Cocky Roommate

by Claire Kingsley

  But that’s not me. I’ve never been able to separate sex from my emotions. If I slept with him, I’d only get attached. And Weston Reid is not the kind of man to get attached to. I know enough about him to realize that.

  It’s nice to be friends with him, and I can appreciate him for the hot piece of man candy that he is. But that’s where it has to end. If I let it go further than that, I’ll only end up hurt.

  But after all those little smiles and flirty laughs, sitting on sheets that smell like man heaven, and having my hands all over his back, I am a throbbing ball of need. I slip into my bedroom, strip off my clothes, and get into bed.

  I can take care of this myself, and maybe I won’t be so crazy around him tomorrow.

  My eyes drift closed as my hand slides down. I don’t even try to stop the fantasy from forming. It isn’t the first time.

  Weston’s mouth on my skin. His body braced above me. His cock, sliding in and out of my wetness, hot and throbbing. His muscles flexing as his hips drive into me, over and over.

  I definitely shouldn’t let anything happen with Weston. But I can imagine it, and even that is mind-blowing.

  13

  Weston

  Leaning back against the pillow, I let out a long breath. Shit, what just happened? Yeah, back rubs feel good and all, but that’s not what has me slow blinking like my brain just broke.

  Kendra, sitting on my bed. Flashing me those cute little smiles. Teasing me, like she’s so good at doing. And then touching me, her hands all over my sore back, her body pressed against mine. Holy shit, that felt good. I was putty in her hands, and that is not normal for me. No matter what I’m doing, I like to stay in control. Be in charge. But thirty seconds of Kendra’s fingers kneading my back, feeling her warmth against me, and I was done.

  It’s probably good that she got up when she did. I don’t know what would have happened if she’d stayed. I don’t know what I want when it comes to her.

  No, I know what I want. That’s not a question. But I don’t know if I should.

  I always steer clear of women I know well or spend a lot of time around. I’m never looking for more than casual sex, so it’s easier with strangers. Less complicated.

  So why am I thinking about Kendra this way? Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe it.

  I turn out the light and try to go to sleep. It’s late, and I’m tired, but I stare at the ceiling for a while. My ribs ache, probably from the way I was sitting. I haven’t been taking my pain pills—I hate the way they make me feel. But maybe I should tonight. It will just put me to sleep anyway. I’ll probably feel better in the morning if I do.

  I need water, so I shuffle out into the hallway, quiet so I don’t disturb Kendra. When I walk past her room, a noise catches my attention. Her door isn’t quite latched—she really needs to fix that—and it hangs open an inch or two.

  I pause, hearing the sound of her sheets sliding across each other, like she moved in bed. That makes me think of Kendra in my bed, which makes me think of her naked, which makes my cock spring to life. Great, just when the last Kendra-induced hard-on had gone away, here we go again.

  Another noise. A breath. But it isn’t the deep breath of someone falling asleep. It’s a quick gasp, followed by more bed noise.

  Fully aware that I’m being an enormous fucking creeper, standing outside her bedroom door, I shift so I’m closer to the crack without her being able to see me if she looks up.

  The bed moves again—a little squeak. Sheets rustling. She’s either having a hard time getting comfortable or she’s—

  A tiny moan, stifled, like she’s trying to be quiet.

  Oh my fucking god.

  I’m stuck now, my feet rooted to the floor. I’m only going to listen for a minute. Or maybe two. Just until I remember how to move my legs again, because somehow I’ve forgotten.

  The rest of the house is completely silent, shrouded in darkness. All I can hear is the quickening of her breath. My eye is glued to the crack between the door and the threshold. Without meaning to, I push it open a little more. I wince, sure it’s going to squeak. Everything in this damn house squeaks. But somehow, it doesn’t—just drifts open a couple more inches.

  It’s too dark to see much, but there’s movement under her sheets. Maybe one of her legs, bent at the knee. I hear another stifled moan and I imagine her fingers between her legs, rubbing her clit. Her breathing is rhythmic now, little catches in her breath revealing the pleasure she’s giving herself.

