The Roommate's Baby

by Penny Wylder

  "Eager, my little dirty girl?"

  I glance up at him in the mirror, enjoying the view—him behind me, his shirt off, bare chest glistening with sweat, and his eyes hot as ever as they focus in on me. From this angle, it looks even hotter that I'm in this tight little dress, now bunched up around my waist, with my bare ass sticking straight up in the air behind me, and my carefully positioned wig askew.

  He seems to notice the latter at the same time as I do, and gently disentangles it from my hair, bending down across me to bite my shoulder lightly as he does. "Sorry," he whispers against my skin. "But I need to see the real you." Then he runs his hands through my hair—which is a mess from being bunched up under the wig all night, but he doesn't seem to care. He grips a handful and pulls just hard enough to make me arch my neck, watch him in the mirror as his fingers slide forward and start to circle across my clit, increasing the pressure with every rotation.

  Before long I'm gasping, finding it hard to keep my breath steady. My chest heaves, and in the mirror, I watch him grin down at me, enjoying the view. "I love when you come for me, Rina," he murmurs.

  "I... I'm going to... soon," I manage to gasp, as he increases the pressure, his fingers circling, harder, faster... Then, without warning, he plunges one hand into my pussy, all the way to the knuckle. I cry out faintly, and he steps closer. I thrust my hips back against him, drive his finger deeper, and I don't stop moving until I feel his hips collide with mine, feel the shape of his hard cock through the fabric of his pants.

  "Cannon." I meet his gaze in the mirror. "I want... you..."

  "Not yet," he replies, his gaze steady as ever, damn him. How is it that he always knows just where to touch, just how to drive me wild, without letting me make him this crazy in return?

  I'd say it isn't fair, but right about now, as he adds another finger to my pussy and begins to stroke back and forth, building up speed, I can't really complain. I'm enjoying this way too fucking much.

  "Tell me, dirty girl." His voice brings me back into myself, distracts me for a moment from the orgasm building in the pit of my belly. I glance up at him in the mirror. "Do you want to try something new?'

  "Try what?" I ask, my voice soft.

  He raises a single eyebrow. And then he withdraws his fingers from me, making me groan faintly in frustration.

  Then, he places one of those fingers, still slick and wet with my juices, between my cheeks, pointed straight at the tight little nub of my ass. "Do you want me to fill you even more fully this time?"

  I swallow hard. Keep my gaze on his. I've never tried this before. Never let anyone take my ass, in any way, because to be honest, while I was always curious about it, it made me too nervous to try with someone I didn't know. I never let any of my casual hookups go anywhere near my ass.

  But with Cannon... Things are different. We've tried so many new things. And I trust him. Hell, I wouldn't allow anyone else to lock me into a restaurant bathroom with them.

  So I nod, just once, my gaze steady.

  Without waiting for any more reply than that, Cannon begins to press his finger forward, gently. Another wordless cry escapes my lips as the very tip of his finger glides past the tight pucker of my ass, inching inside me. At first, it does sting a bit, but it's the same kind of hurt I experience when he bites my chest or when we fuck so hard that it's difficult to walk the next day. It's a good ache, bone-deep. The kind of hurt that borders on pleasure.

  And it doesn't last long, either. As he continues to press forward, a centimeter at a time, I can feel my body relaxing, feel myself letting go of control.

  "That's it," he murmurs, approving. "Relax. I'm in control now, Rina. As long as you remember that, this will feel amazing."

  So I do just that. I let him take over, completely. Surrender myself to his touch, for him to use as he wants. The thought alone makes me wetter, because I love the idea of him taking his pleasure from me, using me however he wants. There's something so hot about the surrender of control there.

  He finishes pressing his finger inside me, and for a moment he just holds it there. I breathe in, out, adjusting, getting used to the sensation of having a finger inside my ass.

  I'm still adjusting to that when I feel the tip of his cock press against the entrance to my pussy, and now, my eyes widen in the mirror, going wide with surprise.

