The Room Mate Page 7

  “Hi,” she offered, her voice quiet.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. Was she looking forward to this? Was she just nervous? Or was she about to call off the whole thing? Act cool, for fuck’s sake . . .

  “Everything okay?” I asked, slipping off my shoes.

  Her gaze drifted up and down the front of me, and I realized this was the first time she was seeing me in my scrubs. The soft-washed navy pants were tied low on my waist, and her eyes took their fill.

  “Fine,” she said, still subdued. She drew her knees up to her chest, looking me over again, but I couldn’t read the expression in her eyes.

  “I’m going to go take a shower. We’ll talk when I get out.” And by talk, I meant fuck. A man could hope, at least.

  After setting my shopping bags down on the counter, I headed for the bathroom. I needed to get the sterile smell of the hospital off my body before I could function.

  Standing under the spray of water, I let the steam and heat surround me, working the tension from my muscles. I should have been tired after pulling a ten-hour shift at the hospital, most of it spent on my feet. Instead, I was keyed up, like a caged animal ready to pounce. I’d wanted Paige for way too long, and the thought of finally having her made me almost dizzy with anticipation. Though, medically speaking, the dizziness could have been from the lack of blood flow to my brain, since it was currently all pumping into my groin, engorging my cock.

  After toweling off, I made up the bed with the new sheets. I supposed it could look better with a fluffy comforter and matching pillows and all those things I was terrible at shopping for, but at least it would be comfortable. I wouldn’t be crammed onto that narrow futon with my feet hanging off the end any longer. I didn’t even want to think about how awful trying to fuck someone for the first time on the damn thing would have been. And not just anyone either, but Paige. I wanted to make tonight the best she’d ever had.

  Dressed only in a pair of jeans, I left my room to claim her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Paige

  As I sat there listening to the spray of the shower, my jitters multiplied. Cannon was barely ten feet from me, readying himself for our agreed-upon sexual encounter, but now I felt more unsure than ever.

  Last night when I’d challenged him—called him out on his cocky opinion that after just one night, women fell hopelessly in love with him—I’d felt sexy, brazen, emboldened by the alcohol, spurred on by the illicit undertones of our late-night conversation. Now, stone-cold sober and with nothing to do all day but think it over, I no longer felt fun and flirty. Every negative possible consequence had replayed through my brain for hours.

  Allie would probably never speak to me again if I seduced her brother. Was I really willing to ruin my friendship for a couple of good orgasms? And besides that, Cannon was too young for me. Or rather, I was too old for him. I’d probably disappoint him in the bedroom with a lackluster performance. And what if what he said was true—that he was so amazing in bed, I’d fall in love with him and end up with a broken heart? It was an absurd thought, just his silly superstition at best, but I couldn’t get it out of my head.

  Unable to sit still any longer, I stood and headed into my bedroom. When I looked into the mirror, I was alarmed to see my cheeks were pink, my neck was splotchy, and my eyes were wild. Shit . . . I was incredibly horny and incredibly scared at the same time, and both emotions were written all over my face.

  I blew out a frustrated breath. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  I tried to give myself a firm pep talk. I’m a grown woman who can enjoy an evening of primal, sheet-clawing sex like a responsible adult. It’s not a big deal.

  Fuck. Who was I kidding? It was a very big deal. I was a nervous wreck, my heart beating a million times a minute. Most of me wanted this, but my reasons were entirely selfish. I’d never been with an amazing lover before. I wanted to see if men like that really existed, wanted to throw caution to the wind for once. But none of that was worth the heartache that would surely follow.

  The water shut off, and I heard Cannon moving around. My stomach dropped like a stone. I couldn’t do this.

  Where was that brave girl who’d propositioned Cannon after learning his dark secret? Gone. Stolen away into the night, along with my courage.

  I paced the floor. My home had once been a sacred space, but it now smelled like him, bore the distinct markings of his presence everywhere I looked. His oversized shoes at the front door. His keys resting in a dish on the counter. A bowl filled with apples on the counter that he took from every morning, sinking his perfectly straight white teeth into the tender flesh with a noise of pleasure.

