The Roommate Situation (15 page)

“Ouch,” I say softly as the leather pinches my skin when he tightens it.

“Sorry.” He backs it up and retightens it a little more carefully. “Next.”

I give him my other wrist. Happily. Saying, “I like these,” as I hold my wrist above my face.

“Me too. There you go.”

“Locks.”

“Right.” He leans on my hip to dig them out. “Locks.” They sit in a pile in his palm. My cock stirs, not that it needs much motivation. I roll toward him, grasping his thigh. Giving it a squeeze.

He pops the locks open with the key, one by one, and my hand travels higher. He’s ignoring me. I don’t care. He puts a lock on one of the cuffs, letting my other hand massage his crotch. He might be ignoring me, but
that’s
not. I pull myself closer, rest my mouth against his knee. After he snaps the lock on that other wrist, he lunges toward the desk—his crotch sliding away from my hand—and sweeps the straps up.

Turning onto my back, I lift my arms over my head and watch him lock them to the headboard. His T-shirt hangs down, tickling my nose. I tilt my chin up and press my lips to the fabric.

He just pulls away, walks off to get his camera.

I close my eyes and tug at the cuffs. The pot’s made me restless. It makes me want to move. But faceup, I can’t rub against the mattress like last time. All I can do is lift my hips in the air. It’s frustrating and awesome at the same time.

His footsteps start coming this way.

I look up and over, watching him approach, appreciating how he looks, the lines around his eyes more pronounced since the visit with his mom, his hair rucked up in front from where he pushed it back while he worked on the straps. God, this guy—

My boyfriend.

“Make a fist,” my boyfriend says.

I do it, staring at him as he watches the camera’s display, framing the photo. He snaps one. Then another. And another.

He gets on the bed with me, straddling my thighs to take photos of the other wrist, his crotch hovering over mine. I cant my hips up and get a skittering of pleasure as I manage to turn my hips and push myself against the inside of his leg.

He swings his leg over and steps off the bed. One-handed, he grabs my ankle and yanks my head down out of the shot. Then he straddles me again, crotch over my chest—close, but not so close I can reach him with my mouth.

Not that that stops me from trying.

He pretends to ignore me, but the slight smile as he swings his leg back again and gets to his feet gives him away.

Smiling myself, I drop my head on the mattress.

“I think I’ll go look at these,” he says. “In case we need to redo any before switching to the other cuffs.”

“Okay.” I just keep smiling, sprawled like the cat I still feel like.

While his mouse clicks away, I bring my feet up and push myself back toward the headboard again. Leaning toward one of my hands, I scratch my nose, then look at the lock, the buckle, the strap—trying to think if there’s any way I can get out of the cuff. Maybe with a paperclip between my teeth I could do it. Well, with a lot of practice first.

I pull on both wrists, trying to bring my hands closer together, but the straps keep them well apart.

With Derek fucking around on his computer, I have nothing better to do, so I jerk hard with both arms at once. The locks stop me short and make my dick throb. So I do it again.

“Trying to reach your dick?” he calls.

It’s probably a good thing I can’t. One throb bleeds into another as I lie there, becoming a dull, constant ache between my legs. I shift my feet restlessly. Then I lift a hip, turning my body half over, one arm stretched out behind me. I can
just
make contact with the mattress. My lips part at the first spark of pleasure.

“You should probably not take too long,” I say.

“If you come without me, I’ll leave you locked up till you get it up again.”

Oh shit. I clench my fists. “That’s not helping.”

“Just another minute.”

I flip back and focus on the noises—clicks, pauses, his CPU fan whirring quietly.

Finally the soft pad of footsteps comes.

He looks down at me.

“I like these cuffs,” I say, my voice husky. They feel more secure than the others. They don’t distort when I pull against the locks.

“Me too,” he says. He pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks one from a strap before dragging it into his lap to unlock the buckle. I turn my hand slowly, letting the side of it brush the bulge in his jeans.

He picks my hand up by the wrist and drops it on my stomach before leaning across to get my other arm free. His crotch is near my free hand. I slide my fingers up the inside of his thigh until they’re cupping his crotch, my thumb tracing circles over the ridge in the denim.

“If you want the other set of cuffs on, you’re gonna need to stop doing that,” he says.

I let my hand drop, reluctantly.

