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You know what they say: if you don’t have a weird roommate, you are the weird roommate.
I tip the contents of my laundry basket out on my bed and reach to turn up the volume on my speakers. My ‘Putting Clothes Away’ playlist—which features a lot of Adam Levine—is currently blasting out of the surround system. Along with my vintage record player, the speaker set is probably the only thing of value in my tiny, stuffy, and currently sweltering bedroom.
“Try to tell you no, ‘cause I’m busy folding up this dress. Try to tell you stop, ‘cause my laundry is all still a mess.”
The towel starts slipping off my head as I nod along to the beat of my improvised lyrics. I straighten it back in place and glance at the rest of my outfit—a ribbed green tank top, faded pink I’m-Down-To-My-Last-Pair-And-Desperate granny panties, and a Korean cloth face mask complete with nostril holes that makes me look like Voldemort had drunk sex with a mannequin.
Yeah, no way I’m the weird roommate.
Worth the Wait
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Before she can continue on with her self-depreciative speech I gently, but firmly, place my hand over her mouth. “Enough, Ellie,” I tell her, my tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. I mean business.
To my absolute shock, Ellie listens. Her jaw slams shut beneath my hand. I expected her to lick it or try to bite me—it wouldn’t be the first time—but she does nothing. Her eyes lock on mine, uncertainty and confusion shining in their depths.
I drop my hand slowly from her mouth, then slide it around her jaw. “Enough,” I whisper as I move in closer, bringing my chest just an inch from hers. Keeping our eyes locked together I explain my frustration. “You say men don’t want to stay with you because you’re a lot to handle…and Red, you’re right.”
Her entire body solidifies.
Sliding my hand down her throat I feel her pulse race rapidly under my palm. The further my hand travels, the softer her body becomes. It’s just her stubborn resistance keeping her from melting into me the way I know she wants to.
When I reach her hip, I squeeze. A tiny moan escapes her before she can stop it, and I smirk. Not once have I allowed my eyes to roam her incredible body. I read everything she refuses to say aloud in her green depths. She knows I’m different. She knows this thing with us is different.
I know she says she’s ready for sex, but apprehension is clear in her eyes. And I refuse to take her until she is as sure about me as I am about her. Bringing my free hand to her other hip I curl my fingers into her flesh that peeks from her between her T and shorts, then lift and swing her into my lap. The startled look on her face vanishes the instant she feels my erection pushing up into her ass. Her gaze morphs into desire and
“I want you, Angel. I’ve wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you. You fascinate me. Entertain me. Calm me. Captivate me. Arouse me. And you do it all, without even trying.” I press my forehead against hers as I relish the feel of her rapid breaths against my lips. “Don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt this. Us,” I plead, sick of dictating how she should feel, but desperate for her to understand. “I am not them.”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Ellie nods against my forehead. “Okay,” she whispers. I feel the relief that one single word brings, all the way down to my goddamned toes. Her hips rock against me, ever so gently, teasing me. Her soft hand slides around my neck, coming to rest in the hair at my nape. She stokes her long fingers through my hair and I tip my head back, letting her take control, and loving every second of it.
She presses an open-mouthed kiss to my throat, scraping her teeth against the sensitive flesh as she moves down to my collar bone. My cock is rigid, straining to be freed. Her ass pushes harder against it, grinding down on my length. My fingers dig further into her lush hips as I take over, shifting her until my cock presses against her centre, then I set the pace.
Shopping for a Baby’s First Christmas
Mr. Billionaire CEO
Hesitantly, Vev stepped forward. She’d never kissed a male before. Wasn’t even sure how it worked. She’d read about it, of course. Watched it. But as with everything, her knowledge only took her so far. Life experience, she was learning, was invaluable.
Zach’s heart rate sped up again, and the musky scent she’d noticed intermittently throughout the day escalated. Every beat of his heart fanned the potent scent, filling the room. In response, all of Vev’s senses intensified, as though she were hunting game.
“Vev,” he said, stepping toward her again, “please stay.” His hand stroked her cheek, brushing back a strand of hair. He took another step, this time slipping his arm around her waist.
The pounding in Vev’s heart exploded into such a fast rhythm she could hardly breathe. She gulped, licked her lips. Zach moved just his head toward her this time, pressing his lips to hers. A kiss. Her mouth parted unconsciously as his mouth moved back and forth.
She closed her eyes and inhaled. He smelled so good. So delicious—Vev pulled back so fast that Zach fell forward.
She twisted her body, jerking away. The door. The sun must have set. Regardless, she needed to leave.
“What happened?” Zach’s voice cracked.
“I must go.”