  I knew his habits, knew his scent, but I didn’t know what kind of lover he’d be, didn’t know the sounds he made when he came. Would he shout with delight, grunt intelligibly, or would he whisper my name as he emptied himself inside? I shivered with curiosity.

  I was sick and tired of being the good, mature, responsible adult I knew I was supposed to be. It didn’t matter that sleeping with Cannon was wrong—I wanted to sin. Wanted to push myself beyond the safe little bubble I lived inside day in and day out.

  Cannon appeared in my doorway, his skin still dewy and flushed from the hot water, his hair damp. His chest was bare and his dark jeans rode enticingly low on his hips. I took a deep breath, preparing to tell him all the reasons why this was a huge mistake.

  He stepped up behind me, so close I could smell the citrus-mint bodywash he’d used. Our reflections in the mirror were an experiment in contrasts. He stood a head taller than me, his expression calm and collected. My face was still as red as a tomato, and I looked almost miniature next to him, a feeling I wasn’t used to. I wasn’t used to any of this; it had been a long time since I’d had a man in my life, let alone in my bedroom.

  “Come on.” His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together, tugging me away from the mirror and the internal battle I’d waged. “Let’s go have a glass of wine.”

  His voice sent a wave of calm washing over me. I’d been wound tighter than a coil all day, and his suggestion was exactly what I needed. Why was I freaking out? This wasn’t life or death. It was two friends hanging out, at least for the moment, and that I could do. Baby steps, Paige.

  I followed him to the kitchen, where he retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge. When he motioned me to the couch, then handed me a glass of wine, I accepted his invitation for both. I felt like a puppet on a string, but going along with his commands actually put me at ease.

  I found the conversation flowed easier between us than I would have thought. Travel, business, hobbies, safe topics that still hinted at the things we had in common. Turned out we were both interested in humanitarian work.

  I took a deep breath, enjoying both the conversation and the wine. He had grown into a generous and kind man. Maybe it had something to do with being raised by two women. His mom and sister hadn’t just fawned all over him—they had built him up, never letting him get complacent, but made sure he knew he was smart and capable, instilling in him a confidence that helped him become the man he was today.

  As we sat and talked, sipping our wine, I couldn’t help but be reminded of some of the memories we had shared over the years. While Cannon was refilling my wineglass, a smile crossed my lips at a particularly sweet memory . . .

  • • •

  “Hey! Give me back my backpack, Cannon!” Placing one hand on my slim hip, I’d held the other out toward him, trying to muster as much authority as I could.

  I was twelve and had recently started my first period. My pink Hello Kitty backpack held my stash of pads in a secret compartment inside. The last thing I wanted was Allie’s little brother finding them. Gross! I’d be mortified.

  “My mom said I’m the man of the house. It’s my ’sponsibility to carry all the bags, open all the doors, and treat women with respect.” He straightened his posture, hoisting my backpack
higher onto his slight shoulder.

  Ugh. Cannon could be a real pain in the behind sometimes. We were waiting outside the school for my mom to pick us up, and he was loaded down with not only his Captain America backpack, but Allie’s bag and lunchbox too. He looked like a pack mule.

  “Give it here.” I motioned again. “I can carry my own bag.” My grandma said I didn’t need a man to do anything for me, and besides, Cannon wasn’t even a man yet. He was only eight years old.

  His gaze flashed over to Allie, and she nodded once.

  “Fine,” he said, handing my bag over with reluctance. “Here you go.”

  Relieved, I clutched the bag to my chest, a little surprised that I wasn’t actually mad at Cannon. As far as boys went, he wasn’t all that bad . . .

  • • •

  “You doing better?” Cannon asked, his gaze moving over me.

  I bit my lip and nodded. “I guess it was obvious I was freaking out before, huh?”

  “We don’t have to do this.”

