Tempt Thy Neighbor (Roommate Romps)

by Teagan Hunter

  “What are you doing? We said we’d split everything.”

  “Just making it easy on our gal Sandra here.” He shoots her a flirtatious wink.

  She blushes, and I try not to gag.

  “Do you want to schedule a delivery for an additional seventy-five dollars, or would you like pickup?”

  “Pickup.”

  “Delivery,” Sutton says over me.

  “What? Why? Dean’s friend has a truck we can borrow.”

  He ignores me and continues to set up a delivery like I’m not even there.

  By the time we make it back to the car, I’m fuming.

  “Let me guess,” he says as we load the pillows into the already stuffed back seat, “you’re pissed.”

  I glare at him over the roof of the car, then slide into the driver’s seat without answering him.

  Not even watching him fold his long body into my car makes me crack a smile.

  We don’t speak on the drive back to the apartment.

  Not a word is uttered as we make several trips back and forth from the car to get everything inside.

  Still fuming and needing a moment, I retreat to my bedroom, changing into my night clothes—a pair of shorts and a tank top—to try to collect myself.

  It pisses me off that he paid for the furniture, and it really chaps my ass that he talked over me and made decisions for me.

  I’ve had enough of men talking over and down to me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, thank you.

  When I hear him moving things around in the kitchen, I get irritated all over again because I know he’s probably putting everything in the wrong place.

  I yank open my door and stomp out there to find I’m right.

  With a huff, I step around him, rearranging everything the right way.

  Reading my mood, he grabs a Coke from the fridge and takes a seat at the bar, watching me work.

  He sits there for far too long, staring far too hard.

  Finally, after several tense minutes, he speaks.

  “Fine, I’ll bite. Are you going to tell me what I did wrong?”

  I glance up from putting the new silverware in the dishwasher. “You mean besides paying for the couch even though we said we’d split everything and then talking over me and making decisions for me just like my father has always done? Then putting everything up in the wrong places? Does there need to be anything else?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “Because that’s what you did, Sutton, and it was embarrassing to be treated like that. I won’t tolerate it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Okay? That’s what you have to say to that?”

  “Well, yeah. You’re kind of holding a knife right now, and I’m scared if I say much else, you’ll stab me.” His eyes flit to my hand. “You aren’t planning on stabbing me, right?”

  I glance down and realize I am pointing a knife at him like a maniac.

  Surprised and flustered by my own reaction, I drop the knife.

  Next to moving in with Sutton, it’s the dumbest thing I’ve done this week.

  There’s a sharp sting as the knife lands blade first against the top of my foot. Blood seeps to the surface instantly.

  “Mother! Fuck! Shit!” I bounce on my uninjured foot, the pain setting in.

  “Stop moving!” Sutton rushes around the kitchen island. “How bad is it?”

  The blood is beginning to run down my foot and onto the floor, but he’s unbothered by it as he crouches down and holds me still to examine the damage.

  He snatches a roll of paper towels from the counter and rips off several sheets, wrapping them around me to stop the bleeding.

  “What the hell were you thinking,” he growls. “You could have seriously hurt yourself.”

  “I don’t know!” I hiss when he applies pressure to the wound. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I…I was flustered and distracted and pissed off.”

  “Where’s the first aid kit?”

  “Bathroom, under the sink.”

  “Do you want to do this here or there?”

  My brows pinch together, unsure what he’s referring to.

  He lifts his eyes skyward, clearly annoyed by me. Instead of explaining himself, he swoops me into his arms and carries me down the hall like a groom would the bride.

  I yelp in surprise. “What the—put me down!”

  “Quiet.”

  I smack at his chest, and I don’t know why I’m so surprised when I find nothing but solid muscle beneath my palm. I’ve been up close and personal with Sutton plenty of times before, but still this revelation shocks me into silence as he continues to carry me toward the bathroom.

  He deposits me on the counter, then drops to his knees. A hand lands on each of my thighs and he shoves my legs apart like he belongs between them.

  My breath catches in my throat and heat floods my core.

  For a moment, I forget why we’re in here.

  My rational thoughts are replaced with images of Sutton peeling my underwear down my legs and burying his tongue between them. My head thrown back as I buck against him. Him freeing his cock and slamming into me.

  There’s a soft chuckle, and reality comes crashing back down around me.

  I glower down at him as he pulls open the cabinet and reaches inside, retrieving the first aid kit. I work hard to get my breathing back to normal.

  “Someone is thinking dirty thoughts,” he teases, setting the kit on the counter beside me, flicking open the box, and sifting around for something to clean my wound with.

  “Please. You wish.”

  He stops digging and pins me with his stare. It’s dark and heated as he leans down into me. I can feel his breath ghosting along my neck as he drops his lips to my ear.

  “Your flush says otherwise. Tell me, Holls, you thinking about giving in already?”

  “I’m thinking about ramming my foot between your legs, but I suspect you’d prefer to not have bloodstains on those fancy jeans of yours.” I bat my lashes innocently.

  He gives me another dark chuckle before shaking his head and resuming his search for supplies.

