Page 31 of Oblivious Roommate

I want him to smell of me. I want to taste his tan skin and fall asleep with my head on his muscular thigh, playing with his body hair.

The instrumental music blasting from his speakers keeps me from hearing his gasps, but as he drops his head all the way back, overcome with whatever fantasy is playing out on the backs of his eyelids, I imagine him making soft, little whines and whispering my name.

Mattie... please... I want you...

My cock has never been harder, and I rub its sensitive length, staring at the mirror as Cass’s hips rise. His legs tense when he goes to his toes while resting his back in the chair, and when the pace he pleasures himself at becomes frantic, I know he’s about to come.

I speed up too, all too aware that I’m gonna finish in my pants, but that’s what the washing machine is for. Issues like that belong in reality, and I’m now in a wet dream.

Cass’s louder grunt is audible over the music, and hearing him sends a zap of arousal to my balls. The way his lips part in a moan makes me want to barge in there and kiss him, roll my tongue against his and let him finish on me.

Or better.

I could grab his dick, he could wrap his fingers over mine. We could jerk each other off at the same time. I’d tell him to open his eyes. Look at me. And then he’d come.

My toes curl when cum erupts from his pulsing dick, spraying his T-shirt and bared stomach. His head rolls over the backrest of his chair, but all I can see are those thrusting hips and the tension passing through Cass’s handsome face.

How did I not see this before? How is it that I never acknowledged his beauty and never once thought of kissing his dark lips?

I’m such a fool.

I almost feel the throbbing of his cock in my hand, but it’s only my own dick longing for release. To think that Logan had him, touched him, kissed him when I could have.

I get angry, but also confused, because now I’m thinking about Logan, and losing my focus, and the last thing I want to think about is goddamn Logan.

Cass pulls off the stained T-shirt, drops it into his laundry basket, and gets up, pulling up his jeans after a brief clean-up. It’s happening all too fast.

I have enough brain power to pull my hand out of my pants, no matter how desperately my dick begs to be stroked. He’s stepping toward the door, shirtless, so, like a sleepwalker, I force myself to move to the kitchen.

My bare feet tap the floor, but the music is still on, masking any sounds the floor might make. Alarms are still ringing in my head like there’s a signal tower in my skull. I nearly yelp when his door makes noise, but by the time his form looms in the mouth of the hallway, I stand in front of the cakes I brought from Rainbowology, and my hard-on is obscured by the counter.

“Mattie?” he asks loudly enough to be heard over the music, and I snap my head up, pretending he’s the one who surprised me, not the other way around.

“Oh hi, I just came in! My last class was canceled,” I lie.

Cass’s form is dark against the backdrop of the glow coming from his bedroom, and oh, I love the contrast between the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips so fucking much.

“What are you doing in the dark?” he asks, and moments later, the light goes on, presenting him standing there barefoot and wearing only his jeans. The flush of excitement still lingers on his skin, and while I forbid myself from staring, I swear I can see some cum on the hair leading down his stomach.

Or it’s just my lust-filled brain imagining things.

I laugh. “I was hungry, okay? All I could think of was grabbing something in the kitchen. I got us cake!” I smile, all too aware of the rock-hard erection throbbing in my pants.

There’s a sexy sway to his shoulders as he comes closer and I swear I can smell his spunk, his sweat, his gorgeous cologne… I want to rub it all over me.

My throat is as dry as the Sahara when he takes another step closer, leaning over the box of cake like he’s not the god of sex gracing me with his presence.

“Which ones did you get?” he asks, his green eyes sparkling with joy.

I want to kiss him so bad it hurts, but I manage to mumble coherently enough. “The banana cream pie and the chocolate and cherry cream cake.”

He smirks and scratches the hair in the middle of his chest. I can recognize the musky scent of his pheromones as he pushes aside the canvas bag to look at the food container.

“You look… happy with yourself. Did anything happen?” I ask, as innocently as I can when my mind wants him to be truthful with his answer.

Maybe then I could make a comment like Oh, you know I had this really hot fantasy and got hard. Look. He’d laugh, but then his eyes would gloss over, and he’d touch my throbbing erection for the first time.

I’m such a terrible person.