  “What?” I murmured.

  “Any of this. We can go back to pretending this chemistry buzzing between us doesn’t exist. I won’t pressure you.”

  His words should have calmed me, but instead they irritated, grating against my skin. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I was sick of being a coward and calling it caution, prudence, restraint. That was the old Paige. Afraid to try anything new, living inside a bubble. On the slippery side of thirty and still single—with a stray dog instead of the stereotypical cat, but still, just as sheltered and pathetic. The new Paige was adventuresome and daring. At least, she wanted to be.

  “No.” I shook my head. “This was my idea. You’re not pressuring me.” I leaned forward and set my wineglass on the table in front of us. “I’m just not sure how to . . . start.”

  “That’s my job, princess.”

  Princess? I didn’t hate that nickname as much as I probably should have. I hadn’t been anyone’s princess in a long time. Or ever, as the little voice inside my head reminded me. Cannon had called me that growing up, but it was meant in fun, to tease and taunt. This new, adult version of the boy I remembered was filled with surprises.

  His eyes were dark and filled with unspoken passion. And his full, perfect mouth was tilted in a slight smile. He was so ridiculously sexy that my stomach tied into knots whenever I just looked at him.

  I was still nervous. But come on . . . this was Cannon. I’d known him for more than twenty years. He wasn’t going to hurt me, or disappear in the morning and never call again. We’d share this house for the next couple of months, probably make pancakes on Saturday mornings and laugh about the time we got it on. We’d get the attraction out of our systems and move on. It was merely scratching an itch.

  He placed his wineglass next to mine, then leaned closer, tracing his fingertips lightly over my jaw before drawing my face toward his.

  This was it.

  He was going to kiss me.

  It was time to show him that I was more than capable of a one-night stand without falling in love—either that or scurry back to my room, alone and afraid. Those were my two choices. Unless the fire alarm decided to sound in the next four seconds, his full lips were going to be on mine.

  Making the split-second decision to put my money where my mouth was, I leaned in.

  Cannon smiled against my lips, in no rush to claim his prize. Maybe because he knew it was already his. Maybe because, unlike most men, he understood the virtues of slowing down. We both wanted this, but delaying gratification would make it that much better when we did finally get there.

  Slowly, his lips moved against mine, parting so our tongues could tentatively touch. It was electric. Deepening the kiss, his mouth fused over mine, taking all I had to give. His hand cradled my jaw, his tongue tasted of wine, and I realized I’d never been kissed like this. So possessively. So completely. I was hardly inexperienced . . . but whatever I’d been doing before, I couldn’t call it real kissing anymore. With careful licks against my tongue, Cannon taught me how to kiss all over again.

  Holy shit! I’m making out with Cannon Roth. This should have felt strange and utterly foreign. My brain should have been screaming Abort! Abort! Instead, it was the most natural thing in the world. Our tongues moved together as though they’d spent years training for this exact moment. Lust mixed with pleasure rolled through my veins.

  Pulling back a few inches, he smirked at me again. “You still with me?”

  Eagerly, I nodded, drugged with my desire for him. If he could make me feel this out of control from one kiss, I was almost scared to find out what the rest of the night had in store.

  He placed my hand against the bulge in his pants. It was hot and hard, and made my insides clench. “Do you feel that, Paige?”

  I swallowed a groan. He felt so warm and solid beneath my palm. “Y-yes.”

  “Do you want me inside you?” he murmured, trailing kisses up my neck while I continued rubbing his erection through his jeans.

  “God, yes.”

  His warm, silky chuckle vibrated against my skin. “Good, because I’ve wanted to fuck you since I was sixteen years old. But tonight’s not about me. I’m going to make sure this is good for you. Do you want that?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then you need to trust me.”

  For a second, I wondered if I could do that. Totally give over control? I was an independent woman, and what if he was into some kinky stuff? I pushed the thoughts away. I would suspend judgment . . . for now.

  “I do trust you.”

