Chapter 7
Houston
Lane?
Who the fuck was Lane?
I stood there watching as he walked out the door, absentmindedly shutting it behind himself as he left. He dropped one fucking bomb on me after the other, and then walked out talking about seeing someone named Lane in panties?
What the hell had just happened?
I stared into the mirror, watching the door like I was expecting it to open again any second, or as if it were going to start explaining the real meaning of what had occurred. Neither happened. Finally stepping back, I turned and leaned against the dresser, trying to catch my breath and get my dick under control.
What. The. Fuck.
Walking in unannounced I could get. He knocked. The fact that it pushed open was my fault. Him not even hearing what I’d said might even be my fault too. I’d been taking off my clothes at the time, and it could have gotten muffled.
However, everything else just left me reeling.
When he’d first stepped into the room, I’d expected an embarrassed apology and a quick exit. It wasn’t like he could claim he hadn’t known I wore panties and that I’d offended his delicate sensibilities or something, so it should have been a quick “my bad” and exit.
It hadn’t been.
My heart had started racing and dread washed over me as he’d walked in. I wouldn’t back down from shit or feel bad about what I liked, but he was sexy and sweet, and a reasonable roommate compared to a lot of the other ones. Not that a few hours counted for much, but nothing like I’d expected happened. He’d just stood there staring. Watching me with an almost hungry expression, and then, fuck—he’d licked his lips.
The way his eyes scanned down my body, I could almost feel his touch. When he’d reached down and absently adjusted his cock, mine about burst out of the panties he was staring at so intently. I thought he couldn’t get hotter, but when he finally met my gaze and gave me that sexy, befuddled expression, I wanted to take him in my arms…and spank him for walking in on me.
It was like the start to a Penthouse letter—except a gay one, with a Dom in panties.
There’d been a flash of fear for just a moment when he’d seemed to realize what he’d done, but by that point, yelling at him had been the last thing on my mind. There were other, much better alternatives. Especially for a guy who followed directions so beautifully.
The need to obey my orders seemed to cut through the haze and desire. And ithadbeen desire. I wasn’t going to admit how long it’d been since someone had looked at me like that, but his reaction was clear.
Need.
Arousal.
Submission.
I still wasn’t even one hundred percent sure the guy was gay, much less a submissive, but for that one short moment when he walked over to get the key, then looked back at me in need of approval and instructions, that part had been perfectly clear.
That was probably a pretty good sign he was at least curious—but did he understand that?
I needed to back off. I knew that. But as I looked at the door, picturing him on the other side, I also knew it might be an impossible task. I didn’t want to ignore what had happened. I didn’t want to let him hide from it, either.
But for fuck's sake, why did the sexiest, most perfect guy have to be my goddamned roommate?
Staring and enjoying the view wasn’t the same as actually saying he was interested, though. I looked damned good in panties. But I couldn’t take it as a sign it meant anything else. Look but don’t touch, in this case, turned intolooked but not really into touching. And just because he’d thought I was hot in the panties didn’t mean he was willing to submit.
There was no doubt that he’d respond to it, that was clear by just the limited number of instructions I’d given him. But there were some guys who thought submission was a form of weakness, and even though they wanted it, they wouldn’t let themselves have it.
Was Reece that kind of guy? I just didn’t know him well enough to even guess. Was he in his room berating himself for what had happened? Was he freaked that the gay guy in the panties was turned on? Not that he’d seen much, but still...
Finally pushing away from the dresser, I finished stripping off my panties and reached into the top drawer. They were sexy and comfortable, but with the erection I was sporting, I wasn’t going to run in lace. I had a feeling that would rubeverythingthe wrong way, because it wasn’t going down anytime soon, that much was clear.
Getting dressed on autopilot, I kept one eye on the door. It was closed, but I couldn’t deny that some part of me wanted to see it open again. That was going to be a fantasy that would stick with me for far too long.
Eventually, I was going to have to figure out what to do. I could ignore the elephant in the room as good as the next guy, especially when I was usually the panty-wearing elephant in question. But I didn’t want to ignore his reactions. There was a huge part of me pushing to see where it went, but there was a small, very vocal piece that kept telling the rest of me to back the fuck off and give him some space.
