Oh god, I’m doing it out loud.
Rising from the toilet, I walk to the counter, bracing my hands on either side of the sink, breathing in through my nose and exhaling out my mouth to curb this wave of nausea.
Nausea at the thought of my roommate dating Sebastian.
Me. Jealous.
Is this what that feels like?
This is a new low, and I groan miserably.
Sebastian
“I reserved us a study room.”
I stand over James’ table, looking down at her open textbook. Her blue gaze hits me square in the gut when she glances up, and I shift uncomfortably on the balls of my feet.
“You what?”
I straighten to my full height. “I reserved us a study room. Upstairs, room 209.”
“You reserved us a room?”
“Yeah, then we can talk and study and no one will hassle us.”
Her lips tip into a smile. “Oz, I don’t want to talk, at all, let alone when I’m studying.”
“Oh James. Jim, Jim, Jim…the many dirty ways I could respond to that.”
She bites the inside of her cheek to stop her smile from spreading, and a dimple I’ve never noticed appears in her left cheek. “Haha, very funny.”
“You’re no fun.” I sigh, setting my red and black backpack down on the edge of her table. “Fine, no study room.”
“Wait. You’re not sitting here.”
“Why not?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because you’re chatty and distracting.”
“A good kind of distracting? As in, you spend your time thinking of all the ways I could fuck you distracting?”
“Oh my god, no. You are so offensive.”
“Fine. No talking. Promise.” I make the universal sign for zipping my lip and throwing away the key.
She regards me thoughtfully, then lets out a resigned sigh and gathers her things. “Fine. We can go up to the study room.”
“Really?” I can’t hide my surprise.
“Sure. Clearly your evil intention to wear me down until I’m a shell of a woman is working. You know, like an FBI interrogator beats down a perp, or a toddler begs for candy.”
“Or like a fine wine.”
“No, not like a fine wine. The opposite of a fine wine.”
“Whatever you say, Jim.” When she rises with her bag, laptop, and textbooks, I reach over. “Here, hand that over. I’ll carry your stuff.”
“Aww, what a gentleman.”
“You’re way too petite and delicate to be carrying all this shit anyway. It’s bad for your back.”
“You…” Her voice full of wonder, James raises her brows up at me. “You think I’m delicate?”
I cast a glance down at her. “Duh.”
It only takes Jameson seven minutes to break the silence once we settle into the study room, sitting across from each other in the private, conference-like room. Completely enclosed with only a narrow window in the door, it’s isolated at the end of the hall, and quiet.
You could hear a pin drop. Until—
“So. How was your date with Sid?”
I bite back a grin. I wondered how long it would take her to bring that up, and she doesn’t disappoint.
“Great,” I say jovially. “She’s a delight.”
More silence. And then—
“So…what did you talk about?” James is the embodiment of composure and indifference, her features passively schooled.
“You know. Stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
You kind of stuff. “What’s with the twenty questions?”
Her shoulders rise into a shrug. “Just curious. Sid was over the moon when she got home. You must have really laid on the charm.”
Nope, not even the slightest bit. Instead, I go with, “Or maybe Sydney is just an easy lay.”
Jameson stiffens, mouth dipping into a frown. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” My meaning is clear.
Silence.
She ignores me then, bending her head and writing in her notebook, the sound of her pen reverberating against the walls with every punishing stroke.
“No. I don’t know.” Her voice is quiet, just above a whisper.
I feel like such a dick. “Oh relax, nothing happened. I’m fucking with you.”
She’s not amused by my antics, or my swearing. “You use that word a lot.”
“I do. It’s a great fucking word.”
She raises her head and her cheeks are red. Blushing. Flaming.
All from the use of a single word. I decide to see how far I can push her.
“You don’t like it?” I press on. “Fucking?”
Nostrils flaring, her face gets redder—if that’s possible—and her eyes shine bright blue. Clear. Glassing over.
Unfocused. Heavy lidded. Turned on—another language I speak.
“Fucking is my favorite,” I soothe gently. “The word, I mean.”
