Wrong Bed, Right Roommate (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  Her fists gripped his hair. Her legs, spread wide, bucked against his face. She was practically grinding against his mouth, using him to come on. She was so close, she was screaming. She was aware of the noise coming from her, but it didn’t feel like her making those sounds—it felt like she was somewhere else, like she was nothing but pure sensation in the bundle of nerves at the center of her, and when she came it was with a cry and a hot, heavy panting that left her not limp and satiated, but wanting even more.

  “Shit,” she gasped as the waves kept coming. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Is that a good shit, or a bad shit?” he asked, looking up at her with a hungry glint in his eyes.

  “Good shit,” she panted, hardly able to form the words. “Very good shit.”

  He laughed and kissed his way up her thighs, her stomach, her breasts, her neck, before he finally came to her lips. She could taste herself on him, her own sweetness, and then she felt his cock press against her belly and marveled at the hardness of him, that going down on her had turned him on that much.

  “Do you need a little recovery time?” he asked.

  She shook her head, working his pants off the rest of the way and kicking their clothes to the side

  What I need is to not take long enough to think about Talia and Ellen and Steph and the fact that this is the world’s worst idea.

  But they were in it already—they’d already crossed that line. They might as well go all the way.

  He got a condom from his pocket and slid it over his cock, then licked his fingers and used the saliva to wet the tip. He was standing before the couch and she was still in the same position with her legs spread. She was too out of her mind to be self-conscious or worried or unsure of what she was doing. It was as though a switch had flipped inside her. For tonight, at least, there was no thinking, and no going back.

  He lowered himself between her thighs, brought her knees up, and pressed himself inside her. They both moaned at the same time as he entered her, pushing her open. He started slow for a few thrusts, but by then she was already gasping.

  Her hands went around his waist, grabbing his ass, feeling the muscles flex as she pulled him with each thrust. His hands gripped the back of the couch, using it as leverage, drilling into her so that they made the couch bang and the walls shake.

  She’d never been fucked like this. Hard, dirty, relentless. There was no question of how much she needed him inside her.

  When he withdrew from her, sweaty and gasping, he helped her up and then turned her, pushing her over the arm of the couch. She braced herself against the cushions as she felt the warmth of him pushing inside her again. He thrust into her deeply, and she was amazed that with the open windows she didn’t wake up all of Brooklyn with her cries.

  His hands gripped her hips tightly, then her shoulders, running a hand through her hair, holding on to her. She realized he was saying her name over and over. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie.” And then, “Fuck, Jessie, I’m going to come.”

  It was so different to hear her name like that, to think of herself like that—as someone a man couldn’t stop himself from coming for.

  She begged him to do it. The friction of her body against the edge of the couch, the pressure of where he was pushing into her, all of it was adding more sensation to her clit to match the incredible feeling of him inside her. She felt her own orgasm building again. But it wasn’t enough, it was still out of reach, and she cried out in frustration as another wave left her again.

  “Make me come again,” she panted, pleading. “I’m so close.”

  He reached around and put his hand where she could rub against his fingers, and it was just right, the feel of him where she needed it. She heard him cry and felt his thrusts grow longer, slower, although no less intense, and she knew he was coming inside her. “Fuck,” he gasped. “God, that’s so good.” He pushed deeper, moving his cock inside her and his fingers over her, and that was when she let go again, coming right after him, falling apart on his hand.

  He leaned over, still inside her, covering her with his body as the aftershocks made her spasm in his arms.

  “Did you come?” he asked, and she laughed. Once she started, it just bubbled out of her, and she couldn’t stop.

  “Yeah,” she said, letting her body go limp. “I definitely did.”

  He pulled out of her slowly, kissing his way down her back. She flopped on the couch as he pulled off the condom. Did he just drop it somewhere? She had no idea. She was too tired. She didn’t care. Tomorrow, she’d face it all tomorrow. He collapsed on top of her on the couch, then turned so he was under her and she was curled up on top.

  Get up, she told herself. Go sleep in your own bed tonight.

  But her eyes were already closing as he put his arms around her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shawn woke up with light streaming through the window and a warm, soft weight on top of him. It took a minute to remember where he was.

  He was sleeping on a couch, but it wasn’t Brandon’s. And there was a woman on him, but it wasn’t a stranger. He traced his hand through long, soft curls.

  Holy shit.

  She stirred, blinking, and then seemed to come to the same realization at the same time he did. Something had happened last night.

  They were both naked, limbs tangled together. And was that—? Yup, a condom wrapper on the rug. He lifted his head, looking for the condom. It was curled on the floor, just past the edge of the couch.

  He let his head fall back on the cushion, his temples throbbing. Shit, shit, shit. He wanted to believe he hadn’t fucked Jessie last night. He couldn’t be so stupid.

  But the evidence said otherwise. Nakedness, condoms, that soft, relaxed feeling in his body, and a pulsing headache that said he definitely wasn’t in the right shape to have been making good decisions the night before. All of that added up to a night of fucking.

