I walk toward my boyfriend, swinging my hips more with each step, my confidence building, but Kyle doesn’t look up.
Irritation replaces the excited tingle on my skin. I clear my throat.
Kyle looks up, his brow furrowed in annoyance, but his eyes quickly widen in surprise. Scrambling to lock his phone, he tosses it onto the couch beside him and reaches for his buckle.
Barely a second passes before his jeans are around his ankles and he’s reaching for me.
My irritation grows. I can see the night playing out in vivid detail because I’ve been here before—Kyle eager to find his release and leaving me unsatisfied.
Again.
I step out of his reach and shake my head. I’m getting that orgasm tonight even if I have to do a little prep work myself.
I grip the straps of my bra and slide them down my shoulders until my breasts spill out.
“This is what I’m talking about.” Kyle grins as he grips his cock and strokes.
I should love how his eyes darken and roam over my body, but the expected arousal doesn’t follow.
I feel awkward and uncomfortable on display while Kyle jerks his cock so fast that I’m worried he will blow before I even get close.
Maybe he’s right. Do I need a bed?
The suggestion is on the tip of my tongue, but Kyle closes his eyes and throws his head back against the couch, moaning.
His reaction shuts my mouth and urges me on. If I focus on myself, like Kyle is, I can get my body right to the edge and then slide onto Kyle’s cock for the finish.
I close my eyes also and try to focus, stroking and pinching my nipples. I usually get myself off within minutes, but I can’t relax. Even though I’m in control, my body is in self-preservation mode with Kyle in the room—refusing to chase a promise of relief that may never come, like so many nights before.
Squeezing my eyes shut tighter, I picture Kyle’s hands on me and slide one of mine down my belly and beneath my panties. I rock my hips against my fingers, desperately seeking any hint of that sweet spot.
Nothing.
I open my eyes in defeat and freeze.
Liam stands in the kitchen, eyes as wide as the dirty plate in his hand.
Where did he come from?
I quickly look toward his bedroom door, now open, a blue glow from the TV coming from inside.
He was home…
What happened to his date?
Kyle moans, and my attention darts to my boyfriend, pleasuring himself with his eyes closed, oblivious to our voyeur.
I look back to Liam, aware I’m standing in the middle of our living room in barely anything with one hand on my breast, the other between my thighs. Silently, I plead with him to flash me a dirty smile and crack a joke.
But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move.
In all our years of living together, I’ve never walked in on Liam with a girl. I’ve crossed a line and broken some unspoken roommate rule about sex behind closed doors.
Why is he just staring instead of calling me out?
Heat tingles up and down my spine, but I can’t figure out if it’s embarrassment, guilt… or something else.
It should be guilt. I’m the worst roommate. I need to get dressed and then apologize.