  My hand slips into my underwear. It’s my left, so not as useful for jacking off. But I’m not going to whack it while Kendra gets her rocks off anyway. I just need a little pressure. Just until I can tear myself away.

  Her breathing quickens and her attempts at silence loosen. Either that or I’m so focused on her, I can hear every tiny sound she makes. God this is one of the hottest things I’ve ever experienced. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I can make out her form beneath the sheets. She reaches one hand behind her and grabs one of the wrought iron bars of her bed frame.

  My cock throbs and I squeeze. Kendra shudders. I can practically see her fingers, gliding along the outside of her pussy, rubbing up and down, the tips dipping inside.

  I wonder what’s going through her mind right now. Do women fantasize when they’re singing solo? I know what I’m thinking about. That it’s me making her moan like that. My fingers, or my tongue, or my cock, sliding in and out of her. Our bodies, skin to skin. Me, on top of her, her legs wrapped around my waist. Thrusting, grinding, grabbing, licking, sucking.

  Fuck, I’m so hard. I rub my dick a few times, wetting it with pre-cum. She whimpers and I can barely stand it. I want to bust through her door, climb on top of her, and show her how it’s done. Give her the biggest, hardest orgasm of her entire life.

  She’s close. I can hear it in her breathing—see it in the way she moves beneath the sheets. God, I’m an asshole for creeping on this, but I’m captivated. I couldn’t rip myself away if the kitchen was on fire.

  A shaking breath. Another whimper. Quiet creaks from her bed in a steady rhythm, the pace increasing. She starts to say something, her voice a whisper. Holy shit, she’s going to—

  “Oh god, Weston.”

  My body stiffens, my fist jerks once, and I come unglued. Hot pulses roll through me, my cock throbbing. My brain is drenched in endorphins, erasing my ability to think. For those few euphoric seconds, I’m coming inside her and she’s moaning in my ear instead of across the room, alone in her bed.

  I move away from her door and lean my shoulder against the wall. I’m breathing hard, my eyes are fuzzy, and my legs feel like they’re going to buckle beneath me. What the fuck just happened? I came in my underwear like a horny teenager.

  A few more breaths and my mind comes back to me. I listen for any sound that indicates she knows I’m here. She takes a deep breath and the sheets rustle again.

  Forget my pain meds. I walk back to my room, as fast as I can without making a sound. She’ll murder me if she knows I was listening to her. How the fuck would I explain that? Or the mess in my underwear?

  Oh hey, Kendra. Listening to you come made me jizz all over myself. No big deal.

  Careful so my bedroom door doesn’t make noise, I shut it behind me and take a deep breath. I clean up and put on fresh underwear, still reeling from what she did to me. I’ve never felt so out of control. To have her undo me like that…

  I lie down and close my eyes. Kendra’s voice echoes in my mind. She breathed my name when she came. She was imagining me.

  Still floating on the waves of the craziest orgasm I’ve ever had, I drift off to sleep, my thoughts full of the woman lying one room away.

  14

  Weston

  This thing with Kendra is turning me into an idiot.

  I feel stupid when I’m around her. Tongue-tied, like a kid with a crush. I don’t like what she does to me. And the fact that she’s so fucking sweet is not helping. I try to push her away, b
ut she just rolls her eyes and smiles. Pats me on the back. Teases me about being surly.

  Nights, though. Nights are the worst. I know she’s right there, on the other side of the wall. Is she touching herself again? Imagining me? Is she making herself come, breathing my name?

  Sleep isn’t easy to come by, but the memory of her making me blow my load in the hallway helps me get off every time. But I still don’t know what to do about her.

  My solution? Stay away from her as much as possible.

  Going back to work helps. My arm is still in a cast, so I can’t perform surgeries. But I’m healed enough that I can see patients. Ian is a fucking dick about it, complaining about how hard his schedule has been since I’ve been out. I ignore him; I don’t need to dignify his bullshit with a response.