  And it wasn’t like he honestly didn’t remember dancing with her, coming home with her, holding her in the living room, and then pushing her back on the couch. He’d been drinking, yeah. But he hadn’t been drunk. He hadn’t been so drunk that he didn’t remember just how good it felt.

  Jessie scrambled off him, reaching for her clothes. She pulled her shirt on, then her skirt, grabbing her underwear into a ball. It was like she wanted to cover herself as quickly as possible. Her face was bright red, and she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

  “Looks like we got into some trouble last night,” he said, reaching for his boxers.

  “That’s one way to put it,” she muttered, picking up the condom wrapper. She pinched the condom between two fingers and marched it disdainfully to the trash. “I can’t believe what a mess we made.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll clean it up.” Their dishes from dinner were still on the table and piled in the sink.

  “I don’t have time,” she said. “Rose and Amanda are coming for brunch in less than an hour.”

  “Fuck,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

  “Exactly,” Jessie said. “Fuck.”

  “I totally forgot.”

  She let out a noise that was almost a snort. “Yeah, I think there are a lot of things we forgot about last night.”

  Like his sister. Her friend. The fact that they were roommates. The fact that he wasn’t a guy who did this sort of stuff anymore—fucked whoever caught his eye and then moved on, leaving behind whatever mess he had made. This wasn’t something he could just walk away from. That was the whole point of not getting involved with Talia’s friends. Especially not one he was living with.

  He picked up his pants, his shirt, and tossed her bra to her.

  “It’s fine,” he said with more certainty than he felt. “We’ll clean everything up, I’ll help you get started on the cooking—”

  “And no one will know.” Jessie took a deep breath. “Right?” She was looking at him pleadingly, like she was afraid his plan was to climb up to the roof and announce to all of Brooklyn that
he’d just fucked her.

  Jesus, she didn’t have to worry. “I promise,” he reassured her. “I’ll be out of here before they arrive. They won’t even see me.”

  “Good, because Talia’s Skyping in, too.”

  She locked eyes with him, as if to make sure he knew what that meant. But of course he did. Talia. Their group of friends. God, she was right. They really couldn’t let anyone even suspect something had happened between them.

  “We’d better get moving,” he said. “Let’s leave the dinner dishes. We’ll pile them in the sink. It’s not like anyone will care, and then you can shower, and we’ll start cooking.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?” he said, confused by her look. “They’re just dishes.”

  “I care,” she said.

  “But maybe for a few hours, you could, like, decide not to?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. I care, and my friends know that. It’s, I don’t know, kind of a thing.” She waved her hand. “Between me and Talia, it’s become this running joke about how I can’t go anywhere if the kitchen’s a mess. And Rose and Amanda, they know that. They always mention it when they come over for brunch—how clean everything is, even though we’ve just been cooking. They’d say something.”

  “And then you’d have to say that we went out last night, and…” Shawn didn’t know how to finish that sentence. And fucked like animals didn’t seem like the kind of reminder Jessie was in the mood for right now—even if it was true.

  He threw the pillows back on the couch from where they’d all been knocked to the floor.

  “And, yeah,” she said grimly, finishing his sentence. “It’ll seem weird.”

  “You really think Talia could be suspicious that something happened? All the way over Skype?”

  Jessie came over, picked up the pillows he’d just put on the couch, and put them back on the couch. As far as he could tell, it looked exactly the same. Pillows, on a couch.

  But she surveyed the arrangement like she really could spot some key difference.

  “I think I don’t want to find out. Do you?”

  She glanced at him, and he had to agree. It wasn’t worth any kind of risk. They just had to do their best to pretend that everything was normal this weekend and hope no one suspected a thing.

  “It was one time,” Jessie said, stepping around him to get to her room. “It’s not like we’re going to be leaving condoms all over the place.”

  She sounded like she was saying it more to herself than to him, as though to convince herself that everything was fine.

  Shawn retreated to the kitchen, playing along by pretending to be busy making coffee and washing dishes so she could get in and out of her bedroom without it seeming like he was in the way. But when he heard the shower start, he threw the sponge in the sink. Goddammit, why did he have to go and sleep with her?

  And why, even though he knew they had to make sure Talia never found out, did he feel like shit about pretending it had never happened, and hearing her announce it was a one-time thing?

  Chapter Twelve

  Jessie’s phone buzzed on the counter. She checked on the frittata in the oven, then wiped her hands on a dishtowel to check her messages.

  We’re downstairs! the group text said.

  It couldn’t be. Why was today the one day they weren’t running late? She and Shawn had raced to pull the place together and get the eggs in the oven on time, but he was still in the shower. Fuck.

  She went to the hallway and heard the water shut off. “They’re already here. I have to run down and get them,” she called through the bathroom door.

  “What did you say?”

  His voice was muffled, and she yelled louder, panic edged in her voice. “They’re—”

  The bathroom door flew open. Shawn appeared in a halo of steam, holding the towel around his waist with one hand. Water ran down his pecs, his tattooed chest and shoulder glistening.

  “—here,” she said, swallowing her words.

  Stop staring, stop staring. But there was something wrong with her eyeballs. She no longer knew how to blink.

