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. She felt weightless, every ounce of tension melted from her limbs, replaced by a strange, dangerous softness.

She should have told him to leave. Should have rolled away, reminded him—and herself—that this was a one-time mistake.

But instead, she let herself stay wrapped in his arms.

Safe. Sated.

And utterly addicted to the way he made her feel.