The Roommate's Baby

by Penny Wylder

  "God, you're so tight," he growls between clenched teeth, pleasure written all over his face, his eyes half-hooded as he gazes down at me, bent over in front of him. "You have a perfect fucking pussy, you know that Rina?"

  "Perfect match for your perfect cock," I reply, then gasp again when he draws back and thrusts into me once more.

  It doesn't take him long to build up a rhythm, and between him pounding into me from behind, and the way my hips grind against the couch as he fucks me, it's not long before the pressure starts to build deep in my belly.

  Then he slides a hand between my legs, his finger pressing against my mound, inching toward my clit, while all the while he keeps up his pace, fucking me hard, fast. "I want you to come for me, Rina."

  His finger reaches my clit, and the combined sensation has me gasping to catch my breath, that pressure rocketing higher and higher.

  "Come for me," he commands, and my heartbeat speeds up, my hips bucking as I thrust forward against his hand, pinned between his hand against my clit and his cock still pounding into my pussy.

  "I'm coming," I manage to pant between breaths, the pressure so high now I can't stand it, can't focus on anything except the sensation of his cock, his fingers. "Fuck, fuck, I'm coming..." I trail off into a loud moan as the orgasm hits hard, my pussy convulsing around his shaft.

  But his fingers don't stop moving. He shifts the pressure, works them against my clit softer now, in gentle circles, knowing I'll be sensitive, but also knowing how much pressure to keep on me to make my clit start to pulse again already. "Oh, I'm not done with you yet," he promises, and that dark curl of pleasure in his tone makes my belly tighten.

  He angles his hips so his cock drags along my inner walls, and between that and his gently circling hands, rolling my clit underneath the pads of his fingers, it's not long before that pressure builds right back up again. "Come again, Rina."

  I cry out, almost before the words are out of his mouth, unable to contain it any longer. This orgasm leaves my legs shaky, my heart pounding, my whole body on fire.

  And still, he doesn't stop. "One more, Rina." He slows his hands even more, presses against my mound more than my clit this time. I'm sensitive as hell, though, so even that light touch—especially that light touch—stokes another fire in the pit of my stomach.

  I lose track of the orgasms. All I can sense anymore are his fingers, his cock, and the spikes of pleasure that shoot through my veins every time he touches me, fucks me, lifts my hips and angles himself deeper into me.

  When he finally comes with a growl of pleasure, it's all I can do to keep myself from screaming aloud at the white hot rush of his cum inside me, coating my inner walls, sending yet another spark of heat through my body.

  He draws out, and I gasp at the rush of heat that trickles down my inner thighs, coating the couch beneath me.

  “Wait.” I cast a glance over my shoulder in protest. “I need to lie down. Keep my legs up, so…” So more of his cum doesn’t escape.

  He’s still breathing fast, and his eyes are just starting to clear from the haze of lust that had taken them over. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize…” He runs a hand through his hair, then reaches down to undo the shirt around my wrists.

  “It’s ok.” I smirk. “I know getting girls knocked up isn’t usually your goal…” When my hands are free, I spin around and lie on my back.

  Cannon, for his part, grasps my ankles and pushes them up around his shoulders, kneeling in front of me now. His hands run along my calves, my thighs, savoring the touch as he gazes down at me. “I’ll get the hang of this eventually,” he promises.

  I laugh. “Hopefully it won’t take that long.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Why, sick of fucking me already, Rina?”

  My cheeks flare red. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know,” he replies, still smiling. But there’s something behind that smile. A look in his eyes that I don’t quite recognize. Something almost…wistful.

  When I figure I’ve been on my back long enough, I sit up and gently pull him toward me. Tug him into a slow, searing kiss. Our naked bodies press flush together, and for a moment, I allow myself to get lost in that kiss.

  Then I remember.

  NSA.

  He seems to remember the same thing at the same time, because he draws back from the kiss, eyes searching for mine. I duck past him and head toward the kitchen.

  "I'll clean up," I say, but he catches my wrist, stops me.