  Her phone vibrated again in her hand. You coming down?

  Be right there! she texted back quickly. At least that tore her eyes away and reminded her that it was generally considered impolite to drool.

  “Already?” His jawbone pulsed as he stood there dripping on the bathroom floor, the towel hanging on him like it was just some minor afterthought. “Shit. Let me get dressed and I’ll, I don’t know, go out for bagels or something. You can text me when it’s safe to come back.”

  All she’d wanted was to keep her worlds separate so Shawn didn’t meet her friends and her friends didn’t have a chance to lay eyes on him.

  But there was no helping it. She took a deep breath and nodded, reminding herself that this was going to be okay. She was showered, put together, and everything was mostly clean—even if he’d kept throwing the pillows around on the couch like he didn’t care how sloppy they looked.

  She pulled herself away from Shawn’s pecs and slid on her sandals, casting one last look around the apartment. Had they done enough dishes? Were the eggs going to turn out okay? Did she look like she’d been up all night fucking her brains out with Talia’s hot older brother?

  No, she couldn’t even think about that. If she did, she knew it’d be written all over her face. Bad friend with no moral fiber. She already felt like her mistakes were oozing from her pores, along with all of last night’s booze.

  “Hey,” Shawn called to her as she opened the door.

  She turned around. “What did we miss?”

  “Take a deep breath.”

  “I don’t have time for that.”

  “Just try it.”

  Her phone buzzed. Jessie?

  She waved the phone at him. “Deep breathing is bullshit.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  He rolled his eyes at her and disappeared into his bedroom.

  “And don’t roll your eyes at me!” she yelled after him.

  He popped his head back out. “Even when you deserve it?”

  “It’s too intimate,” she said.

  “Seriously?”

  She ran downstairs. Ugh, boys. She didn’t have time for him. She opened the front door for Rose and Amanda, plastering an enormous, trouble-free smile on her face.

  For a second, as they walked in, she was afraid they’d sense it on her immediately. She’d smell like him. Or like sex. Or have his sandy blond hairs on her shirt. Or they would just know, the way friends knew things about each other. When they were happy, when they were sad. When they’d just gotten laid for the first time in who knew how long, with their legs up and their ass hanging off the couch, coming twice in a row and screaming their roommate’s name.

  “I said, how’s the new job going?” Amanda said, snapping her fingers in front of Jessie’s face. Her nails were black, her fingers bright with chunky rings. Where Jessie was plain and simple, Amanda was anything but.

  “What? Oh!” She tried to laugh. “It’s been so busy, I’m exhausted. Come upstairs, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “We brought champagne and orange juice to celebrate.” Rose ran a hand through her long, wavy hair and held up a bag.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Jessie said, her stomach already turning at the thought of drinking more.

  “Come on, girl.” Rose stuck out her lower lip. “It’s not a first week at your new dream job without mimosas to celebrate.”

  “Maybe just a little,” Jessie conceded, trying to think fast. “I have a lot of work to do.”

  “You always have work to do,” Amanda and Rose said together.

  “Yeah, well. Now I have a real job, so it’s even more.”

  “All the more reason to take Sunday off,” Rose declared—having no idea how the same logic had conned Jessie last night. And look at how much she regretted it.

  At the top of the s
tairs, Rose unhooked the strap of her sandals, and Amanda kicked off her Converse. They knew things stayed neat at Jessie and Talia’s place.

  Amanda nudged Shawn’s boots with her polka-dot socks. “Whose shoes are these?” she asked.

  “You know Shawn, Talia’s brother?” Jessie wished her voice didn’t squeak just from saying his name.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, our subletter fell through, and he’s my new roommate.”

  She tried to say it like it was no big deal, but Amanda’s eyes lit up under the fringe of her bangs. “The hot one?”

  “The one you don’t like?” Rose asked with far more concern, pressing her pink fingernails to her lips. Of course the color matched perfectly, when Jessie hadn’t had a second to even think about makeup. Rose was always put together like that.

  The door swung open. “The one and only,” Shawn said, shooting Jessie a look that could only be described as what the fuck.

  Jessie cringed in apology. Oops.

  “Rose, Amanda, this is Shawn. Shawn, this is Rose and Amanda.” She tried to play nice, but what she really wanted was to crawl under a blanket and never emerge. She should have canceled this whole brunch fiasco as soon as she’d woken up lying naked on top of Shawn. A summer flu, surprise concert tickets, too much work—couldn’t she have come up with something?

  But besties brunch wasn’t an event she could brush off for anything less than the plague. And if she’d texted her friends that she had bubonic lesions, they would have insisted on coming over with chicken soup and then found that everything was fine—she just had a bad case of hot-roommate-itis.

  “I was just leaving,” Shawn said after everyone shook hands.

  “You’re leaving?” Amanda echoed. “But we just got here.”

  Jessie felt her stomach tighten. Shawn was dressed, but it was only a marginal improvement over the towel. With the outline of his chest, and the sleeve of ink slipping coyly from under the fabric, it didn’t exactly feel like his T-shirt was covering anything.