  He comes up with an alcohol wipe, some gauze, antibiotic ointment, and a wrap.

  “It’s a fairly long cut and we don’t have any Band-Aids that will cover the whole thing, so wrapping your foot will have to do.”

  He drops to his haunches and grabs the towel hanging on the wall. When it’s situated on his leg, he curls his fingers around my ankle and gently places my foot on his thigh.

  He peels open the alcohol wipe and glances up at me. “This is gonna sting,” he warns, and I can almost see something resembling an apology in his gaze.

  I don’t flinch when he presses the pad against my cut, and it’s clear he’s impressed by my lack of reaction.

  I watch him work quietly and calmly. His touches are gentle, making sure he doesn’t do anything to cause me further pain.

  “There,” he says when I’m all bandaged up. “That should work. It’s not deep enough for stitches, but I’d still keep an eye on it just in case it splits open with movement.”

  “Where’d you learn first aid?” I ask as he cleans up his workspace.

  “My nanny. I was a wild kid, always getting scraped and bruised up. After the second time I got in trouble and got spanked instead of taken to the hospital for the nasty cut on my arm, she taught me how to take care of it myself when she saw me avoiding telling anyone I was hurt.”

  There’s a dull ache in my chest at the way he says it so casually, like it’s normal for parents to not take care of their hurt children.

  He drops down to put the first aid kit back under the sink, and I suck my breath in at the sight of him between my legs again.

  There is no way he doesn’t miss it.

  But this time he doesn’t call me on it.

  Instead, his fingers wrap gently around my ankle again. He drags them down to my bandaged foot, running the tips of them over the cut.


  “I’m sorry.” The words are quiet, but they still ring loud and clear. “I didn’t mean to treat you like your father did. I was just trying to make things easier is all.”

  Something shifts in the air, and suddenly there’s a lump tightening in my throat. I swallow it down, ignoring the way it’s making me feel.

  “Thank you, Sutton,” I say quietly.

  He nods once but doesn’t make an effort to stand, and I don’t move either.

  I’m not sure how long we sit here. His fingers dancing gently along my skin. Me holding my breath as they inch higher and higher. The hunger burning in his eyes as he watches my legs fall apart all on their own.

  His eyes flash to mine and I’m met with a mixture of surprise and desire.

  Then, he clears his throat and shoves to his feet.

  “I’m going out.”

  He flees the bathroom without a backward glance.

  Even though he’s no longer touching me, I still feel him.

  And I have no idea what the hell it means.

  8

  Sutton

  I was oddly excited that it was Monday when my alarm went off this morning. Being back at the office and putting some distance between Holland and me is definitely needed.

  Because I almost caved.

  I was this damn close when I saw the blush steal up her cheeks…when she spread her legs in a clear invitation. I wanted to bury my face between her thighs. Wanted to taste her, see if her lips aren’t the only sweet part of her.

  But at the last minute, I found my resolve and bolted.

  Of course it didn’t stop me from locking myself in the en-suite bathroom and fisting my cock until I came…twice…before leaving the apartment altogether.

  I commandeered a table at The Gravy Train and called up Alma to see if she wanted to grab dinner. She was happy to oblige, and I was relieved I had something to take my mind off my new roommate.

  Aside from when I pissed her off Friday night and her attempt to cut her foot off, our first weekend living together was uneventful. Other than when I changed her bandage, she stayed locked away in her bedroom while I spent my time either in mine or on the balcony that overlooks the courtyard, pretending I wasn’t interested in finding out if Holland still begs for more when she comes.

  Fuck. That moment in the bathroom is really getting to me.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  I snap my head up to find Emma standing over my desk, her lips pulled into a suggestive grin.

  “Oh, hey, Emma.”

  Her smile grows, like she’s excited I remembered her name or something. She leans against my desk, her tits practically resting on top of my computer monitor.

  “I was sorry you couldn’t make it out for drinks this weekend,” she says in a hushed tone. “I was hoping to cash in that rain check from before.”

  She texted me on Saturday and asked if I wanted to get drinks, apparently not caring about the no-fraternization rule Jessa has in place. I politely declined her advances for the second time, but from the seductive smile she’s currently giving me, I don’t think she’s taking the hint.

  It’s not that she’s not attractive. She’s actually damn gorgeous with her blunt blonde bob and those low-cut shirts she’s always wearing. But I have a rule against dating coworkers.

  I don’t do it.

  Which is exactly how I know I’ll have no problem winning this bet with Holland. We’re coworkers. For that reason alone, she’s off-limits to me.

  “And before the competition around here starts to liven up.”

  My ears perk at the word. “Competition?”

  “Yep. When you don’t show up for coffee in the break room in the morning, you miss all the latest office buzz.” She gives me a wink. “Larry announced he’s retiring in two months, and Jessa is very big about promoting from within. Word is she plans to pick a new project manager.” She shrugs. “It doesn’t change anything for me—I’m not capable of managing anyone other than myself.” She laughs at her own joke.

  A manager position? That’s a hefty pay raise, a foot in the door for a director position, and a big step up to show my family I’m doing just fine without them.