  "You did the last one. This one's mine." For a long moment, those dark eyes of his study mine. I think he's going to say something else, for a split second. Then he shakes his head and smiles. "You go take that shower you wanted. I think we're sufficiently dirty now."

  I smile back, though it doesn't quite reach my eyes, I know. Because deep down, I'm already thinking... are we? Deep down, I already want to fall right back into bed with him.

  NSA, I remind myself, for the last time tonight. "Thanks," I say, and then I force myself to disentangle my hand from his and march toward my bedroom, alone. I really do need that shower, after all.

  Over the next few days, we wind up going off-chart. I have one more green heart day of ovulation—or at least, when my phone app estimates that I'm ovulating sometime around now—but we decide that hooking up for a few days past the green hearts marked on the chart can't hurt. After all, sometimes the schedules can be slightly off. People get pregnant at all sorts of points in their cycles.

  That's what I tell myself, anyway. And Cannon agrees readily.

  On the second day of this experiment, we hooked up in the morning before work—Cannon lifted me onto the kitchen counter, and I wrapped my legs around him, holding his face against my chest as he fucked me until we both came screaming.

  That night, we took our evening shower together. The first time, up against the shower wall, I expected. But what I didn't expect was that after we'd finished, and we set about washing each other down, Cannon would remove the shower head from the wall and slide it between my legs, pinning me in place against his body as he directed the stream at my pussy, making me orgasm over and over as he held me.

  "I read that when women orgasm during sex, it can help the sperm reach the egg," he told me afterward, by way of explanation. But I couldn't help noticing that, after that, our sex shifted a little. We took longer at foreplay—he started off day 3 by going down on me before we even fucked, and that night, I couldn't resist the urge to drop to my knees in front of him and lick the length of his long, thick cock, savoring his thickness, his velvety soft smooth skin over the hard steel of his shaft. He stopped me before he finished, of course, since we need to make sure all of his cum winds up in my pussy.

  But something about that seemed different. We weren't just fucking for a baby, not entirely, not anymore. We were getting each other off in other ways too. Drawing this out, making it more pleasurable.

  I tell myself that's normal. Natural. After all, we both like sex. We should enjoy this process, even if there is an end-goal that we're doing it. It doesn't have to all be mechanical, robotic make-a-baby sex. We can have fun with it along the way.

  Then comes day 4. By then, we're way past my ovulation cycle. It would be another couple weeks before I'd know if anything took, if I'm pregnant. At this point, if I'm not pregnant already, we'll have to wait until next month to try again.

  But when we get home from work, after a long day of pushing a hell of a lot of boring paperwork across my desk, and we turn on the TV expecting to both cool off this time, since our agreement was to only fuck on days when it's plausible that it might impregnate me... I find myself casting sideways glances at him.

  And I catch him doing the same to me.

  Halfway through the TV show—one of our favorites, the show we watch religiously every week together, and normally would never miss an episode—it's clear neither of us are remotely paying attention.

  That's when Cannon grabs the remote and flicks the TV off.
<
br />   "What are you doing?" I ask, my voice soft.

  He spins toward me with a shrug and a smile. "Were you watching?"

  "Kind of."

  "What just happened, then?"

  "Um..." I bite my lower lip.

  "That's what I thought." His dark eyes catch mine, and I can't look away from him, not when he's looking at me like this. Through me. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "That we're both really bad at paying attention to that show?" I guess.

  His smirk widens. "That we're clearly distracting one another." His hand comes to rest on my leg. Begins to trail up it. "We might as well admit it."

  My throat tightens. It's all I can take to swallow and clear it enough to answer. "Admit what?" My heart hammers in my chest. Does he mean...?

  "Admit that we want to fuck, chart or no chart."

  Oh. Right. Of course. I don't know what I expected. But even this, even fucking just for fun rather than for the purpose we agreed to, it feels dangerous.

  Still. When he slides his hand higher up my thigh, I can't resist. "I mean, it can't hurt, can it, to squeeze in a few extra days...?"

  "Definitely not." He leans closer, his breath hot on my face.

