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“Jesus,” I rasped, awe and disbelief swimming through my senses.
My palm paused at the curve of her hip as my brain scrambled to keep up with what was happening.
Haven had come in here with the sole purpose of fucking me.
The mere thought made my skin overheat and my dick pulse greedily.
Last night, it had seemed like maybe she’d been coming on to me. When she had sat on the table beside me, wearing very little—no bra and red panties showing—and she’d touched me and looked at me like maybe she wanted more, but I sucked at reading signals. I was too leery to try something in case, whoops, that wasn’t what she’d wanted after all. So I’d gotten out of there before making a fool of myself.
All day, however, I had wondered… Had she or hadn’t she been seeking sex?
Right now, though. Right fucking now, there was no question. Haven wanted me.
She wanted me.
Thrusting my tongue against hers and pumping my cock into her palm, I smoothed my hands down. Curious to know if she was as ready for this as I was, my fingers moved over her ass and then down between her legs from behind.
I’d just barely grazed the wet heat at her core when she jolted, and flinched away, yelping out the word no, or at least the beginning N sound, which made me think she wanted to say no but couldn’t quite get it all out. Every muscle in her body tensed as she sank deeper into the mattress, trying to escape me.
I lurched upright off her, already rasping, “Sorry. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She scrambled upright as well, fumbling for blankets as if seeking cover. So I reached out, gripped some sheets and yanked them up between us, helping her along. And even though I could barely make anything out in the darkness of the room, I was able to tell that she grabbed them from me in order to wrap herself like a burrito from the bare shoulders down.
“Haven,” I started, not sure what to say but needing to know if she was alright, even as I wondered what the hell I’d done wrong.
But she snapped, “Shh. No. No talking, remember? This isn’t real. It’s not happening. It can’t be—”
Except, “Yes, it is.” I insisted. “It’s real. And you really freaked out. So, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“No, of course you didn’t,” she rushed to assure me. “I’m fine. I just…I…I’m so sorry. I don’t know…I just…I’m sorry. It got to be too much. Too real. Is it…is it okay if we stop?”
I lifted my eyebrows and my mouth fell open. Then I dryly answered, “No. I think I’m going to make you continue whether you want to or not.”
Her head popped up and I could feel her incredulous stare. I winced in the dark, deciding this probably wasn’t the best time to turn sarcastic. “Of course you can stop,” I snapped. “That’s not even something you ask. You just say stop, and we stop. Okay?”
“Oh. Okay.”
Her voice sounded small, uncertain. I blinked, wondering what the hell was happening. This did not sound like the determined, take-charge girl who’d bulldozed her way into becoming my roommate, who’d just come in here with no panties on.
“I’m sorry,” she went on. “I just… I thought there was a point where, you know, where guys couldn’t stop, and they have to…you know, they have to—”
“We have to what?” I wondered. “Resort to rape? Yeah, no. There’s no such point.”
“Oh,?
?? she said again, her voice filled with that same innocent, tentative quality. “It’s just… Topher always said…”
For some reason, hearing that name while I was in bed and fully aroused with Haven and she was nearly in tears with fear, I lost it.
“He said what?” I boomed, making her jump and yelp out a small, startled scream. “That you had to fuck him no matter what?”
“No!” she wailed, shying away from me and clutching my sheets tighter against her. Her shoulders shuddered, and she sniffed, letting me know she’d started to cry. “Of course not. He wouldn’t.”
Blowing out a calming breath, I nodded and forced myself to relax, mostly so I’d stop scaring her even more than I already was. But then I had to go and ask, “So he never forced you?”
“No, no. Never. He just…you know…guilt-tripped me into it…sometimes. But only when I wasn’t, you know, totally in the mood.”
My brow furrowed as I slowly repeated, “Guilt-tripped?”