He pulls my cuffs off and puts the other pair on. Locks my wrists to the headboard again, saying, “I should make leg cuffs. I sold the last set a while back and never replaced them.”

“That’d be fun,” I murmur, shifting my hips.

“With leg cuffs, we could do photos showing how to use these straps for a hogtie.”

“And that’s what exactly?”

Grinning, picking up his camera, he says, “I guess you’ll find out.”

“As soon as I can get on the Internet.”

“I’ll just have to wear you out so you don’t have the energy.”

“Okay.” I’m easy.

He takes photos, his face all concentration, looking at me through the display as if I’m not right there in the room with him.

“Are you going to make me wait for you to fuck with your photos again?” I ask.

“Yep. Like I said, in case we need to retake any.”

“Fine.” I draw out the syllable with a mock sigh, but my cock is straining in my jeans at the thought.

I kind of wish he already had leg cuffs, something to keep me from being able to twist my lower body around to rub against the mattress.

“Back in a few,” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

My underwear’s damp. I can feel the wetness blossoming in the cotton. I shift and twist, but it stays with me. It’s not long before I have one arm stretched behind me again, my forehead smashed to the wall, my teeth biting my lip as I grind the very edge of my cock against the mattress.

“Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” he says, grabbing my hip and flipping me over.

“So stop leaving me alone already.”

He straddles me, dropping his weight on my thighs. So close yet so far. I let my head fall back on the mattress and clench my fists, my eyes closed, my lips parting as breath passes between them. His hands make their way up my sides, and my jaw relaxes. My shoulders relax. A sound comes up from my chest, soft and airy, as I melt into the mattress.

He slides his palms over my chest, down my stomach. I try to push my crotch up despite his weight on me.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he says.

“I guess just about anything you want.” I rattle the locks holding my wrists.

His smile’s mischievous. “I guess that’s right, isn’t it? Are you ticklish?” He flutters his fingers over my sides, and I try to twist away.

“No. No, not at all. No reason to keep—agh! Shit!” I twist. His fingers dig in, and I buck. A laugh climbs my throat. I grit my teeth, hold my breath to keep it in. He jabs harder, and I twist the other way. “Don’t!” My stomach muscles jerk. I try to dump him off with my knees. He grips my armpits, grinning.

I squirm and yelp, and then I’m shaking with peals of laughter. Heat blasts my face. My stomach muscles ache. My cock is an excited ache, begging for the attention my stomach’s getting.

“Please,” I manage. “No—argh! Stop! Stop!”

He braces himself with his knuckles planted on either side of me and leans down. That lock of hair spills over his forehead. “Stop?”

My chest heaves as I catch my breath.

He takes his weight off one hand and puts his fingers on my belly, tickling lightly, moving lower, then lower yet, my stomach quivering as I haul in air—I’m not sure if I’m catching my breath from the tickling or catching my breath in anticipation. I shift my hips to meet his fingers.

“Oh God.” I squirm, this time in pleasure. “Oh fffuck.”

He sits back, taking his hand with him. Sitting on my thighs, just watching me squirm.

I unclench my fists, then clench them again and pull against the straps. Another soft moan slips out of me, and I’m not even being touched.

“I think you can stand some more.”

“I hate you.”

With a grin, he runs his fingers up my sides, enough of a touch to draw goose bumps and gasps, but not enough to start me laughing again.

“The thing is,” he says as his fingertips near my armpits, “you’re so noisy. Someone’s gonna break down the door to see what the fuck is happening to you.” As he leans farther forward, his crotch presses on mine, and while I suck in air at the frustration and pleasure, he whispers, “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No,” I breathe against the hand that caresses my lips.

“We’d find ourselves on YouTube or some shit,” he says very reasonably.

I nod, kind of, as I lift my chin. His fingers trace a soft line down the side of my neck.

“That would be bad,” he says.

“Bad.”

“So you have to be quiet.”

I get one last breath out through my mouth before he clamps his hand over it.

Oh God.

My toes curl as he runs his fingernails down my side—and then he digs in, vicious, making me jerk and twist and yell against his hand. I want it to stop. I want it to never stop. My cock is so hard it feels like it’s going to come apart at the seams, like a new, huge cock is going to grow right out of it, the skin peeling back, exposing raw flesh, and it’s just going to keep growing and growing right out of the middle of me.