  I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. "Might as well."

  His eyes search mine. "No harm no foul. Unless..."

  "Unless?" I lift my chin, try to tamp down the trepidation building in my chest.

  "Unless you're worried about our agreement."

  "What, NSA?" I force myself to laugh, casually, as if it means nothing. "Of course not. We're both pros at that, you said so yourself. Right?"

  For a long, quiet moment, he searches my face. I hold my breath. Half of me is wondering if he's going to say something. Admit something. The other half, the stronger, smarter half, is pretty sure he's just checking me for cracks. Making sure that I'm not doing something stupid like catching feels for him. "Right," he finally says, and I breathe out a sigh.

  Though whether it's a sigh of relief or disappointment, I'm not really sure.

  Luckily, I don't have too much time to dwell on it. He crushes his mouth to mine, and I lose myself in his touch, his kiss. Before long, he's lifting me in his arms, carrying me into his bedroom, our lips still pressed together, tongues entwined. He drops me onto the bed and spreads my knees, kneeling between them as he trails hungry kisses down my chest, my stomach, to my hips, then my inner thighs, sucking and nipping at my skin until I'm gasping.

  Only then does he flick his tongue along the folds of my lips, one at a time, slow and seductive. "God I love the way you taste," he murmurs against my mound, before he delves his tongue between my lips, along my slit, swirling the tip to taste my juices, which are already pooling there, because goddamn it, Cannon makes me wet every time he touches me.

  Then, without warning, he hauls my legs over his shoulders and pulls my ass to the edge of the bed. His hands grip my ass, hard and firm, and his tongue flattens into a wide plane as he begins to lick me harder, faster. When he pushes the tip of his tongue inside my pussy, I cry out. He curls it inside me, strokes it along my front inner wall, right across my G-spot. My hips buck toward his face, and without thinking, I reach down to grip his hair and pull his face harder against me.

  His chin slides between my legs, and his hands tighten on my ass as he tongues me faster. He has so much control—he knows exactly how to curve his tongue, and when to flatten it out and slide it across my clit to make me gasp and buck with building desire.

  "God, I'm so close," I find myself panting, before long, but he slows down then, keeps me hovering at the brink. Slides his tongue in and out of me at a slower pace, circles my clit less often, lets himself savor me.

  That makes me twist and try to arch my hips closer to him, impatient. But he just chuckles, mouth still pressed firmly against my pussy, and I moan in frustration.

  "Please," I finally gasp, when I can't take it anymore. "Cannon, I need to come."

  He pauses entirely then, and his dark eyes flick up to mine, gazing at me across the plane of my belly. He arches a single eyebrow, and I hold his gaze, knowing how I must look, how desperate the look in my eyes must be.

  "Please," I repeat.

  He smiles. And then he redoubles his pace, licking his tongue straight across my clit, over and over, the pressure intense and spiking fast. I cry out with relief, release, as the orgasm sweeps through me. My pussy walls clench and release, rhythmic, as the climax hits, and he takes advantage of that. Slides one finger inside me, and keeps tonguing my clit.

  I gasp at the added pressure. Tighten my fists in his hair, clench hard as he tongues me more, faster, straight back toward another climax. This time when I finish, I scream his name, my whole body shaking with the force of it.

  He draws back, grinning, and kisses his way up my prone body until he reaches my mouth. "God I love hearing you do that," he murmurs against my mouth, right before he kisses me, hard.

  I taste myself on his tongue. Taste myself, mingled with his scent, his flavor, so specific and unique to him. I part my lips, twine my tongue around his, and raise my legs to wrap them around his waist, hungry for him now, hungry to be fucked properly.

  And he obeys, giving me exactly what I want. That fat cock of his, deep in my pussy, stretching me, driving me wild with every hard thrust.