  Although I’m able to work, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I shrug off Tanya’s concerns when she asks me if I’m doing all right. But the truth is, by the end of each day, I’m exhausted and sore.

  Still, I go back to the gym in the mornings and work around my injury. I buy a new car so I won’t be beholden to my father any more than necessary. I start getting back to my life—my routine. I find excuses to be out of the house so I won’t be around Kendra too much.

  Saturday rolls around, and I stay in bed late, letting my body rest after a long week. I hear Kendra moving around the house and the rich aroma of her coffee wafts beneath my door. After a while, the front door closes, and the house goes silent.

  I get up, shower, throw on some clothes. I keep pants on more often than not lately; I don’t trust my dick to behave around her.

  Several hours go by, and she doesn’t come home. My body needs rest, so I lie around and listen to a book that barely holds my attention. I wonder where she is. Obsessing over her is the dumbest thing. I want to kick my own ass. But my brain won’t cooperate; thoughts of her roll through my mind no matter how hard I try to ignore them. I pick up my phone to text her and put it down again at least a dozen times.

  She comes home and I stay in my room, feeling like a dumbass for avoiding her. Finally, I get up and go out to the living room, planting myself on the couch. This is not a big deal. She’s sexy, and I’m attracted to her. She must be attracted to me. Why not just go for it and fuck her already?

  Because I actually like her.

  And I don’t like anyone.

  It’s not just how she took care of me after my accident, although for fuck’s sake, she’s some kind of angel for that. But she’s fun and easy to be around. Most people piss me off—they’re annoying and stupid, or they get in my space. Kendra doesn’t. She’s the first person to exist in my world in a way that doesn’t chafe. I enjoy being near her. I’ve missed her this week—missed the incessant clicking of her fingers on the keyboard. Her late-night coffee to keep her up so she can work. Her warm smile.

  I couldn’t just fuck Kendra a few times and be done with her. There are too many feelings involved. And I don’t do feelings. Ever. I don’t get close to people.

  She comes out into the living room, breaking me from my thoughts. It’s all I can do to keep my eyeballs in my skull. She’s wearing a dress—sort of. It’s strapless with a black top, the neckline dipping down like a heart. The skirt starts just below her boobs—thin layers of fluttery cream fabric. But it ends way too soon. This thing is short, making her legs look a mile long. Hot pink heels take it to another level. They scream I’m here to party.

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” I say before I can stop myself.

  She glances down at herself. “A dress?”

  “Barely.”

  She laughs and I notice the rest of her. Hair done in waves that fall around her shoulders. Makeup, including pink lipstick that matches those shoes. She’s sex on a stick and it’s a good thing I put pants on because just the sight of her in this getup is making me hard.

  “What are you all dressed up for?” I ask.

  “I’m going out with some friends.” She grabs her phone off the coffee table and puts it in a little purse. “I thought I mentioned I had plans tonight.”

  She’s leaving the house in that thing? I glance away, trying to act like I don’t care what she’s doing. “I don’t know. Maybe you did.” Don’t ask questions. You don’t care where she’s going. “Where are you going?” God, what is wrong with me?

  “Dinner at the Pike Brewery, and then Monkey Loft.” She raises her arms and gives her hips a little shimmy. “We’re going dancing.”

  My brow furrows and my back knots with tension. She’s going to a club, in that dress, to go dancing? “Since when is clubbing your thing?”

  She shrugs. “It’s fun to go out and let loose once in a while. Besides, I think I’m allowed to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  She laughs again, rolling her eyes. “My birthday, Mr. Observant.”

  Oh shit. It’s her birthday? Why didn’t I know that? I would have… What would I have done? I have no idea, but… something. “What the fuck, Kendra? It’s your birthday?”

  “Well, it’s not for another week. But I’m celebrating tonight with friends.” She quirks her lips at me. “Why, you wanna come?”

  “No.”

  She laughs again. “I know. It’s a girl thing anyway. Mia should be here any minute.”

