And yet, I hadn’t been interested.Whyhad I not been interested? The only reasonable explanation… was my roommate.
I lathered soap over my body in the shower, my mind slipping away to thoughts of Gemma over the past two weeks. She hadno idea what she was doing to me day after day, and I had very little sanity left to begin to understand my reactions to her. It didn’t matter what she was wearing or what she was doing, my damn body reacted inone way, regardless. When she walked by in baggy sweats and an oversized sweatshirt, my cock grew hard. When she flounced into the kitchen wearing a crop top and shorts that showed off her perfectly round ass, my mouth watered. I tried to ignore my reactions. I did my best to school my thoughts and remind myself that Gemma was not an object, but a person, existing in her own space and simply being herself. She didn’t need a slavering man living in her house and following the bounce of her breasts with his eyes.
And yet, I still did that.
I swiped a hand down my face, clearing the water from my eyes but making no progress in wiping the image of Gemma’s body from behind my eyeballs. I wanted to push her against the bathroom wall like I had that first day, but this time, I wouldn’t cover her with a towel. I’d lower my lips to her breasts and taste her skin, suckling one pink nipple and flicking the bud with my tongue until she moaned for release…
I shook my head, looking around the bathroom. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. I glanced down at my erection, tight and throbbing and so painfully hard, I had doubts about my ability to walk, let alone finish getting ready for the day. “Fucking hell,” I hissed out loud. “That ridiculous texel mouse.”
Ridiculous. Gorgeous. Enticing.
“Fuck it.” I wrapped my fingers around my length and slid my hand up to the tip and then pressed hard down the shaft. It was crossing some kind of line, I knew. But fuck me, I couldn’t take the torture anymore. I imagined Gemma’s breasts, round and full and seared into my memory from when I’d held her naked, wet body in my arms. I imagined twining rope around her wrists and stretching her body out for my perusal. For my use. For herpleasure. I imagined torturing her slowly with my fingers and tongue and aching dick, and finally, finally I found release.
Panting hard, I leaned my head against the shower wall and stared up at the designer light fixture in the center of the room. I was in so much trouble.
I heard the elevator hum back to our floor, and I poked my head out of the bedroom door, cinching up my tie and looking for Gemma. I had to do something about this. It felt sowrongto be this physically attracted to her every goddamn day, and then actually jerk off to the thought of her in the shower when shelived here.But thus far, every attempt I had made to talk to her about our situation had been immediately deflected. I'd been so busy, it hadn't come up again, but that was going to change. Right fucking now.
But it wasn't only Gemma who exited the elevator. Spencer was with her, dressed for work in his brightly patterned, kid-approved scrubs and ridiculous foam clogs and staring down at her with a dopey smile on his face. The sun had finally lifted above the city horizon, slicing across the wood and industrial fixtures, and it illuminated one side of Gemma's face and wind-blown, blond hair. And her besotted expression.
Fuck no. There was no way I was going to let Spencerdo his thingwith my complicated roommate situation. I straightened in the doorway of my room, and with the wide, open concept of the living space, I had a clear line of sight to both of them as they laughed their way out of the elevator.
Spencer spotted me first, and with a cheery wave of his enormous arm, he grinned like a satisfied mountain lion. "Good morning, Cakepop."
I glared at Gemma. "Really?"
"I found him hungry and all alone down there," Gemma said like she was talking about a stray cat. "What was I supposed to do? Let him freeze?"
"Yeah," Spencer frowned dramatically. "I was freezing." Then he went into my kitchen and started rummaging around for breakfast. If we hadn't been friends since childhood, I would have unceremoniously booted him out then and there. He dug around until he found some granola, and as he poured it into a bowl, Gemma got him the milk.
"I'm running late, but there's coffee in the pot—"
"Not his coffee," I interjected.
"—and I made really good brownies last night. They're in that pan over there."
She was giving Spencer our brownies? I liked those brownies. We'd eaten them at the island and watched a stupid dating reality TV show before bed last night. I stalked into the kitchen and stood between Spencer and the pan of brownies with my arms folded. "Are you simply here to remind me of your existence, or do you have something you need?"
Spencer poured milk over his granola. He'd braided the top portion of his hair before scrunching it into a bun, and I had to wonder how many years he would get away with that hairstyle. Would he look like that when he was old and gray, or was it temporary? He took a bite, and around the crunchy mouthful said, "I need you, actually."
Gemma took her travel mug full of coffee and fast-walked to the bedroom. "Okay, I'm late; we have to plan some kind of Halloween singles mixer thing, and my client list is full. Have fun saving lives!" Then she closed the door, and Mini ploppedherself down in a loaf shape in front of it, like some kind of guardian sphynx.
Spencer leveled a meaningful look my way. "Well. She's working out for you… as a roommate."
"You mean 'the Trap?'" I glared. Spencer chuckled before taking another bite of his cereal, and I left the kitchen to grab my black wool coat from the hook. In mid-October, the days were finally getting chillier, and I had to walk between several hospitals today. "What do you need, Spencer?"
"It's work-related, actually," he replied, following me with the bowl of cereal in his hand. "A patient in our network is asking around for second opinions for her CDH case."
I paused with my coat in my hands and gave Spencer a worried glance. "If her fetus has a congenital diaphragmatic hernia, and she's seeking second opinions, then I take it she's been told the surgery is too risky for her and the baby."
"Potentially," Spencer agreed. "But your FETO surgery success rate is the highest I know of."
I sighed, putting on my coat. "Have her call and schedule with me. I'll do my own round of tests. What gestation?"
"Twenty-two," Spencer winced. "You'll need to hurry."
I nodded. "You'll assist if she's a candidate for surgery?"
"It's why I asked," he confirmed. He took another bite of cereal. "Knew I could count on you."
