Roommates

by Ashley Love

  "One condition," I say.

  "Okay."

  "You start cleaning your side of the room, Blake," I say firmly. "Or it's not happening."

  29

  "I think I liked it better when all you watched was sports," I grumble.

  Blake shushes me. "The chick with the dragon eggs is talking. She's my favourite."

  Introducing Blake to Game of Thrones was, apparently, a bad idea. All he's done the last three days is marathon episode after episode, after borrowing the first season box set off the guy across the hall. And they're not the only ones, apparently, because the entire common room is full of people, some piled onto the floor, some piled onto the couch next to us, all of them avidly watching the screen.

  "Fucking Christ," I mutter.

  "Babe." Blake pulls me in closer, lips finding my forehead easily. "I love you, you know I do. But if you don't shut up—"

  I grin, tilting my head up, and Blake's focus leaves the show for the first time in what feels like days. "What if I don't?" I whisper.

  Blake's gaze darkens, eyes narrowing slightly. I smirk at him, knowing I've won before Blake's even realized it. And then, next thing I know, he's standing up, stomping past people spread out on the floor. I hurry after him, but he ignores me all the way back to our room.

  Until we're inside it, and then he pushes me up against the door, lips going to my neck instantly.

  "One episode," he growls. "You were the one who wanted me to watch it in the first place!"

  "Yeah, but I didn't...I didn't expect you to...Fuck, I can't think when you do that, you know that," I groan. "But I didn't want you to ignore me. I didn't think you'd even like it!"

  "I watched it for you!" Blake pushes up my shirt, and I lift my arms to get it off. "I can't believe we're really arguing about his right now."

  "I've already seen them all, like, six times," I say. "I was bored."

  "I can't watch it and entertain you at the same time," Blake points out, hands dropping to my jeans, now. "God, you're needy, you know that?"

  "Don't call me needy," I snap, annoyance slipping into my tone. "I'm not needy."

  "Really fucking needy," Blake says, nipping at my collarbone.

  "Fuck you," I say, hands fisting in Blake's hair to keep him there.

  "Mhm," he agrees. "Desk?"

  "Yeah. But don't push all my shit onto the floor this time."

  Blake picks me up easily, and I automatically wrap my arms and legs around him to keep myself up.

  "What do you want me to do, then?" he demands. "Neatly put everything away before I fuck you?" Before I can answer that, he smirks and brushes his arm over the desk, knocking everything to the ground, including an empty coffee cup, pencils, pens, a notebook, and a half eaten chocolate bar. "Oops."

  "You're cleaning that later," I say, just before my back hits the top of the desk a little roughly. Blake kisses me to make up for it. "Or so help me—"

  Blake kisses me to shut me up, but later, when we're done and I've caught my breath again, we'll revisit this conversation. And maybe have a new one about not trashing the room just to have sex, since I'm somehow always the one cleaning it up afterwards.

  Blake's lips move off mine, down my chest slowly. "If I give you head first, do I still have to clean it up?"

  I debate that for a moment. "No," I decide.

  Blake grins, tugging down my jeans easily, my panties following almost immediately. And then he pulls my legs up so they're over his shoulders, since he has nowhere else to put them, really, unless he lets them dangle uncomfortably off the desk. And there's no way I'm ever going to be able to study at this desk again, because I know that I'll not be able to think of anything else but this every time I sit here.

  "Love you," Blake mumbles against my thigh.

  I grin, reaching down to tangle a hand in Blake's hair. "Stop talking."