  "You can take this, Rina," he murmurs. "You're a fucking size queen, remember?" His eyes flash where they meet mine, and just hearing him say that, knowing that he knows what he's doing, relaxes me again.

  He pushes inside me, and I can't help it. I gasp, loud, in pleasure.

  I've never felt this full.

  He goes slow, entering me almost as slowly as he slid his finger into my ass. When he finally reaches the end, his cock fully inside my pussy, his balls resting against my lips, he draws back, pulling both his finger and his cock out of me at once. I groan at the sensation of loss, already desperate to feel him filling me again.

  I don't have to wait long. He thrusts forward into me once more, and I thrust back at the same time, crying out, forgetting where we are, forgetting everything else around us.

  He starts to pick up the pace, fucking me harder, his finger moving in and out of my ass in time with his thrusts. I rock with him, bracing myself on the sink, glancing back and forth between the mirror and over my shoulder, to savor the view of him thrusting into me like this, bent in half in front of him.

  That's when a loud knock sounds at the door. "Hello? Miss?"

  We both freeze, our chests heaving with breath, hearts racing. I clamp my lips shut to try to stifle the sound of my breathing.

  "Are you all right?" someone calls through the door, probably our waiter. "I heard a cry."

  "I'm fine," I call back, wincing. "Um... I'll just be a minute."

  "Let us know if you need anything," the man calls again. We wait until we hear receding footsteps before Cannon leans down and chuckles softly, pulling my hair back from my forehead to catch my eye.

  "I guess we'll have to be faster," he says, already pulling back to thrust into me again. I whimper faintly, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "Faster and quieter, Rina."

  I bite my lip and nod, resolving to be quieter as we keep going.

  But I don't know how hard that's going to be. Especially with Cannon abusing both my holes at once, fucking my pussy hard, and keeping his finger gliding in and out of my ass. Before long, I'm squirming against the sink, still pinned between him and it, trying my best to keep my hips moving in time with his, thrusting back against him to grant him as much access as I can, to drive him as deep as I can.

  Before long, I can feel the orgasm building inside me. I grit my teeth, strain to keep silent, but in the end, Cannon drops his grip on my hair and claps his other hand over my mouth as I groan, unable to stop myself.

  Footsteps sound outside again, but I arch my back, urge Cannon with one long desperate look to keep going. So he does. He continues pounding into me, and this time, when the manager calls out again to ask if everything is all right, I'm the only one with it enough to turn and call back to him.

  "Just... fine... I'll be there in a moment!" I manage to shout. That seems to buy us time, at least for now.

  Thank God, because less than a minute later, Cannon thrusts into me once, twice, a third time, and comes with a guttural growl, deep in the back of his throat. He keeps his hands wrapped around both my hips, so tightly that I know it'll leave a mark tomorrow. I love that. I love knowing he's marked me as his, if only for now.

  I love, too, the feeling of his hot cum shooting deep into my belly. Filling me. I love the little popping sound that happens when he draws his finger out of my ass, and I love the hot rush that spills down my thigh as he draws his cock out of my pussy, and our combined juices rush out in a flood of heat.

  We both take another minute to clean up, trying our best in the cramped space. Then I reach for the knob, but before I can turn it, Cannon grabs my chin and draws m
y face up toward his, kissing me, deep and slow, our tongues tangling for one desperate moment.

  Then we break apart, and I grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. "I'll go out first," I whisper. "You come in a minute."

  "I think I'll need longer than that," he whispers back with a laugh, and I roll my eyes and elbow him.

  "You know what I meant, Mr. Stamina," I murmur. Then, without another word, I slip past him back into the restaurant, my dress as smoothed as I can make it, my wig crumpled under one arm.

  The whole place stares as I return to my seat on trembling, shaky legs. After that fucking, it's harder than ever to walk in these heels. I retake my seat, trying for a casual smile, hoping that nobody else in here can tell that I've just been fucked in the bathroom stall. But to judge by the stares, and the faint snickers and whispers among the staff, it's pretty obvious what was going on.