The leather digs into my wrists. The muscle fibers in my arms feel like they’re tearing. My chest and cheeks and stomach ache. Tears roll down my face, into my ears, as laughter and garbled begs heave out of me.

He pulls his hand away, letting me gasp in fresh air, and leans close, pushing my hair back from my sweaty forehead, watching me gulp air and blink away the freshest tears.

He curls his fingers into my hair, holding my head down, keeping me from closing the short distance between our mouths. His mouth. I can see it through the blur of water, his lips so red, the tip of his tongue touching the little flat spot in the middle of his lower lip.

Then his tongue’s in my mouth, making me out of breath all over again. My hips arch up, meeting his. He grinds against me, once, twice—just enough to drive me crazy before he lifts up.

I want to grab his head and keep his mouth on mine, but he sits up, pulling off his shirt, revealing his flat stomach, his chest, the muscles of his neck… The shirt lands with a soft rustle on the floor even as he’s leaning down again, pressing down on me, bare chest to bare chest—dry humping me slowly, agonizingly, until I’m crazy out of my mind, begging, “Fuck me,” begging, “Fuck me so hard.”

He grasps the waistband of my chill pants and drags them down my hips.

A panic ripples through me, that he’s going to take my words at face value. It mingles with thrill and curiosity and need.

When he bends forward again, one knee between my legs, it’s to take my cock in his mouth—warm and soft and sucking—and it’s too much. Right the fuck away it’s too much. An orgasm speeds through me like a bullet train. There’s no time to get my jaw working, get my voice up into my mouth and let him know. I just start coming, hard, all over my stomach, all over Derek’s tongue as he licks my slit. He keeps jacking me off, slowly, his face close enough for his breaths to skate over my shaft. Aftershocks jerk through me until it becomes unbearable, and I whisper, “Fuck,” and lift my hip, pulling away from him.

He turns his eyes toward me.

I mouth
sorry.

“For what?”

I drop my head back on the mattress, breathless. “Wow,” I manage to croak out.

“Wow,” he echoes, a smile in his voice. He runs his tongue up my softening cock, making me twitch again. He grins wryly.

“You have to stop making me come so fast.”

“Me? Who’s the one with no self-control?”

“I can last a long fucking time when you’re not around, you know.”

He balances himself over my body, our stomachs separated by an inch or two. “I guess you’re just not that hot for yourself.” He plants a kiss on my lips. I haven’t caught my breath—or my senses—enough to kiss back.

He says, “You want to get out of those yet?”

“No. Yes. Both.”

“Okay.” He rolls to the side and digs out the key again. “No for that hand.” He taps one of my wrists. “Yes for this one.” He lifts the lock connecting the strap’s D-rings to the cuff and pushes the key in. With a twist, the lock pops open.

“I usually use my right hand,” I say, shaking the left out.

“Think of this as strength training, then.”

“It could be that, or… I have a better idea.” I grab hold of the headboard and dig my heels into the mattress until I’ve pushed myself back, until I’m sitting against the locker. “Come here.” I grab his waistband and tug.

“Higher,” I say as he moves toward me.

When his crotch is in front of my face, I undo his belt, one-handed, and then lift the zipper pull with my tongue, catching it between my teeth. It takes help from my free hand, but I manage to work the zipper down over his straining cock as he braces his hands on the locker, watching me. The intensity of his curiosity makes me smile and blush at the same time.

I need his help to get his jeans down.

I don’t need any help stroking his cock. I study it close up before sticking my tongue out to take my first taste.

Salty.

Warm.

I close my lips around the head and push down his shaft until they meet with the fist I’ve got wrapped around him.

With my other arm still tethered to the bedpost, I dare to take him in a little farther, exploring every inch of skin I can reach with my tongue, until the head of his cock hits the back of my mouth, making my throat spasm, making me back off it. I swallow saliva and put my mouth around it again. I’m not sure if I want cum in my mouth, but at the same time, I like the feel of his cock in my mouth, like being used. Like being gagged in the best way possible. I make a noise just to hear how it sounds around his shaft. Then I slide backward along it until I’m licking his head, jacking him slowly with my fist. Tasting his precum as it eases out of his slit. It’s not like I was expecting, not strong and dense like something that’s been cooped up. It’s like the ocean maybe, a place I haven’t been in years. It’s like licking the ocean off someone as it seeps out of him.