The Roommate Situation by Zoe X. Rider Page A

shoulder, my thumb against his neck, where I can feel his pulse, strong and steady.
    I really like him. I mean, even just in general. Jamie and Taylor, Chuck and Pete, they’re fun to hang out with and all, but I really like Derek.
    His thumb uncurls from my belt loop. Warm fingers touch my skin, just above my jeans.
    My hips want to roll, moving my crotch right under the heel of his palm.
    “Maybe you could write a testimonial,” he says.
    “Guaranteed to get your dick hard.” It comes out of my mouth before my judgment can vet it.
    “Is that what it’s done?” he asks, not recoiling in horror, just rubbing his fingers in light little back-and-forths against my skin.
    I nod. I mean, that’s all I can do, just that one lift and lower of my head while I stare at his mouth, my breath stalled in my chest, my cock surging at the proximity of his hand.
    “Maybe I should add a note about unintended side effects to the listing.”
    “Maybe you should,” I say hoarsely. I drag his face toward mine with a grip on his warm nape.
    The softness of his lips gives way to the hardness of his teeth behind them, and then his mouth opens, and so does mine. There’s the shock of his tongue, the tip licking mine. He draws back, just a few inches, his lips still parted as he looks into my eyes. My heart races.
    “I—” I swallow. “I can’t be held responsible for the effects of an untested product.”
    “Right.” His voice is all edges, lowered almost to a whisper. “The guinea-pig excuse.”
    “I don’t think there are any ill health effects, unless you punch me for this.”
    He laughs. It’s sudden and surprising compared to how low we’ve been speaking. “I’ll try not to punch you.”
    And then his mouth’s on mine again, his five-o’clock shadow rough against my chin. My fingers clutch his hair as I kiss him, desperate. Desperate like I wasn’t with Katie Duke or Alexis Whitney, though I’d pretended to be. I’d told myself that what I felt making out with them was what I was supposed to be feeling, that what I saw in movies was just acting, but this— this is what I’m supposed to be feeling, this heat, this desperate urgency, this sense of satisfaction.
    He curls his fingers into my waistband, his weight pressing down on his hand as we explore each other’s mouths, breathe each other’s air.
    He shifts, stretching out alongside me, taking his weight off my hip. The heel of his hand turns and brushes the front of my jeans, and my breath goes out of me. I grip his neck and press my forehead to his, and I just—I can’t even breathe. All the air’s gone.
    His body presses against mine, his arm around my back, pulling me to him, pulling us together, and we’re kissing again like our lives depend on it. I’ve got just the one hand, and I’m tugging his shirt up, finding warm skin underneath, pushing over his belt, finding the hard ridge in his jeans, and he grinds it against my palm, forcing his knee between my legs. I want in there, and I fumble with his belt. He pulls his mouth away to work my belt free, both of us with just one hand to work with, both of us in a hurry, fighting with leather, buckles heavy enough to knock knuckles as they swing free, buttons that are hard to work loose because of the pressure behind them. I pull at his zipper until it catches on the bulge and won’t go any farther. Good enough for me. I shove my fingers into the heat of his jeans, my palm flat against his stomach, feeling his breaths, the twitch of his muscles.
    Closing my eyes, I bite his shoulder through his shirt, wanting more than this. Groaning as Derek makes his way into my open fly.
    I fight with the waistband of his briefs. My fingers tangle in his hair, coarse and warm, and then I find the source of the heat, the hard rod pushed sideways in his jeans. I dig my fingers under the rough cotton and tug his cock upward so I can wrap my hand around it.
    His breath catches as my thumb slides through the hot wetness