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

11. Carter

11

CARTER

“ I t wouldn’t,” I confirm.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s only one bed, correct. Mine. We’ll share it. There’s no way around it. You have to sleep in my bed.”

“What? No. You said there would be two beds.”

“I lied.”

“Carter!”

“Eden, we’ve already slept in one bed. I’m sure we’ll manage again.”

For once, she doesn’t find the situation funny. “You’re ruthless, absolutely ruthless. Ugh. And I already signed the contract.”

“No, Eden, I’m not ruthless. I’m desperate.”

Eden’s eyes find mine.

Her expression softens, her shoulders drop, and she gives one nod. “Yeah, okay, have it your way. But no sleeping in the nude…you know…” The last two words come in a lower voice, and she motions in the direction of her balcony, referring to my naked state after unexpectedly having to prevent the building from burning down.

She’s blushing. It’s almost cute how embarrassed she is.

The moment lasts only a few seconds before her voice returns to its previous volume and determined intensity. “There will be no action. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“Action?”

“Exactly. As in no husband-wife lovemaking, no chaining me to your bed, and no fiery eruptions.”

Chaining her to my bed? Hm.

Drink in hand, I lean against the counter. “You can’t stop thinking about sex with me. Can you?”

“I was just making sure. Good night.”

With that, she turns and storms to her guest suite.

11.43 p.m.

I wake up to the sound of a shriek. It’s similar to the one that interrupted my peaceful evening a few days prior.

My first thought is, she’s burning down the apartment again.

I’m out of my bed and on my feet in two seconds flat.

Let me preface the next part by saying that I should have jerked off this morning. Or later in the day, or before going to sleep—at least before storming out of my room. With the interruption of her moving in with me, my routine is all over the place, and I feel pressure building up.

To disguise my “state,” I hurriedly throw on my gray boxers, tripping and almost falling on my face before running to her guest suite. The door stands open. I rush inside, already seeing and smelling smoke. But her room is empty. So is the balcony. There’s no fire. Not even the slightest smell of smoke. Her room carries a delightful scent, reminiscent of sweet vanilla.

“Eden?” I ask into the darkness.

No answer.

I didn’t imagine the scream, did I?

I walk back out, listening intently. Some rustling noise leads me right next door to the small laundry room beside her guest suite. She hasn’t turned the light on. It’s dark, but by now, my eyes have fully adjusted to the darkness.

There she is in a white robe, facing away from me, not in the least looking like she needs rescuing. She’s just closed the lid and turned on the washing machine. Water starts running into the cylinder while she reaches into a box on the counter to grab something with one hand and then reaches back in with her other hand. Our wedding cupcakes? Why would anybody need a sugar high at close to midnight? Holding one cupcake in one hand and biting into a cupcake in her other, she turns to leave the room.

When she sees me, she freezes in her tracks and shrieks again (luckily, this time muffled by the cupcake in her mouth). She stumbles back, to an almost sitting position on the washing machine, her legs parted to catch her balance.

“It’s me, relax,” I offer into the darkness.

“Carter! Youfcarefeshifouofme ,” she mumbles with huge eyes, chews, and swallows.

“Are you okay?” I ask, entering the small room, not bothering to turn on the light switch that’s hidden somewhere behind one of the white shelves. Enough moonlight is streaming through the window to brighten her features.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me. I thought you were a ghost!” She visibly relaxes, still staring at me, cupcakes still firmly in her hands.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping closer until my hip grazes the inner parts of her spread thighs.

She licks the frosting off the corner of her lips. “Eh…washing clothes.” Her voice sounds breathy.

I lean farther in. “In the darkness?”

“I couldn’t find the light switch.” Her breathing is becoming erratic.

I find it satisfying that I have such an impression on her with my presence.

She’s only in a white robe, probably after taking a shower. The fruity vanilla scent of her skin envelops me as my eyes drop to her neck, to the delicate curves of her decolletage. They’re just revealing enough to raise an instinct in me to untie her bathrobe and explore what she’s hiding beneath.

Visions of me pushing her robe open to soak in her dazzling beauty invade my mind.

My cock hardens at the thought of me exposing her tits and sucking in her left nipple and then her right.

To prevent myself from doing exactly that, I reach up to the shelves above her and hold on to it, positioning my arms on either side of her.

Eden gasps. “What are you doing…Carter?” Her eyes land on the ink on my arms, then follow my chest to my throat and up to my jaw. “I mean,” she corrects herself, her gaze meeting mine, her voice raspier, “what are you doing here ?”

Her chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly. Despite the relative darkness of the room, I see redness spreading down her chest.

“You woke me,” I rumble, dipping my head down, grazing my cheek against her forehead. I lower my head further, grazing my beard stubble against the softness of her face. “I heard a shriek,” I growl.

She doesn’t pull away.

Her scent is invading my senses.

The thought of disrobing her slowly on that washing machine is replaced by the thought of taking her slowly on that washing machine.

I know it can’t happen.