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My New Roommate - Part 3
🕑 Added 2025-08-27 22:00:05 +0000 UTCI was done waiting. If Damien wasn’t going to jerk off like a normal person, then I was gonna make him want to.
I was done waiting.
If Damien wasn’t going to jerk off like a normal person, then I was gonna make him want to.
I wasn’t proud of it. But after weeks of silence and denial and cold showers while I stroked myself to the thought of his body not moving, not touching, not reacting—I lost my patience.
So I started setting traps.
Little things, subtle at first.
Like leaving my laptop open on the bed with some very obvious porn paused on the screen. Two guys, sweaty, kissing, one already on his knees. Just… left it there like I forgot to close the tab. Damien saw it. Said nothing. Just walked past like it was a spreadsheet.
Cool. Okay.
So I got bolder.
I "accidentally" dropped one of my old magazines under my bed—an old Playgirl I used to hide from my dad. Centerfold page open. Full frontal. Damien saw that too. Picked it up, flipped it closed, and handed it to me.
“You dropped this,” he said, completely unfazed.
Like it was a sock.
I wanted to scream.
How the fuck did this guy not even flinch? Was he just immune to horniness? Had I been paired with the world’s most disciplined monk? Or was he getting off in some weird, hidden way I still hadn’t figured out?
Then came the shower.
It was after the magazine moment. Damien said nothing, but ten minutes later he grabbed a towel and went to take a shower. I saw his expression—neutral, but something behind his eyes. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe not.
I sat on my bed, staring at the closed bathroom door.
My heart was pounding again.
This is it, I thought. He saw the porn. He saw the mag. His hormones have to be boiling. This is when he jerks off. No one can resist forever.
I told myself not to go in.
I told myself it was too far.
But then I remembered the way he adjusted the towel around his waist. The faint pink in his cheeks. The tension in his shoulders. And I was already moving before I could stop myself.
I walked to the bathroom. Quiet. Slow. The door was shut, but not locked.
I told myself I’d just grab my charger. That was the excuse. That was the story I’d tell him, if it came to it.
I pushed the door open.
Steam poured out, warm and wet, clinging to my skin. The mirror was fogged. The shower curtain was pulled mostly closed—but not all the way.
I stepped in and saw him.
Damien.
Completely naked.
Back to me. Water pouring over his shoulders. His skin glistening. One hand running through his hair. The other...
Touching his cock.
I froze.
Not jerking. Just... washing.
Fingers sliding over it casually, like it was nothing. His dick was soft. His face was calm. He wasn’t moaning. Wasn’t breathing hard. He was just... cleaning himself. Like it meant nothing.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because I wanted it to mean something.
I wanted to see him stroke. I wanted to see him break. I wanted proof that he was just as horny as I was. That he wasn't some perfect, untouchable mystery. That he was human.
Instead, he was rinsing soap off his cock with the same energy as someone washing a spoon.
Then he turned.
Saw me.
His eyes widened. His hand dropped instantly.
I panicked.
“Shit—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I just—I forgot my charger. I didn’t mean to—fuck, sorry—”
Damien grabbed a towel off the rack, covered himself without saying a word.
I backed out. Face on fire. Cock already hard.
He just nodded once. “No worries.”
That was it.
No yelling. No questions. No judgment.
I went back to the bedroom, shut the door behind me, collapsed on my bed and stared at the ceiling while my heart tried not to explode out of my chest.
And I was disappointed.
That was the worst part.
I was disappointed that I still hadn’t caught him in the act. That even naked, with water cascading down his abs, he was still normal. Still just... Damien. Calm. Silent. Untouchable.
That night, I couldn’t hold it back.
I jerked off again, under the blanket, facing away from him. I tried not to moan this time. But it still slipped out. My mind was flooded with the image of him standing there, wet, his fingers sliding over his dick like it was nothing. I came hard, chest rising, fists clenched in the sheets.
He didn’t say anything.
Again.
I didn’t know if he was asleep or just ignoring me.
Either way, I hated how bad I wanted him to hear me.
The next morning, my dad knocked on the door before I even got out of bed.
“Boys,” he said, sticking his head in. “Quick update—money’s a little tight this month, so we’re selling one of the beds.”
I sat up. “Wait, what?”
“There’s barely room in here anyway. You guys are young. You can handle sharing.”
He smiled like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just sentenced me to hell.
My heart stopped. My eyes flicked to Damien, who just sat there on his bed, shirtless, calm as ever, sipping his coffee like this wasn’t a catastrophe.
One bed.
One. Fucking. Bed.
I couldn’t breathe.
