Page 35 of The Roommate Subtext

I want that, she typed. Please, may I come? I want to be good for you.

She had no idea how good she was, damn it; so good at balancing obedience with spinning out the fantasy. He wanted her to have everything, and the rush of it was terrifying and exhilarating.

Yes, Rose. You’ve been so good. Come for me.

He set the phone aside and gave in to his own rising pleasure. Climax rolled through him, pulsing through him in gorgeous waves until he relaxed back against the pillows. Fuck, that was good.

The phone was still quiet, and she was coming somewhere, maybe stifling her cries in the bedding, hips twitching as she lost herself to pleasure.

God, if only he was there to watch.

Maggie lay on the bed, body tingling with the aftereffects of her orgasm. Conscious thought returned slowly. Next to her, the phone was silent, his last command still visible on screen. She hadn’t intended to play with the Pimpernel again tonight, but after taking a short nap this afternoon, she’d woken up from some hazy sex dreams already turned on. One thing led to another … and here she was, wearing black lace lingerie for no audience, body trembling after an incredible climax.

Her brain hummed pleasantly, and yes it was all chemicals, but she certainly didn’t mind these blissful moments when everything seemed good with the world. Thank you, sir, she typed, focusing to hit the right keys on screen. That was amazing.

For me too, he replied.

She rolled onto her side. I liked all that dirty talk. More than liked it; she loved it. She lost herself in it. She could see how he could get her to go further than she wanted. She could imagine herself becoming desperate enough to do whatever he asked, no matter how humiliating.

Even the thought of it turned her on. And that scared her.

Now I’m a mess, she wrote. I need to clean up.

She almost walked into the hall in lingerie but stopped herself in time. Wouldn’t that be an awkward conversation with Blake. He’d probably stare, wide-eyed, and maybe she would tell him the truth, because it would be hilarious to imagine his response to “Oh, I just got finished sexting with a kinky stranger.”

Maybe he’d like that thought. Maybe he’d like it so much that he’d back her up against the wall, his strong body pressing against hers …

What was this? She’d gotten off mere minutes ago, was still awash with warm fuzzy feelings, and should not be thinking about Blake again. She stripped off the lingerie and swapped into her bathrobe.

Of course, Blake was in the bathroom. The hazards of roommates. She waited, leaning against the wall, until the door swung open and he stepped into the hallway wearing only boxers.

She forced her gaze up to his face because it was too easy to linger elsewhere when her mind was fuzzy. He had been shirtless a lot lately. Earlier, it had been pajama pants, but now it was only boxers, and if the trend continued, next time he’d be buck-ass naked. She couldn’t help picturing it, and her face heated.

“I didn’t keep you waiting long, did I?” He gestured behind him to the bathroom. “Just washing up for bed.”

“No, not long. I have bad timing.” She brushed past him, hopefully fast enough that he didn’t see her blush. She blushed too easily, and if she was going to keep living with him, she had to get used to his half-naked body. She closed the bathroom door behind her and turned on the shower.

By the time she got back to her bedroom, her mind was clearer and her body relaxed. No light seeped out from under Blake’s door. Maybe he’d gone to bed.

She changed back into regular pajamas and sat at her desk to check email.

Arnold Chauvel’s name sat at the top of her inbox.

Checking in on the progress of your article, he wrote. I thought I’d have a draft by now.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, she considered how to respond before composing her reply. Doing lots of research, she wrote, which was true in a sense. Then she asked about interviewing his friend, the one who had had such a terrible experience with the Pimpernel. I’d of course honor her anonymity, she wrote, but I’m not sure how far I can get without her story.

So far, the hit piece Chauvel was hoping for wasn’t taking shape. She was supposed to write a condemnation of the Pimpernel, and all she wanted to do was fuck him. She’d have to draft something soon, though; she was living on borrowed time.

As if on cue, Cora texted her. Great news! We got funded through the end of next month!

Congratulations! Maggie wrote, even though she didn’t feel the exclamation point. Even though she knew the answer, she asked, Where from?

Chauvel! Vanessa was right about him, and thank god, because nobody else came through. He said he’ll see how this month goes and then consider funding for a longer term.

Maggie knew what Chauvel meant when he said he’d see how this month went. This had nothing to do with Cora’s lab and everything to do with Maggie upholding her end of the bargain. She sent a few enthusiastic texts she didn’t feel, then signed off and got into bed.

She lay awake in the dark for a while, mind racing, before sitting up and pulling her phone off the nightstand. She clicked through the group chat but didn’t feel like talking there, and finally returned to her conversation with the Pimpernel. You still up? she typed, not really expecting an answer. It had been a while since they’d finished playing.