  “She’s driving?” I ask.

  “No, we’re using Uber so we can drink, but our ride is picking her up first, then me,” she says.

  She’s not driving so she can drink? In that outfit? In a club? I fucking hate this so much I want to murder someone. She can’t go out looking like that. Especially if she’s planning on drinking. This is bullshit. I’m about to say so, but I snap my mouth shut again. What the hell can I say? I don’t want you to go out in that dress? That won’t make me sound like a lunatic at all.

  She goes into the kitchen, her dress swaying with the movement of her hips.

  I try to get myself together. I’m being stupid. People go out, they party. So what? I do. Or I did, before I turned into a fucking invalid. I could, now. I can move around without a lot of pain. I could probably even have sex, as long as I was careful.

  God, I miss sex.

  Kendra comes back out, sliding a chunky black bracelet onto her wrist. She pauses, looking at me. “You okay? You look angry. More than usual, I mean.”

  “I’m fine,” I say and cringe at my voice. I sound really defensive.

  “You sure?”

  Deep breath, Weston. Calm your ass down. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Aw,” she says, sticking out her lower lip. She comes over and taps me on the nose. “Poor baby. Are you going to be lonely without me?”

  Yes. No. Fuck you, Kendra. I laugh it off, but it sounds fake. “Yeah, you wish.”

  She ruffles my hair, then pulls her phone out of her purse. “She’s almost here. I’m going to meet her outside. I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.” She winks at me.

  I clench my fists and swallow hard. Don’t wait up? What the fuck does that mean? Does she think she’s going to hook up with some guy tonight?

  Well, fuck you, whoever you are; she whispers my name when she comes.

  She opens the front door, and with a glance over her shoulder and a little wave, she’s gone.

  I get up and try to distract myself by getting dinner. Leftover spaghetti. Packaged neatly by Kendra with a little post-it note on the top that says Weston. She drew a little smiley face underneath.

  God, what the fuck.

  I reheat it and eat it at the kitchen table. What’s Kendra eating? More importantly, what’s she drinking? Does Pike Brewery have a full bar? I imagine her doing some sort of gross birthday cake shot, the glass topped with whipped cream. I bet it would get on her lips. If I was there, I could lick it off.

  Damn it, Weston.

  Food doesn’t help. I rinse off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Bourbon might. But if Kendra’s out drinking, maybe I shouldn’t.

  What does Kendra going
out drinking have to do with me having a glass of bourbon? That’s ridiculous.

  But I don’t pour a glass.

  I go back to the living room and cruise around Netflix for an hour or so. Kendra and I have been watching some show that’s actually pretty good, but I don’t want to watch the next episode without her. I grab my phone and check it to see if she texted me. I should keep it close in case she needs something. You never know.

  Finally I pick a movie, but I keep checking my phone. It ends a couple of hours later, so I look for something else to watch. She said she’d be late. I’m obviously not waiting up for her. I’m just bored and not tired yet.

  After the second movie I only half watch, I check the time. It’s after one and she’s still not home.

  Fuck this. I’m going.

  I change into a black short sleeved shirt—my cast gets in the way of long sleeves—and a pair of brown pants. I look up the address of Monkey Club—I’ve never been—and head downtown. The club is in an industrial area, and there’s parking up the street. People loiter outside, but there’s no line. Inside there’s a narrow staircase leading up to the bar. I head up, pay the cover, and make my way inside.

  The lighting is dark and the whole place has an underground vibe, even though it’s on the second floor. It’s busy, but not packed. There’s a cluster of people at the bar, and a crowd dances in front of the DJ. Speakers pump out electronic music; nothing that’s familiar, but it has a good beat. I look around for any sign of Kendra. I’ve met Mia a couple of times when she stopped by the house, so I know what she looks like. But I don’t know any of Kendra’s other friends.

  I wander the perimeter for a few minutes, wondering if she’s here. She might be on her way home and I missed her. I get near the bar and that’s when I spot her.