Page 14 of The Roommate (One Night #1)

“Cause girl, you're perfect You're always worth it And you deserve it The way you work it 'Cause girl, you earned it, yeah”

My nerves are all electric—live wires sparking under my skin, threatening to burn me alive.

He keeps moving lower, leaving a trail of reddening marks all over my body. He has no intention of being gentle, giving me exactly what I need.

But I need more. So much more. That orgasm was far from enough. I need him buried inside me, fucking me into oblivion.

“Aiden,” I whimper from the need to get something. Anything. “Touch me there.”

My brain is muddled with lust and it doesn’t even register to me how pathetic I sound. Every thought is drowned out by the relentless throb between my thighs. I’m soaked, aching, and the emptiness is its own kind of torture.

His touch is like a soothing balm over my skin. But it only makes me burn brighter with need. I nearly convulse when I feel his feather-like touch on my clit.

“You’re such a good girl.” His finger slide down my slit. “And so fucking wet.” He pushes two fingers inside. A moan tears free from my throat. “Being punished and treated like my whore gets you so dripping.” He withdraws, then sinks back in, at an agonizing pace.

His fingers feel so good, so much better than my own.

My heart thunders with anticipation as his mouth moves lower. And the moment his lips descends on me, I scream words in gibberish.

Aiden’s tongue is relentless—a wicked, sinful thing that laps at me with deliberate, torturous strokes. He doesn’t just taste me; he devours me, as if my pleasure is his only purpose. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot that makes my vision blur, my thighs trembling around his head.

“Oh, God—Aiden!”

My hands fist in his hair, holding him exactly where I need him. His groan vibrates against me, sending shockwaves through my core.

He doesn’t let up. Not for a second.

His fingers pump in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and I’m lost in the brutal, beautiful assault. He nips, bites, licks, thrusts his tongue into me. Every flick, every suck drags me higher, until I’m teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“You taste fucking divine,” he growls against my flesh, “so sweet,” his breath hot and ragged. “But I want to hear you scream.”

And then he bites down on my clit.

The pleasure is sharp, blinding, too much—and I come with a cry, my back arching off the bed as my orgasm crashes through me like firecrackers. Aiden doesn’t stop, doesn’t let me breathe, his fingers working me through the aftershocks until I’m writhing, oversensitive and desperate.

“Please—please—” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. To stop? For more?

He slows down making me think he’s done with me, but he doesn’t let up.

His tongue swirls around my clit as if he can’t get enough. He adds a third finger inside me, curling just right, and I swear I see stars. My thighs shake, my breath comes in ragged gasps, and my nails dig into his scalp as another orgasm rips through me.

“Jesus—shit—” I sob, my body bowing off the bed. My legs pushing him away.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Stop—oh hell—please, stop—”

“Blueberry, I’ve just started. Now let me enjoy my meal and don’t move. Or else, I won’t let you come all night. I’ll keep you on edge, and like the good girl you are, you’ll take it.”

His mouth and fingers simultaneously and mercilessly onslaught me, and just when I think I can’t take anymore, his voice vibrates against my soaked flesh, “Again.”

I can’t. I can’t.

But he makes me.

I’m coming apart all over again, my vision whiting out as pleasure turns to agony, agony to ecstasy. It feels as if I’m falling from the cliff. I’m a whimpering mess, my body no longer my own—just his. His to ruin. His to wreck.

And then—

Oh God.

A sharp, coiled tension snaps low in my belly. I think I need to pee, and before I can stop, my body explodes. A gush of liquid heat spills from me, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath us.

Aiden finally pulls back, chin wet, his lips glistening, his dark eyes smug.

“Good girl.” he rasps, licking my juices from his lips.

That’s when it hits me. “Di—did I…” Just squirted?

My throat is raw, my voice shattered. Words won’t form. All I can do is gasp, my body slick with sweat, trembling in the aftermath. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing air into my lungs.

When I open my eyes a second later, he is sitting beside me with a bottle of water dangling in his hand. My hands are still cuffed. The heat that consumed me has faded, replaced by a chill that seeps into my bones from the AC blowing on temperature too low, and the comforter draped over me. Wait—

“You passed out, for a solid thirty minutes.” He says, his eyes filled with relief. “I thought you died for a second there.”

“I don’t think I’ll die from too many orgasms. Dehydration, on the hand? Definitely a risk” My voice is too scratched to be recognized.

“Drink.” He thrusts the bottle at me.

I push myself up, every movement a reminder of what we did—a sweet, aching throb between my thighs.

I gulp down more than half the bottle in seconds.

I thought I knew how it’s all like from the books, but reality is nowhere near those books.

Reality is so much more electrifying, satisfying, overwhelming.

It wasn’t just pleasure. It was annihilation.

I can get addicted to this, which is dangerous. Too goddamn dangerous.

My fingers have never been enough, but his? His fingers were magic. And his tongue? Even better.

An unfamiliar ache infiltrates my chest at the thought that he has been with other girls too, that they know his touch too. The discussions of the queen bee in high school about his glorifying dick wasn’t lost on me; which is weird and gross and very unwelcomed.

Aiden’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he takes the water bottle from my trembling hands. His fingers brush against mine—deliberately, possessively—and something primal unfurls in my chest.

Mine.

The thought is sudden, vicious, and entirely irrational.

His dark eyes are heavy with satisfaction, and yet all I can think about is the fact that other women have tasted this. That they’ve felt his fingers inside them, heard that voice whispering filthy praise in their ears.

Jealousy burns through me like acid.

It’s strange and unwanted, yet, I can’t push these thoughts away.

He’s nothing more than my rival.

I freaking hate him. Do I?

And he hates me equally. Does he?

Then why is the eight-year old Eda coming out? That eight-year old whose sole mission was to make him hers?

I knew touching him would change things. But this vastly? Nope, it can’t happen. I need to maintain my distance with him—

“You’re thinking too hard,” Aiden murmurs, his thumb rising to my lower lip. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the way he tore orgasms from me. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

I tilt my chin up, defiance sparking in my veins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

A slow smirk curves his lips. “I would, actually.” His hand moves to my hair, tugging just enough to sting. “Tell me.”

I bite my bottom lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

His breath is hot against my skin as he leans in, his voice a rough command. “Say it.”

I swallow hard, trying to find ways of how to tell him, to even tell him or not. “I was just thinking…” I hesitate, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “How many others have there been?”

“Others?” His brow creases in confusion.

“Women,” I clarify, my voice barely above a whisper. “How many have you… you know?”

A beat of silence.

Then, a low, dark chuckle rumbles from his chest. “Oh, my Blueberry,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “Are you jealous?”

Yes.

“No.” The truth claws at my throat, but I refuse to let it out. Instead, I glare at him, my nails digging into my palms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Aiden’s smirk deepens. He knows. Of course, this asshole knows how to read me like a freaking open book.

“There’ve never been others.”

My breath catches.

Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can protest, his mouth crashes into mine, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my sanity.

I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but drown in the way his tongue strokes mine, possessive and deep. My body arches against his, eager, already slick with need.

He pulls back, “You don’t believe me.”

“Should I?”

His fingers trail down my spine, slow and deliberate, before gripping my ass hard enough to make me gasp. “You will.”