  It’s something I am very interested in.

  “Do you think a lot of people will be applying?” I ask, trying to gauge my competition.

  “A few people voiced their interest, including Holland. With the way she’s nailing all her projects, I’m sure she’s on Jessa’s radar.”

  Of course Holland wants the promotion. She’s as competitive as me.

  I slide my eyes toward Holland’s desk and am surprised to find her staring back at me, eyes narrowed.

  If she keeps looking at me that way, I might start to suspect she’s jealous of me giving Emma my attention.

  Emma leans forward, her tits really brushing against my screen now. “I’m assuming by the gleam in your eye, you’re about to give her a run for her money.”

  Am I going to bust my balls to beat Holland out of the promotion?

  You bet your ass I am.

  “You could say that,” I say, not taking my eyes off Holland.

  Emma giggles. “Well, for the record, I’ll be rooting for you.”

  I glance back up at her. “Appreciate it. I have some emails to send…”

  “Oh. Of course.” She pushes off my desk and straightens out her blouse, pulling it back up to cover her tits. “I’ll let you get back to work. Just thought I’d catch you up with all the latest gossip. Maybe we’ll see each other at lunch.”

  “Maybe.”

  With a tight smile, she takes the hint that I’m dismissing her and slinks away, making sure to put an extra sway in her hips.

  Her efforts are fruitless. I have no interest in sleeping with her.

  But I do have a strong interest in beating Holland to the top of the ladder.

  I pull up my email and draft a simple message letting her know I’ve officially entered the race.

  * * *

  From: SBarnes@SpectrumMarketing.com

  To: HEvans@SpectrumMarketing.com

  Subject: Larry

  * * *

  Game on, princess.

  * * *

  Sutton Barnes

  Soon-to-be Project Manager

  * * *

  Guess our apartment isn’t the only thing we’ll be competing for.

  “Seriously? All I want is one freaking day where I don’t have to see you everywhere I go.”

  I turn at the sound of her voice, peering down at her.

  She’s not an overly small woman, but she looks extra tiny today, and I’m sure that has to do with the cut on her foot. She’s opted out of wearing those sassy stilettos of hers while it heals, giving me at least eight inches on her.

  “I’m the one standing in front of you, so that means you followed me here.”

  “Yes, I most definitely followed you here because I can’t get enough of you at home or at work.” She rolls her eyes. “You are awfully full of yourself, you know that?”

  “Full or just that aware of my effects on the female population?”

  Her eyes tell me it’s definitely the first one.

  “Next!” the server behind the counter calls.

  I step up, pasting on my most seductive smile. “Hi there,” I say.

  The woman barks out a laugh. “Oh, honey, your girl there had it right. It’s definitely the first one.”

  Holland snickers from behind me.

  “How are you, Darlene?” she asks, sliding in front of me.

  “About as good as I can be, sugar. You want your usual?”

  She nods. “Make it a large Diet Coke this time, please.”

  “Sure thing. That’ll be—”

  “And I’ll take the chicken poppyseed with a large unsweetened tea.” I slide my card across the counter before Holland can get her wallet out.

  Darlene’s brows shoot into her hairline, looking between us. When Holland doesn’t object, she rings the order up and tells us she
’ll be right out with our drinks.

  “What? You’re not going to yell at me for buying your lunch?” I ask as we slide into a booth.

  “No. I figure you owe me after that email this morning.”

  “That so?”

  “Yep.” She pulls a tablet out of her small purse and flips open the cover on the case. “Wonder what Jessa would say if I forwarded that over to her right now.”

  I snatch the device from her fingers before she can.

  “Hey!” she shrieks, reaching for it. “Give that back!”

  “Not a chance. I don’t trust you.”

  I’m about to close the cover when something on the screen catches my eye.

  “Well, well, well,” I say. “What is this? He thrusts his throbbing cock into my hungry cunt.” I peek over the tablet at Holland. “You naughty, naughty girl.”

  Her face is bright red, and judging by the look in her eyes, she’s back to plotting ways to dispose of my body.

  Ignoring her, I skim the page, and I can’t say I hate what I’m reading.

  “Is this what you were doing all weekend while holed up in your bedroom? Reading erotic fiction? Is it even fiction?” I fake a gasp. “Please tell me this is an entry in your diary and you wrote this.”

  “I hate you,” she seethes, grabbing for the device again, but I hold it just out of reach.

  “Hey, no judgment if you did. But I do have questions on where you got the inspiration.” I close the case and tuck the tablet by my side, far away from her. “Was it your ex?”

  Please say no. Please say no.

  I don’t know why I even care, but I’ve never been more eager to hear an answer before.

  She snorts. “Hardly. We never even slept together.”

  Relief floods me, though I have no right to it.

  “That was why he slept with my roommate,” she goes on. “Which I know about because I caught him balls-deep in her. But that’s all my fault—I was ‘holding out on him.’” She lifts her shoulders. “Whatever. I guess it happened at a good time and it all worked out in the end.”

  “Is that your roundabout way of saying you’re enjoying living with me?”