  “Good girl.” His lips met mine once again, kissing me until my body pulsed in a lustful frenzy. After a few moments, he broke away. Reluctantly, I pulled my hand away from his cock and opened my eyes.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? If my track record is any indication, this won’t end well.”

  To my wine-buzzed, lust-clouded brain, his warning to stay away was about as effective as one of those “enter only if you’re eighteen” notices on a porn site.

  “I want this. I want you.” I looked right into his emerald-colored eyes as I spoke, hoping he could feel the sheer desire in my voice.

  “Then let’s take this to the bedroom.”

  Rising from the couch, I followed him down the hall. “Is that why you got the bed?”

  “Yes. That, and I didn’t exactly fit on the futon.”

  My heart pounded as we entered his bedroom. He’d made up the massive king-sized bed with new sheets, and his masculine scent hung in the air all around us.

  “Turn around,” he murmured.

  I faced the full-length mirror that was mounted on the wall as Cannon stood behind me. The room was cast in shadows, but there was enough light to watch his large hands move up my sides, over my hips, my waist, all the way up until he lifted my hair from my shoulder, then placed a tender kiss at the base of my neck. Little chill bumps erupted, dancing down my spine.

  Transfixed, I watched his hands move from my neck to my shoulders, down to cup my achy breasts.

  My breathing went shallow as his fingertips traced my nipples.

  “You have beautiful breasts, Paige.”

  His thumbs grazed the firm peaks of my nipples, and I sucked in a breath.

  “You like your nipples stimulated?”

  I arched my back in reply, leaning my head against his chest, pushing my breasts forward into his hands.

  “Good to know, princess.” He kissed the side of my neck. “I’d love to fuck these pretty tits sometime.”

  He pulled my shirt off over my head and let it drop to the floor. My chest heaved as he unfastened my bra and dropped it next to my shirt. In the mirror, a topless me stood against the backdrop of Cannon’s broad, muscled body. His fingers, strong and certain, traced up my rib cage as I watched.

  If I’d thought it felt good before, his large, warm palms against the naked flesh of my breasts was almost too much
. My breath shuddered, and sparks zinged straight from my nipples to between my legs. But Cannon didn’t torture me for long. His eyes were dark and hooded as his hands moved lower, sliding inside the front of my pants, into my underwear.

  I gasped at the very welcome invasion. His fingers made contact with my slick flesh, and I bit back a moan.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

  He stroked me again, making feather-soft circles against my clit, and I whimpered in pleasure, both relieved that the wait was over and impatient for more.

  “That’s right,” he said, encouraging me. “You like watching me touch you, princess?”

  I did, but I couldn’t string together the words to tell him, couldn’t form a coherent thought right now if my life depended on it. His skilled hands knew all the spots, and just the right pressure and speed to deliver maximum pleasure.

  Leaning back into his solid form, I succumbed and let the pleasure wash over me, pushing my hips forward to grant him even greater access. He rewarded me by sliding one thick finger inside me. Another needy cry escaped me. I wasn’t the type to climax quickly—the few lovers I’d been with in the past had had to work at it—but somehow, after just a few short minutes, Cannon had me poised right on the edge. That dangerous place where I’d splinter into a million fragments and burst apart.

  Surrounded by his warm muscle and rich, masculine scent, I lost all sense of modesty, moaning out loud as he slid his finger in and out, watching him watch me. It was incredibly erotic.

  “You’re beautiful. It’s a privilege to touch you.”

  I could have melted at his darkly seductive tone. It was clear he meant it; his breathing was ragged and his erection pressed as hard as steel into my lower back.

  With one hand between my legs, he caressed my breasts with the other. His mouth burned against my neck. “Are you going to come for me, gorgeous girl?” he whispered against my skin.

  I shuddered in his arms, coming apart at the seams as my release tore through me. White light burst beyond my vision, blood thundering in my ears as my body clenched almost violently around his fingers. Blinded by pleasure, nothing else existed for me but his soft touches, gentle kisses, and dirty whispers.