  He makes me come twice more before he finally finishes inside me, and we collapse across his bed in a sweaty, tangled mess of sheets. This time, I lay there for a long time, savoring the feeling of his body pressed to my side, the scent of sex hovering in the air. I’m lying next to a puddle at the foot of the bed, but we're both so exhausted from the long day, from the hard fuck, that neither of us move to clean it this time. We don't move toward the showers either. We just lie there along his bed, his arms wrapped around my waist, my head resting on his chest, knees up to ensure that I maximize my chances, savoring the feel of each other. Our scent hangs thick in the air, and the last thing I remember thinking before my knees sink down sideways over his thighs and I drift off to sleep in his arms, is that I should really go back to my own room...

  But that's the last thing in the world I want to do right now.

  I wake up with a start in the early hours of the morning. We've both shifted a little in bed—I'm curled on my side now, and Cannon is wrapped around me, his legs against the backs of mine, his hips against my ass, his arm curled possessively, protectively, around my waist. I reach down to slide my hand along his forearm. Tangle my fingers through his, and behind me, against the nape of my neck, I hear him sigh softly in his sleep.

  I swallow hard and stare at his bedroom wall. It's funny—it looks so much like mine, and yet our rooms are the reverse layout of each other's, the mirror image. Like the opposite world I suddenly find myself living in.

  I shouldn't be doing this. Sleeping here. Having sex with him off-chart. Letting him go down on me, inviting all these other questions into our agreement. This was never supposed to be about the sex. We were fucking for one reason, and one reason only—to make a baby.

  But now... as much as I hate to even think it, as much as I don't want to admit it to myself, because I know what a fucking mess it will cause... I'm worried.

  Because I promised Cannon we would keep this arrangement professional. I thought I could do it, I really did. I figured I could fuck him and everything would stay the same—our friendship, our living situation, our relationship at the office as coworkers. My lack of any feelings for him beyond friendship.

  Instead... I think I'm starting to do the one thing I swore I wouldn't do. The one thing that would break this NSA agreement between us.

  I think I'm starting to fall for him.

  6

  Rina

  The next day, Cannon has to go away on a short business trip.

  Thank God, I think. At least this gives me a tiny amount of space to clear my head. At least this gives me time to relax, decompress, breathe for a few days.

  But of course, the
first day into the office without him, I find myself subconsciously checking his desk every few seconds. Or eying my phone, wondering if he caught his plane okay, if he got to his hotel on the other side, if he's going to text.

  At lunch, my phone lights up, and I practically pounce on it the moment it does, eager to read.

  Made it to the conference, he says. Too bad you couldn't come—they have a free buffet lunch. I know you love those.

  My chest tightens painfully. Too bad you couldn't come... Does that mean he misses me? Does that mean he's looking for me the same way I'm doing for him right now? Thinking about me constantly, even though I'm not around?

  I shake myself. Don't be ridiculous, Rina. He's not thinking any of these thoughts. Because he's sane. He's good at NSA. He's not getting attached. This text is just him being polite and checking in, letting me know he made it to his conference okay. That's all.

  I force myself to shut my phone off for the rest of the day.

  Later in the afternoon, my friend Lacy catches me at the water cooler. "A bunch of us are going out tonight," she says. "You should come! You're becoming such a homebody lately. Never going anywhere, staying late in the office every night..."

  My cheeks flush. Lately, the nights I stayed late in the office, it was so Cannon and I could hook up —once in the kitchen, another time in his office. And the other nights I've been staying at home, well... Those are also filled with the same activity, just with a lot more screaming as we take full advantage of our empty, private apartment.

  But of course, I can't say any of that to Lacy. Cannon isn't just my roommate and my NSA hookup—he's also our coworker. So I force a broad smile. "I'd love to come out, sure. What's on the agenda?"

  Lacy rolls her eyes. "Chris insisted on bowling. It should be fun. I hear there's a pretty decent bar in the alley."

  "Oh, I'm..." I pause. I haven't really talked to Lacy about my pregnancy debacle either. Not since I skipped out on the clinic appointment. She knows I want a baby, but she doesn't know I'm actively... shall we say, trying, at the moment. "I'm taking a month off drinking," I say. "One of those challenge things, you know. But I'll come bowling." I force a broad smile onto my face.