Page 83 of The Roommate Experiment
My head dips, eyes steady on hers. “I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want to come home to you after a long day and cook dinner together, even if it’s mac and cheese from a box. We can argue over who gets the first shower and end up sharing it anyway.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I want to build a life with you, Hunter. I’m all in if you are.”
Hunter’s eyes search mine. Emotions flickering across her face—surprise, disbelief, and then, a tentative hope that makes my heart swell.
“You’re serious,” she says, more a statement than a question.
“As a heart attack,” I confirm, my lips quirking. “I know it’s fast, and if you need time to think about it, I understand?—”
“No, I want it, but…” She frowns and looks away. “Aren’t you worried about going too fast? What if we blow up and mess things up in our group?”
I get the sense that’s not what she wants to ask me, that her fear is not about our group’s dynamic but about me breaking her heart. “Nina and Tristan have already made that ship sail. And I can’t promise this will be forever, but I can tell you that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t risk to see if it could be.” I grab her jaw and gently tilt her face back toward me. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind?”
She struggles to maintain eye contact, but I don’t let her look away. “Do you remember the conversation we had at your parents’, t-the night we slept in the living room?”
I remember everything she tells me. Not just the words, but also the way she says them—how her voice softens or sharpens depending on what she’s going through. “I do.”
“Okay.” She swallows, visibly nervous. Then she starts talking at top speed, without pausing as if she is afraid she’ll lose her nerve if she doesn’t get it all out at once. “This might sound premature, but since you’re already talking about moving in together. Remember I told you I might not be able to have kids naturally? I might try IVF but the only road for me could be adoption. And before anything happens between us, I need to know that you can accept that. You have to understand that it’s not an abstract possibility, but the most probable outcome for me. Because I can’t let myself get… get swept up in this, if I already know you… you won’t be okay with that. I’ve wanted this for too long. If you don’t?—”
I stop her, capturing her mouth in another tender kiss, before pulling apart, locking eyes with her, and making sure she hears me when I say, “I don’t care, Brolin. Tristan has always told me my mom and dad felt more like parents to him than his own. Biology has nothing to do with it. Our kids come from your belly or from a situation where they need help and a loving family. I’m good either way.”
“You are?”
“No. Love doesn’t come from genes. We can adopt an entire basketball team. The important thing is that we’ll be raising our kids together, me and you.” I notice she’s about to melt into tears, so I smile, whisper-singing, “I wanna be your endgame.”
The song has the desired effect because it makes her laugh. “Are you serenading Taylor to me?”
“What if I was?”
“You’d have to stop because I can’t take any more swooning.”
My turn to grin. “If we’re done with the hard questions, then, can we move on to the fun part?”
At the barest nod from Hunter, I scoop her up into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist. She lets out a surprised squeak that evolves into a moan as I capture her mouth in a fiery kiss. I carry her down the hall, pausing, undecided if we should go to her bedroom or mine. My door’s open, so I go in there, our lips never breaking contact. It’s a miracle I navigate the short distance without stumbling, considering how thoroughly Hunter is kissing me back.
I kick the door shut behind us and press Hunter up against it. She gasps into my mouth at the sudden impact, her back arching off the wood. I trail my lips down her neck, finding that sensitive spot below her ear that I’ve already learned makes her shudder. “A word of warning, Brolin.” I bite into her earlobe hard enough to make her whimper. “I’m not such aniceguy in bed.”
39
HUNTER
“I’m not such aniceguy in bed.”
Those are the last words Dylan says to me before he shows me just how wicked he can be. He is thorough, detail-oriented, and in control. He breaks me down and puts me back together only to start again.
I don’t know if my past lovers were inconsiderate, inexperienced, or downright incompetent. Or if sex—making love—with Dylan is so much better because it’s him. Because it’s us.
But the next few hours pass in a haze of tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin, and mind-numbing pleasure. Dylan takes me to heights I didn’t even know existed, wringing orgasm after orgasm from my body until I’m a trembling, incoherent mess. He knows instinctively how to touch me, where to kiss, when to be gentle, and when to be rough.
By the time we collapse onto the rumpled sheets, spent and sated, it must already be afternoon. Dylan pulls me close, my back to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around me. I’ve never felt so safe, cherished, and content.
“That was…” I trail off, unable to find the words to adequately describe the life-altering experience we shared.
“Incredible? Earth-shattering? The best sex of your life?” Dylan supplies helpfully, his voice a low rumble against my back.
I turn, eyeing him appraisingly. “Definitely not the best sex of my life.”
He frowns, the cocky smirk slipping from his swollen lips.
“I’m not even sure we can call it sex.”