  When Cannon emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, hair a wild mess and his shirt crumpled in places where he's tucked it back in, the whispers and soft laughs hidden behind palms redouble throughout the staff members.

  We play it cool for the rest of dinner, finishing eating with hardly a word, because every time we make eye contact long enough to try to strike up a conversation, one or the other of us dissolve into muffled laughter again. Finally, we get the check and pay, and on our way out, the waiter claps Cannon on the back and winks at him, then shoots me a grin.

  "Enjoy the rest of your night," he advises us as we pass him by, and that does it. We can't hold it together any longer. We burst into peels of laughter, and grab hands as we hurry across the parking lot toward Cannon's distant car, breathless with amusement, embarrassment, and, under it all, the desire to go home and do all of that right over again.

  14

  Cannon

  I wake up in my own bed, but with Rina still cradled in my arms. I'm hard already, the same way I am every morning when I wake up beside her. Even before my conscious mind starts to process where I am or what I'm doing, my body is already responding to her, telling me how much I want her.

  As if I don't already know.

  Last night was wild. I've never had a girl try so hard for me before—getting a wax just for me, dressing up in that skimpy outfit, wearing the wig, the new panties. I never thought I was much into that stuff—and I'm not, really. Give me Rina with a messy ponytail, her sweatpants hanging off her hips and a plain white tank top any day of the week—but there was something hot as fuck about knowing that she did all that for me. Put in all that effort just to make sure I enjoyed my night—that we enjoyed our night.

  And we sure as fuck did.

  After the restaurant, I guess we were both still riding high on our bathroom adventure. We wound up only making it halfway home before she had her head in my lap, licking and sucking my cock as I sped way too fast down the highway. Eventually I gave up on driving, and we pulled over into a parking lot, away from the street lamps. There, she climbed into the driver's seat on top of me, and we fucked like high school kids sneaking around behind our parents' backs. She rode me right there in the car until the windows fogged up, until I bucked up against her and came in her again, filling her tight, sexy, waxed perfect pussy with my cum.

  When we finished, she slid back into the passenger seat, and we started to drive again, but this time, it was me reaching over to slide my hand up her skirt, half my attention on the road and the other half fixed on her pussy. I managed to make her come three more times before we reached our apartment, getting her wet as hell as she writhed against my hand in the passenger seat, practically fucking my fingers she was so hungry for me.

  Back home, we barely made it inside the door before we were on each other again. I pinned her against the door, knelt right there in our living room and ate her out while she leaned back against the door, her hands buried in my hair.

  And don't even get me started on how distracting showering with her after all of that was...

  But now? Now, early morning light is streaming through my windows, and she's cradled against my chest, her head rising and falling in time with my breath, her eyes closed, lids flickering as she dreams quietly. Now, I don't even want to move for fear of breaking this spell, disturbing her, shattering the illusion that I'm able to maintain, if only for this moment, in the wee hours before reality crashes in and the real world wakes up.

  For now, for this one small shared moment, I can allow myself to pretend she's mine. And the thought makes me tighten my arms around her, protective, possessive. I don't want to let her go, not for anything. I want to keep her here, safe and protected. I want to wake up like this every morning, to the scent of her hair, and the sight of her sleeping peacefully.

  I lean back against the pillows and just lie here, enjoying this moment. Holding onto it for as long as it will last.

  Finally, I feel her stir against me, hear the soft murmur she always makes when she wakes up first thing in the morning, like she's confused and a little upset at being dragged out of her dreamland.

  I know exactly how that feels.

  She sighs and nestles closer to me, turning to kiss my chest once, twice, before she rests her cheek on my pec, right over my heart. I wonder if she can hear how fast it's started to hammer, now that she's moving beside me, stirring desires in me again. My cock was already getting hard when I first woke—now it's a rock already.

  I catch her glancing down at it and laughing under her breath.

  "Someone woke up hungry," she comments, sliding a hand over my stomach, tracing her way down to my cock, to let her fingertips trail lightly up the sides.

  "You have no idea," I murmur into her hair, before I plant a long kiss on the crown of her head.

