Page 9 of A Deal with my Bully Roommate

Harper moans, deepening the kiss as our mouths collide. I grab her, and she grabs me, one hand snaking around my neck and pushing into my hair as she straddles my lap, my hands on her hips. Our mouths meet in an explosive collision, a disaster from which there’s no going back. It’s so hot, I can’t bring myself to regret it. Harper’s mouth is messy, desperate, and tastes like years of repressed longing and mutual resentment. It’s the sound of a gilded cage finally shattering. Harper gasps against my lips, her body melting into mine as I pull her flush against my body. Her long legs are exposed, wrapping around my waist as she clings to me like I’m her lifeline.

The kiss is so good. The kind of hate fuck movies talk about. Except, in that moment, I don’t hate Harper Price at all. I’m consumed by her.

“Oh god,” she whispers, taking in a breath before our lips fuse again. My tongue delves into her mouth, tarnishing my bully with my taste. Her tongue tangles in mine, and I taste bubblegum and desire. As I lose myself in her, I wonder why it took my so long to do this. Because after tonight, there’s no way I can go back to what we used to be.

CHAPTER 4

Harper

I’m kissing Avery. I can’t believe I’m kissing the girl I bullied throughout high school, the girl I’ve loved ever since I understood love.

The reality of it is a violent, beautiful shock to my system. I’ve spent years imagining what her lips would feel like—usually in the dark of my room at three in the morning, drowning in a sea of guilt and silk sheets—and the reality is so much more terrifying than the fantasy. Fantasies are safe. Fantasies don’t have a heartbeat that you can feel thrumming against your own ribs. They don't have hands that grip your waist with a possessive, grounding strength.

Avery’s mouth is firm and demanding, tasting of the coffee I made for her and a fire I never expected to ignite. I moan into her mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that I’ve spent my entire life stifling. My hands, usually so poised and controlled, are frantic. One is buried deep in her dark hair, the strands silken and messy against my knuckles, while the other clutches at her shoulder, my nails digging into the soft cotton of her shirt.

I’m straddling her lap, my silk robe fallen open at the collar, and every point where our skin meets feels like a live wire. Her legs are warm against mine, her thighs solid beneath my own. I’ve never felt so exposed, and yet, for the first time in my nineteen years, I don’t feel like I’m performing. I’m not the "Price Legacy." I’m not Marcus’s future accessory. I’m just Harper, and I am starving for the girl underneath me.

Avery pulls back for a split second, her breath hitching, her lips swollen and glistening. Her eyes are dark, searching mine with an intensity that makes me want to weep. "Harper," she breathes, my name sounding like a prayer and a curse all at once. “God, you taste so good.”

"Don't stop," I whisper, my voice a jagged wreck. "Please, Avery. Just... don't stop."

I crash my lips back against hers, more desperate this time. I want to consume her; I want to apologize for every cruel word I ever spat at her through the pressure of my mouth. I want to tell her that every time I called her a "nobody," I was actually screaming because she was the only person who felt like somebody to me. My tongue brushes against hers, and a jolt of pure white heat races down my spine. I’ve never done this—never let anyone in like this—and the fact that it’s her makes it feel like a homecoming and a desecration all at once.

Her hands slide up from my waist, tracing the curve of my spine until they rest against the bare skin of my upper back where the robe has slipped. She pushes off, leaving me in nothing but my skin, as her fingers trace my bare spine, her lips possessive. Her touch is a brand. I shiver, my body arching into hers, seeking more of that friction, more of that heat. We tumble back onto her pillows, the bed creaking under the weight of a decade’s worth of repressed tension finally breaking.

When she removes her mouth from mine, her dark eyes look down at me. I can feel the cool air against my skin, my arousal evident in the way my body is wet for her.

“Harper, we can stop—”

“No,” I grab her hand, putting it on my breasts. “I want you to ruin me, Avery.”

She blinks, and I wonder if I’m pushing it. After all, I am her bully, her nemesis, the girl who ruined her life and tried to steal her thesis. Why could she listen to me?

“Are you sure?” she asks, her kindness making me melt. She’s been nothing but nice since I told her that I liked her, that I was attracted to her.

“I’m sure,” I whisper. “I want you, Avery. I always have.”

She nods, and then, I’m reaching for her clothes, taking them off one by one. I want her so bad. I want this with her. There’s no other girl who has captured my obsession like she has. Avery obliges me, our bodies connecting and creating something magical.

For a long, blurred eternity, there is only the sound of our synchronized breathing and the wet, rhythmic slide of our bodies. I lose track of time. I lose track of the "deal." I lose track of the fear of my father’s voice on the other end of the line. In this small, dimly lit dorm room, with the scent of lavender and old books and her filling my senses, I am finally, terrifyingly free.

A screamed climax later, the fire slows to a simmer. We lay tangled together in my bed, my head resting on her chest, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ear. The steam from my shower has long since dissipated, and the room has grown cool, but I’ve never felt warmer. I’m terrified to move. I’m terrified that if I shift even an inch, Avery will be gone, and she’ll realize she’s holding a monster.

I shift my gaze to her sketchbook, still lying open on the bed. The charcoal me looks back—the me that Avery saw. The me that I tried so hard to hide.

"Avery?" I whisper, my voice small.

"Yeah?" Her voice is husky, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my shoulder.

I swallow hard, the copper taste of shame returning to the back of my throat. "I’m sorry. For... everything. For the library in junior year. For the comments about your clothes. For stealing the thesis draft." I close my eyes, tears prickling behind my lids. "I didn't know how to be me. In my house, 'me' doesn't exist. There is only the Version of Harper that is acceptable. I saw you, and you were so loud and so real and so... okay with being different. I hated you for it. I hated you because I wanted to be you, and I wanted to be with you, and I couldn't handle the contradiction. I was such a fool."

I feel her body go still beneath me. The silence stretches out, agonizing and long. I wait for her to push me off the bed. I wait for her to tell me that a few kisses don't erase four years of psychological warfare.

"I spent so many nights wondering why you picked me," Avery says quietly. She isn't looking at me; she’s staring at the ceiling. "I used to think you just liked the power trip. I used to think I was just a convenient target because I didn't have a family name to protect me."

"You were the only thing I couldn't control," I admit, finally letting a tear escape. It hitches in my lashes before falling onto her shirt. "And I was so scared of what would happen if I let you control me."

Avery turns her head, her dark eyes meeting mine. She reaches up, her thumb catching the moisture on my cheek, wiping it away with a tenderness that hurts more than her anger ever did.