A Bossy Roommate (Next Door to a Billionaire #2)

1. Carter

1

CARTER

I open my eyes to near darkness.

My mind shuffles through the haze, taking in unfamiliar surroundings as I attempt to figure out my location. Motel room. Sketchy area.

I glance over at the nightstand to check the time.

4:56 a.m.

Way too early to be awake for most. But for me, it’s all part of my routine. Wake up early, work out, have my protein shake, jerk off in the shower, spend five minutes enjoying my morning coffee, then off to work.

Today’s going to be a little different.

I run my hand down my face, feeling naked tits against my arm. Brief flashes of smooth skin, eager lips, and warm thighs cloud my mind. I look over to find yesterday’s conquest fast asleep.

I met her at the most unexpected place.

It was precisely 9:41 p.m. when I stopped to get gas in Wakefield, Bronx.

The cool blast of air-conditioning hit me when I pushed open the door to the small, somewhat dingy-looking place. It was a welcome relief from the humid summer night outside. I strode inside, black helmet in hand, my boots clanging against the floor. The rich scent of ice cream reached my nostrils, but there was nothing about it that piqued my interest.

“Black coffee, please,” I said, my voice a little hoarse from the long drive after meeting a potential client outside of town.

Without so much as a tired nod, the elderly barista stopped cleaning the counter to fill a mug with steaming hot coffee and slid it to me. As I took in my surroundings, I noticed that all the chairs had been stacked except for two at a small table in the corner. It seemed like the place was going to close soon. I headed over and took the empty seat.

Just when I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my emails, the bell above the door chimed.

Glancing up, I noticed a young woman walking in. Her thin orange sundress fluttered around her legs. Long ebony hair was pulled up into a knot. She looked around the counter, her eyes wide with excitement. It was almost cute.

She asked the barista if they had cupcakes (they didn’t), and while he was cleaning, she cross-examined him with a million questions about each of their remaining ice cream flavors. His curt answers didn’t seem to bother her. Instead, she kept smacking her lips as if trying to taste the flavors before even ordering. Finally, she chose a triple scoop of something that had a brighter color than the flickering neon sign outside. I shook my head, refocusing on my phone, wondering how anyone could pick something with that much artificial food coloring.

Next thing I knew, she was making her way over to me, her heels click-clacking loudly, her cone threatening to topple over with each step.

“Excuse me,” I heard her say happily. “This seat taken?” With one quick glance, I took in her features. Red toenails, legs for days, wide hips, bouncy tits. Her lips were painted a nude color, while her green eyes stood out against a brownish eyeliner, drawing my gaze toward them.

“Go ahead,” I grumbled. “I’m about to leave.”

Instinctively, I scooted away to avoid any accidental collisions with the cone, already irritated by her humming and the sweet smell of her ice cream. Why would anyone need that much sugar in their system?

“Do you come here often, on your bike?” Sitting down, she pointed to my black helmet, droplets of melting ice cream dribbling onto the table.

I leaned even further away. “Not really. Just passing through.”

“Yeah, my first time in the Big Apple too. Just arrived, staying in a small but adorable motel nearby. My new apartment is about one hour across town, but it won’t be available until tomorrow afternoon. That’s why I’m staying here for the night.” She crossed her legs and raised an eyebrow. “Black coffee, huh?”

I nodded, taking a sip. She was still looking at me when I put the cup back down on the table. “Yeah, not into the sweet stuff,” I answered, my gaze trained on my phone.

“Well, I guess that means you’re not sweet enough for me.”

When I glanced back up, there was a smirk, a playful glint in her eyes.

Meeting my gaze, she moved the melting ice cream cone to her mouth. I anticipated that she would indulge in a—boringly clichéd—ice-licking motion while savoring her triple scoop.

Instead, she folded her lips over her teeth and slowly bit into her ice cream. Then she sucked it in with a loud slurp .

I found the sound incredibly irritating.

“ Fenfitivefeeth , ouch, ouch ,” she mumbled. She scrunched up her face, wiggled her head, then closed her eyes, and finally swallowed. “Oooh my gosh…ohh, this is amaaazing,” she moaned softly.

“It is?” I asked, thinking the sugar rush was going to hit her hard.

She opened her eyes. “You should try some.”

“No, thanks, I’m good with my coffee.”

She persisted, holding the cone out toward me.

I shook my head. “Really, I’m good.”

“Let me guess. You never indulge, you never do anything forbidden, anything fun. You prefer to stay strong and focused, not wired on sugar.” She waved the cone, still offering me a bite. “Last chance. What? You worried it’ll kill you?”

That was when the cone toppled over and dropped directly into my coffee, splattering the ice cream and the contents of my cup all over the table. A few small droplets landed on my dress shirt, but the dark gray fabric concealed any mishap. Luckily, I’d left the coordinating tie with lighter patterns I’d been wearing all day in my motorcycle case. My blue jeans got a few splashes—however, they were barely noticeable.

The young woman snort-laughed, catching me off guard, and then she grabbed a napkin. It was a full-bodied sound. She found it funny? What the fuck? “Oh, no, I’m so sorry! But bullseye!” She kept laughing and dabbing at the almost non-existent wet spots on my shirt. Something odd rippled through my chest.

“That’ll teach you.” She continued dabbing my pec. “Next time, just take a lick.”

