Page 49 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

“James…” He moans my name and buries his head into the crook of my neck. The more I stroke him, the more precum leaks from his swollen tip until I bring him to my soaking entrance.

“Wait,” he says, pulling away. His eyes are wide and alert without the haze of lust clouding them. “I don’t have a condom.”

Fuck condoms. I’ve waited too long to let something like that get in the way now.

Birth control is covered, and I trust him.

No, it’s more than just trusting him. I want to feel him without anything in the way the first time he makes love to me—because that’s what this is.

Love. Not some causal fling or a one-time fuck.

“I’ve got the implant. I’m okay without one if you’re comfortable with it. I’d rather feel all of you.”

He stills for a moment, weighing his options, and for one terrible second, I think he might walk away again.

Those worries melt away as he catches my lips again and pushes into me.

Blazing heat fills me inch by inch. The slow pace is agonizing as it reignites my already smoldering nerves.

I could come again from the feeling of him inside me alone .

“I love you,” he whispers against my lips, pulling his hips back to thrust into me again.

His mouth never leaves mine as he falls into a gentle rhythm.

Every stroke rubs against the sensitive spot inside me, bringing that familiar building of pleasure to the surface.

There’s no urgency in the way he fucks me, no race for release.

It leaves me simultaneously drowning in pleasure but desperate for more.

“Please, I need more,” I beg him. It’s a miracle my words are half coherent with how bliss-drunk my brain feels.

“I won’t last long like that, beautiful.”

“Please. Please, Morgan, please fuck me harder. I need it. I need you ,” I ramble as I beg.

He groans and pulls back to switch our position, sitting back up on his knees to put both my legs over his shoulders.

His next thrust is deeper, hitting new nerve endings that send sparks through my body, and he quickens his pace.

I couldn’t hold back my moans if I tried.

He snakes a hand around to play with my clit, and I fall back over the edge.

My pussy clamps down around his cock, pulsating with my orgasm, and he follows me, filling me with his cum.

He lowers my legs with delicate care and lies down beside me, tucking my still-shaking body against his chest. The sweat coating my skin grows cool while he holds me in his arms, and my mind is blissfully clear.

Nothing matters except being here with him—being home.

Barely there kisses pepper my hair while we recover.

After a few minutes, he pulls away and climbs out of the bed.

I scramble up to sit, watching as his naked ass retreats into the bathroom.

Where does he think he’s going?

I have half a mind to follow him. Who does he think he is blowing my mind like that and walking away?

The sound of water flows from the bathroom, and he returns with a washcloth in hand. He drops back down between my legs, reaching for my oversensitive flesh .

“W-what are you doing?” I shuffle back and grab a blanket to try to cover myself.

He tilts his head and gives me an incredulous look from under a raised brow.

“I’m cleaning up our mess.”

My cheeks grow hot and red at the prospect. Sure, he’s now acquainted with my most personal of places, but, for some reason, having him clean me outside of the heat of passion feels too intimate.

“It’s okay, I’ll just do that later.”

“James.” He grabs one of my hands and rubs his thumb in soothing circles. “Please let me take care of you.”

Sincerity shines in his eyes, and I find myself nodding and opening my legs back up to give him access.

“That’s a good girl,” he hums, mostly to himself.

The words send a new wave of arousal through me.

Holy hell, does this man know how to push my buttons.

He wipes away the remnants of our combined release with deliberate gentleness, each touch acting as a caress to my sensitive folds.

When he finishes, he throws the cloth off to the side, crawls back in bed beside me, and cradles me with my head on his chest.

“Thank you, James,” he says as he strokes my hair.

I’m not sure how much time passes while we lie like that, but one question eats at me the longer we do.

“Hey, Morgan?” My tentative words are barely more than a whisper. He gives me a content hum of acknowledgment and continues to run his fingers through my hair. “What does this mean?”

At that, he pauses.

“It means whatever you want it to mean. I spent way too long fighting my feelings for you, and I’m done. So I’m all in. What that looks like is up to you. We will take this at your pace.”

A dopey smile overtakes my face. This man is my home and my heart. He is it for me, and it’s about time he realized it too .

“I’m all in too.” I seal the declaration with a kiss over his heart.

“Happy birthday, James.” His arms tighten around me as he murmurs into my hair. “How do you want to celebrate?”

“Celebrate? I thought we just did.”

My body shakes from the force of his laughter. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Hmm.” Several ideas roll through my head, but my mind keeps jumping back to one. “Nerd shows and pizza?”

“We have all the time in the world to stay in and watch TV. I want to take you out, like on a real date.”

My stomach flutters at the thought.

I can picture us walking down the Athens streets hand in hand while we talk about everything and nothing all at once.

We won’t have any of that awkward first date energy; how could we when I feel like I was born with his name on my soul?

First, we will get dinner and maybe stop somewhere for a drink before we head home for the night and spend it wrapped in each other’s arms. It will be perfect because it will be us, it just won’t be tonight.

“You can take me out tomorrow. I want to spend tonight doing my favorite thing with my favorite person. Please, for my birthday.” I turn to look at him, giving him my best pleading eyes.

“If that’s really what you want,” he says, resigned.

“Thank you.” I give him a bright smile. “Would you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Of course not, take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You know you could join me.” I bite my lip, not hiding my less-than-innocent intentions.

“Don’t tempt me, pretty girl. If we start that again, we’ll never make it to the living room.”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”

“Go,” he growls playfully, giving me a gentle shove .

“Fine.” I place a quick kiss on his unsuspecting lips as I get out of bed and head to the bathroom.

I’m never going to get enough of him.

I speed through the shower, barely pausing long enough for the water to warm up, and half-ass my way through an already heavily modified version of my normal routine, only really worrying about drying my hair.

He’s still in my room when I finish, although he must have gone back to his room at some point because he’s changed into pajamas and tidied his curls.

He doesn’t look up at me as I waltz in, his gaze too focused on the canvas in front of him.

My heart plummets.

The painting on the easel isn’t one I ever wanted him, or anybody else, to see.

It’s been my companion over the past month on those late nights when I couldn’t sleep because the thought of him haunted my thoughts.

The canvas is awash with golds and tawny browns that have come together to immortalize the moment of his self-sacrifice in intricate detail.

It must be strange to see the look of your anguish reflected back at you.

“Morgan…” I clutch my towel tighter to my chest and take a step in his direction.

He’s going to hate me. I took a private moment between us and immortalized it in pigment and oil. How could he not hate me after that? He turns his attention toward me, his eyes blazing with emotion.

“James, this is—”

“I know, a violation,” I cut him off before he can say anything else. “I’m sorry.”

“What? No, don’t be sorry. This is amazing.”

“Really?”

“Of course it is.” He walks over and pulls me into a tight hug. “Were you worried I wouldn’t like it?”

“No. Yes. I was worried you wouldn’t like being the subject of my art. It’s not like I asked for your permission. ”

“You can paint me any time you want. I’ll even model for you if you want me to.”

“Really?”

“I’d wear a silly costume and stand there for hours if it made you happy.”

“I was imagining something with a little less clothing…” I pull out of his grasp and head toward the door, dropping my towel onto the floor as I step into the hallway. The sound of my boyfriend’s clumsy fumbling follows me a heartbeat later, drawing a joyful burst of laughter from my lips.

Some fucking birthday indeed.