“Vev?” His warm hand made contact with her shoulder and she lurched forward, as far away as the room allowed.
She wheeled, facing him. “I’m not human, Zach. Can’t you see that?”
His lips turned up slightly, revealing curved lines that framed his mouth. “You feel plenty human to me.”
“I’m not!” Vev insisted. She reached for the only thing in her vicinity. A broom. She snatched it from the corner and held it up. She didn’t know how much strength humans had. According to Marguerite, not much. “Can you break this?”
“Why would I want to break my broom?”
Vev huffed out a breath. “Can you?”
“I guess. If I leveraged it against something, I could.”
Vev brought the broom down over her knee, splitting it in two, then squeezed her hands around each part, pulverizing the wood until each piece was nearly sawdust. She released the slivers and shards, crumbling the pieces.
Zach’s eyes grew wide. His heart raced disturbingly fast. She hated scaring him, but she had to make him see the danger. Marguerite had said that her research revealed that the earliest humans hadn’t been afraid of creatus, but that they had become jealous of their beauty and strength, and started hunting them. Vev had never understood that. Now she did. Humans hadn’t hunted the original creatus because they were jealous; they’d been frightened. Because humans smelled good. Because even though she liked the feel of Zach’s kiss, a part of her imagined biting his neck and feasting.
Forever in Starlight
Jack closed his eyes and took in a long slow breath. But his attempt to regain control failed. In a swift movement, his hands circled under Jo’s thighs and lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist.
One of his hands cupped her buttocks, holding her up, while his other sailed up her spine and over her neck. Their lips were a breath apart, and for a moment they stayed like that, breathing each other’s air.
Their heartbeats galloped together under the thin fabric of their clothes, and Jo didn’t know where hers stopped and his began. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she shivered at the temptation that was offered up in his sweet lips so close to hers. How quickly she forgot the inappropriateness of what their kisses had led to in the past. But her mind was a fog of want and desire, and propriety was as far off as the moon.
She felt him harden under his trousers, and Jo’s hands twitched, instinctively wanting to draw his desire out. Jack gripped her under her thighs and carried her across the barn, pressing her against the wall. Confidence lurched in Jo and she slid her legs down to stand.
She satisfied her twitching hands and placed them on top of the bulge that strained the fabric of his trousers. He groaned in her mouth, and the encouragement of his response thrust her desire forward.
Eight Steps to Alpha
It only took a few minutes before Fe was back and for Elliot to realize she had absolutely no clue how much he bench-pressed. She brought him the wrong size. In fact, she brought him shirts so small, he was pretty sure it would fit a juvenile boy. Elliot was a man, a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound man, and there was no way these suckers were going to fit him. “Wrong size,” he said, throwing the shirts back over the door. “I need an extra-large.” He flexed his chest in front of the mirror to prove his point. Did she not see this? Did she not notice these weapons of mass destruction?
The shirt came flying back over the stall, the hanger barely missing his head by a fraction. “You wear a medium. Put it on.”
He opened the stall door, not caring he wore no shirt, and flashed her a free sample of the gun show. “Fe, come on? Are you serious?”
She smirked a little, her dimple taunting him. “Your clothes are too big, Elli. That’s part of the problem.”
He raised a brow. “This,” he argued, grabbing the shirt from its hanger, “won’t fit over my right bicep.”
She laughed, in a way too amused sort of way, then came forward, took hold of the door handle, and closed it. “Put. It. On.”
So, he did. And it wasn’t easy. It was sort of like squeezing a python into a hamster hole. But he put it on to appease her, opened the door, and found Fe, immediately covering her mouth to suppress laughter. She eyed him up and down, did the little twirl thing with her finger again, and he turned happily, because she was smiling again—and he’d do anything to make her smile.
The shirt was white, almost see through because the fabric was pulled so taught, and the sleeves were wrapped around his arms like the casing of a sausage. When he made it full circle, he found her eyes locked on the band of skin right above his waistline. The shirt was a good four inches too short, leaving his belly button, and happy trail completely exposed. He didn’t even know if she was aware what she was looking at, because she seemed as though she was in a trance. But there was no mistaking it—she was staring right there, her hazel-green eyes, like a wheat field hanging on to the barest amount of spring, stuck just a fraction of an inch above his zipper.
His mighty soldier inched toward a salute, and he turned toward the mirror. “I told you it wouldn’t fit,” he said gruffly, then closed his eyes and forcibly cleared his throat.
God damn it! Why did this happening to him? At the worst possible time? He began saying Hail Mary’s in his head and tried to calm himself down.
“I’ll go get you a large,” Fe whispered, closing the door quietly behind her.
Good. He thought. Good.
Wish For Me
We are a group of authors,