She didn’t seem to take life too seriously. I didn’t budge, letting her do her thing, watching her. What was a girl like her even doing here? She was still dabbing at my chest as I observed her green eyes, her hand proceeding to my arms, back to my pecs, wiping down my six pack, from there to my belly button, continuing to my belt, going lower toward my?—

“ Whoops .” She seemed to come to her senses and quickly moved her action away from my body to mop up the actual spill on the table.

Her cheeks were pinker. She released a giggle-snort.

I kept watching her.

“Well, that was a…sticky situation.” She shrugged her shoulders, which were almost bare except for the thin straps of her dress, leaned over to put the drenched napkins to the side, and sat back down. “I’m pretty sure this means we’re officially dating now.” She crossed her legs, forcing the hem of her dress to ride up, revealing her smooth, creamy thigh and narrowing her eyes at me expectantly.

“Oh, are we?” I asked, sliding my phone into my pocket.

“Yep. When am I going to meet your family?”

“First, let me get you another one,” I offered, about to raise my hand to the barista for a refill of her almost-empty cone (that she’d been holding on to during the whole thing. Obviously, she had priorities).

“No, thank you! I’m good. Maybe I should stick to coffee.” She bit into her waffle cone and took a tentative slurp of the remains, savoring the flavor.

I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost ten. This place is closing. I know a bar not too far from here.”

“A bar? Are you asking me out for a drink? Just like that?” She grinned, looking up at me with those big bright eyes. “Well…that depends,” she challenged, not giving me time to answer, taking another bite of her cone.

“On?”

“Depends on what you expect to happen if I agree.”

I leaned closer. “No expectations. Only a guarantee.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re in for one hell of a ride.”

A flush came across her cheeks, and her eyes grew huge at my suggestive invite. She swallowed. Her gaze was almost frozen on me, her grip loosening on what little was left of her waffle cone.

This was the moment I knew. There was no doubt in my mind that we were going to end up naked and sweating in the sheets.

“I could use a good ride.” Those piercing green eyes pulled me in as she pushed the last bit of cone into her mouth.

A tidal wave of desire ricocheted through my being, straight down to my dick. “I bet you could.”

“Not sure if it’ll be fun though,” she challenged, wiping her hands with a napkin.

“I’m a fun time.”

She snort-laughed. “Is that so? Despite the non-existence of sweetness in your life?”

“Haven’t had any complaints so far.”

“Well, Mr. Fun Time , how about you buy me that drink, and we’ll see where the evening takes us?”

We ended up sitting in a bar six blocks down. We drank, we talked, we danced, and about an hour later, I took her hand and escorted her outside to where my bike waited. Passing her my helmet and leather jacket, I settled into my seat. She hopped on the back without hesitation, her hot body pressed against me.

“ Finally ,” she said when she wrapped her arms around my waist. “But when you said ‘ride,’ I had something else entirely in mind.”

I revved the engine. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

Soon enough, I had her against my chest—naked and beautiful and wet—her curvy hips grinding against mine, her pert nipples against my pecs, her moans growing deliciously more desperate in my ear while we moved to the soft music playing from the motel room’s small TV. The room was her suggestion—it was one she had rented. It was a sketchy place to say the least, with several lights out in the parking lot, but she seemed incredibly chill and optimistic about the whole thing.

I was too focused on the firecracker of a woman to care where we ended up, as long as there was a bed involved.

I glance at the nightstand.

4:59 a.m.

Seems like our marathon session has knocked her out good.

Her long hair fans out beneath her head like a halo. In the lowest of early-morning lights, I can make out more of her facial features. Soft cheekbones, delicate jawline, plump lips smeared with lipstick.

Still curled on her side and facing me, she barely moves, except for her soft breathing. The blanket has slipped to the bottom of the bed, allowing me to see the bare and tantalizing dip of her hips. Carefully, I grab the blanket and cover her sleeping body, my gaze following the movement of the bedspread along her naked curves. When I softly brush a loose strand of hair from her face, a sweet gasp escapes her lips.

The sound rings in my ears. Every whimper and moan plays on an endless rotation in my mind.

It was a memorable night, and when I made sure she was thoroughly satisfied, she passed out within seconds.

She’ll still feel my cock inside her today, I’m sure about that.

Last night, I planned to sneak out after she fell asleep, but the bed was too inviting—despite the suspicious noises it started to make after one more round. I banked on the mixture of exhaustion and an active night to keep her sleeping long enough for me to make my escape in the morning.

Yeah, she’s attractive. But our night together can’t be more than a one-time thing.

It’s easier that way. I don’t have time for relationships. Anytime I’ve tried in the past, they haven’t ended well. I prefer one-night stands. Fewer complications that way.

Quietly, I slide out of the uncomfortable bed.

A loud squeak cuts through the quiet, and my gaze darts to her.

There’s not even a hint of movement from the young woman. With practiced silence, I slip into my clothes, one item at a time, casually checking on my bedmate.

Nothing. Just a little snore.

Good.

Dressed, I check the time: 5:05 a.m. I know I have to get out fast if I want to make it back home in time to start my morning routine. At the door of the motel room, helmet already in hand, I pause and look back at the bed. Her face is peaceful, and her chest steadily rises and falls with each breath.

“Thanks for the night,” I whisper, before I slip out of the door, quietly closing it behind me.