  She chuckles softly and glances up at me, then shifts around, leaning up to bend over me and kiss my cheek, my jawline, my neck. "I might have some idea," she whispers. "You aren't the only one who has dirty dreams whenever we spend our nights fucking in restaurants and cars on the side of the highway..."

  "Hmm, you had bad dreams again?" I run my hands over her waist, her bare ass. Squeeze lightly. "You'll have to tell me about them."

  "I wouldn't say bad," she says, eyes sparkling. "Though definitely dirty. It involved you and me and a lot of toys... and possibly some rope as well, plus this bed..."

  I grin at her. "I do own some silk rope, you know. We could easily turn this bed into something a bit more interesting."

  She laughs, breathy, and kisses me on the mouth this time, slow and soft. "Mm, looks like we have our plans for tonight settled, then."

  "Definitely," I agree in a murmur. "You'll have to wear that dress again, though."

  "Really?" She juts her lip out in a faint pout. "Because I had another outfit in mind, actually. This little maid outfit I bought a few months ago..."

  "Never mind," I concede. "That will do just fine."

  She laughs and rolls her eyes, and I take advantage of her momentary distraction to grab her and flip her over underneath me, pinning her onto the bed. "In the meantime," I announce, "I have this morning wood that needs taken care of. And you, my dear..." I run one hand between her legs to find her, as I could have predicted, already wet with want. "You have a bad case of naughty dreams that needs to be taken care of."

  "Oh, please do," she replies, arching up into my hand, grinning until I start to stroke her enough to wipe the grin off her face and replace it with something else—that mouth-partly-open, eyes-glazed look she always gets when she's distracted by pleasure, lost in a sea of it.

  Needless to say, we take our time getting up this morning. By the time we finally drag ourselves out of the bedroom, we're both running a bit late for the office. Neither of us really minds, though. I think the fact that this is her second time ovulating, her second chance at this—and possibly our last chance at being together like this—has us both throwing caution to the wind. If this is the only time I'll get to spend holed up in my bedroom fucking Rina as often and as much as I can? Well, I'm damn sure going to
take advantage of every minute that I can.

  As for me, it's on my mind still. The deadline. I can't stop thinking about how it will go. As soon as I know she's pregnant, as soon as I know she got what she truly wants from this agreement, that's when I'm going to go for it. That's when I'm going to tell her how I feel.

  But as we head into work, hands entangled all the way down the elevator until we reach the ground floor and we leap apart like we've been scalded, playing it cool in front of the front desk clerk, it just makes my chest feel that much tighter, my head that much heavier.

  Because I don't want this. I don't want to sneak around. I want to be able to tell everyone what I feel for her. I want to proclaim it to the world.

  I'm not sure how much longer I can keep up this facade...

  "You two."

  Rina and I freeze in the tiny kitchen at work, hands wrapped around the handles of our mugs. We weren't doing anything—not this time, anyway. We were just having a normal conversation, me asking how her workday was going, her asking if I've managed to make up for my slacking to my boss yet. But now we're both acting like guilty kids, caught with our hands in the a cookie jar, as Lacy and Chris lean in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed in almost identical postures.

  "Yes?" Rina asks, recovering her senses first. Me, I'm still on panic mode on the inside.

  Do they know?

  "We have a bone to pick with you," Lacy says, eyes narrowed, and my stomach sinks through the floor.

  Oh fuck, they definitely know.

  "What's that?" I ask, keeping my tone level and steady. If they do know, I'm going to make them say it to our faces, not dance around the point. It's about time this all came out, anyway. This is what we get for going crazy. Acting careless. Trying to do crazy shit like messing around in public—what if someone at that restaurant recognized us? What if someone saw us parked on the highway, going at it like teenagers?

  Chris swings the door to the kitchen shut behind him, and I exchange a sideways glance with Rina, my heart aching at the panic written all over her face. Dammit. I told her we'd keep this a secret, that we'd hide it from everyone at work. If Lacy and Chris guessed about us, then I failed Rina.