Page 10 of The Roommate (One Night #1)

“Now that I've trapped you in my arms No need to fight it, no need to hide it”

Say it. You want me and I’ll be yours.

The words slither into my veins like poison, sweet and intoxicating. My pulse thunders in my ears, betraying every lie I’ve ever told myself.

But my body—my stupid freaking body—remembers the way his touch burns. The way his smirk makes my stomach turn. The way his presence alone is a storm I can’t escape.

I stand under the cold shower until my fingers prune. Indifference is the key to success, not jittery nerves and a racing heart. I’m close to calm when I get out of the shower. I wrap the towel around me and find my clothes—

Oh no. Oh God, no.

Today is a disaster, and it’s all his fault.

I overslept (something that has never happened before), tripped on my own damn feet only for his arms caught me (I’d rather fallen on my ass), re-lived the worst memories of Silveridge, unsuccessfully tried to make him admit he wants me (only to end up all frustrated), and now?

Now, I forgot to take my clothes in with me—all because of him.

Suddenly, the bathroom feels too small.

I’m going to kill him. I can’t go out like this nor can I ask him to hand over my inner wears. I could ask him to leave, but we both know he won’t.

Fine. Two can play this game.

I just need to keep my body hidden and channel that confidence I get when I’m winning a debate or scoring straight As. What would Clair do? She’d stride out like she owns the damn world. She’ll be so proud of me when I’ll tell her.

I push the door open, feigning indifference—

Aiden. He is sitting on my bed (not shirtless anymore, thank God) with a book in his hands. My book. No. That book. The one I’ve been reading since I came here. The turmoil in my head comes to a pause, so does my breathing.

I really need to get my lungs checked. They have an Aiden-problem.

He looks up and my eyes lock with him, until he breaks it to actually look at me. No . To unwrap the towel with his eyes. Stop looking at me like that. The way he looks at me always does something to my insides.

“Hey, there.” Is it me, or did his voice just sound like a smut audio book narrator? It sends a shiver down my spine, as my nipples tighten against the towel. His eyes collide with mine once again and he smirks. Oh my God. This is bad, so, so bad.

I snap.

In a heartbeat, I’m across the room, lunging for my book, while screaming at him.

“What the hell?! How? How dare you touch my book when I told you not to?! Give me that fucking hell back.”

He laughs. He freaking laughs, holding my book just out of reach. “Ooh, look, the good girl has a dirty mouth.”

A growl rips from my throat as I reach for it—only to lose my balance, and fall right on top of him. My thighs straddle his, and oh God, I can feel him—hard, pressing against me. I’m practically sitting on it.

“Give. It. Back.” I demand, breathlessly.

“No, Blueberry.” He grins.

I follow his gaze, down to where my towel has slipped, baring me completely. My face burns bright as insecurity and shame claws at me. I don’t look at him, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes.

I quickly try to cover myself, but both his hands grab both my wrists and flip us around in one smooth motion. He pins me down on the bed. His body cages me in, heat searing through the thin barrier of his clothes between us.

“Now, now Blueberry, don’t hide from me when I have already seen you and heard those sweet sounds you make.”

Wha—when? Oh, holy shit.

Another embarrassed flush creeps up my neck. That night in the shower—I thought I was alone and he was at the gym. But he’d been there. Listening. He has never brought it up until now. And now he’s smirking about it. Asshole .

My pulse is a wild, erratic thing, thrashing against my ribs. God knows I have imagined so many scenarios with him—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d take what he wants as he always does.

But this isn’t some twisted fantasy. It’s reality. And in reality, he is just my rival and my roommate. And we’re just playing a game. He is just someone who hates me and someone whom I hate.

But what if…what if this can be a reality too? No, no, bad brain. This can’t be. It would change everything.

His thigh presses between my legs, as his gaze rakes over my naked body like he owns it. Like he’s already decided how this ends.

“What do you think you are doing?” My voice is surprisingly opposite to what I am feeling. Like I can melt into a puddle right now or combust in flames.

I should be pushing him away. This was never meant to get this far. But all I can think about is his weight on me, his hands pinning me down and his control wrapping around me like a vise.

Pathetic.

I have read about manhandling during intimacy in my books and I like it—but in reality, and by him, it feels a thousand times more…just more.

“What does it look like, my Blueberry? I’m giving you exactly what you want.”

“I want you to get the hell off of me.”

I twist my wrists in his hand trying to get them free, well aware of my breasts moving with the struggle.

He chuckles as he looks into my soul, “Good girls don’t lie, my beautiful liar. Are you trying to get punished? Is that what you need right now, my pretty little slut?”

Something snaps inside me.

Shame licks up my spine, but it’s drowned out by the molten heat pooling low in my belly. His words shouldn’t affect me like this. They shouldn’t make my breath hitch or my thighs clench.

But they do.

And he knows it.

And I hate it.

He grinds his knee against my clit, a soft moan slips past my lips before I can stop it. I’m embarrassingly dripping at this point, and the asshole laughs.

Stupid, stupid smut novels. They have ruined me.

“No smart words anymore, Blueberry?” He taunts, his free hand tracing a possessive line from my temple to my jaw before curling around my throat. “Cat got your tongue?”

No smart words indeed, my brain is close to short-circuiting. I should hate this but all I want is to beg. Not for him to stop or to go on. I want to beg, and I want to pretend that I don’t want it. It’s easier that way.

He is the cat playing with his food; I feel like his prey. Our power play dynamic has gone to hell, so has our game. And all I feel like, right now, is submitting to him, like I wanted to that night we kissed.

“You don’t get relief, Blueberry. Not yet.” He leaned down and spoke into my ears, “You might be the good girl for the world but for me…I know you, my Blueberry. I know you want to be punished and then fucked like a whore.”

A shudder wracks through me.

And God help me—he’s right.