Clearing her throat, James tilts her head to study me, intense blue gaze falling on my lips. They linger there, watching my mouth as I speak.
“Personally, Jameson, I think it’s one of the most versatile words in the English language. Don’t you?”
One small, jerky nod and I can see her throat contract when she swallows.
“Just listen once: fuuuuck.” I draw out the sound in a whimper, pained, the word strained in a slow, tortured moan, like I’d sound if I were about to orgasm.
“Fuck-ing,” I coax. “Fuck it. Fuck off.”
She shifts in her seat, restless now. “I get the picture, Oswald. You can stop now.”
But I don’t stop.
“Fuck you. Better yet, fuck me.” The curse rolls off my tongue like a command.
My cock stiffens as I lower my eyes to the chest of Jameson’s soft lavender sweater, the buttons now straining against her breasts. The visible skin in the V above her neckline is splotchy and red.
“Oh yeah, fuck me.” I quirk my eyebrow. “Have you Jim? Fantasized about fucking me?”
“Is it necessary to be so vulgar?” Her question comes out breathless and labored, and it doesn’t escape my notice that she’s avoided answering my question.
“Necessary? No,” I allow. “But it is more fun.”
“Well it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.”
“Really? It’s making you uncomfortable.” I rub my chin in thought.
She blows out a puff of what I assume is sexually frustrated air. “It makes me uncomfortable having you sit here and say things like that when we both know you’re only saying it because you think I look virginal and you’re trying to shock me. Too bad it isn’t working.”
She raises some valid points. Still—
“Don’t bullshit me, Jim. Every time I use the word fuck you start blushing like crazy. I bet you’re blushing everywhere, aren’t you?” Her face turns toward the bookshelves to avoid my rebuttal. “Look me in the eye and tell the truth; you’re getting turned on.”
Her reply sounds small and vulnerable—so unlike her.
“Maybe I wouldn’t feel so uneasy if I thought you weren’t playing some immature game. And don’t lie to me; this is a game. All you’re trying to do by saying fuck over and over is get a reaction. You don’t actually care how uncomfortable it’s making me feel.”
I ignore all her feelings talk and skip to the good stuff.
“Holy shit I can’t believe you just said it.”
“What? The F-bomb? Pfft, please—I swear when the mood strikes me.”
I laugh. “Okay badass, give me your best curse. Have at it.”
Jameson removes her hands from her keyboard, leaning forward in her chair until she’s facing me. Clasping her hands on edge of the table primly, her small but sexy body adjusts in the black leather seat, her back ramrod straight.
She unclasps her hands and drums her fingers on the smooth lacquered tabletop.
My attention is drawn to those hands like a moth to a flame; I look down and study them, pale and fragile, the short nails filed and painted a glossy peachy pink color. I look up at the elegant pearl necklace adorning her slim neck, the lavender of her cardigan sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows.
The gleaming, delicate gold watch circling her tantalizing wrist.
Jameson bites down on her bottom lip, sucks on it a few seconds, then inhales. Exhales a long, exalting sigh as she musters up her courage. “Okay asshole. Sebastian.” She breathes my name serenely, the words more a tender caress than profane.
The first sign of my dick involuntary hardening has me at full attention when she continues, voice quiet. “You want a curse word, but I’ll do you one better to shock you. Ready? I’m most definitely not a virgin. And I’m definitely not…wearing…any…” She leans in all the way, her soft breath tickling the lobe of my ear from across the table. “Panties.”
She stops breathing the same time I do, the boardroom table in front of us a monolith of epic proportion, stretched wide, separating me from her pantie-less pussy. She shifts in her seat, shooting me a guilty glance; she’s wet, I just fucking know it.
“Is that an invitation?” I whisper back, palms splayed on the table and coming up out of my chair, ready to pounce. I’d bang her right on this table if she’d let me.
“No.” She breathes.
“You sure about that?”
Another whisper. “Yes.”
“But not yes as in, ‘Yes Oz, yes! Harder! Yes Oz, right there?” The words come out in an adolescent croak, my voice cracking as I fight the urge to readjust the bulge in my stiff denim.