Blake Hart
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Roomies in Arms - Part 15
🕑 Added 2025-07-18 19:30:04 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
It wasn’t even midnight yet, but the flat smelled like cold pizza, stale tea, and ambition. Lex was pacing in his "booty.exe" boxers—an actual printed binary code snaking across the waistband, and I was curled up on the sofa with my laptop, poking holes in the Astra outline draft.
“We’ll need an actual brand voice,” I muttered. “Something sharp but not smug. Approachable. Sexy, maybe.”
“So me, basically,” Lex said, tossing an empty energy drink can into the recycling with far too much flair. “You’re welcome.”
“You are categorically not the voice of a professional payments platform.”
“I’m the horny spirit of disruption, Sebby. I live to unseat the financial elite.”
I snorted and tried not to smile. “Yes, well. I think we should start by actually writing down how we’re going to do that. Instead of monologuing in your undergarments.”
Lex plopped down beside me and leaned over, chin on my shoulder. “This is the part where they usually have sex in the movies, you know. Mid-project, emotionally loaded, shirts half off, bodies sweaty, interface wireframes glowing in the dark.”
My body visibly tensed.
He noticed.
“Oh,” he said, softer now. “You’re not ready?”
I kept my eyes on the screen. “I’m not saying never. Just… not yet.”
Lex was quiet. Then: “Can I ask something?”
I nodded.
“Have you… I mean. Are you a virgin?”
I exhaled through my nose. “Yes. Technically. I mean, boarding school and all that. But, never all the way.”
Lex didn’t laugh or tease. He just brushed his thumb against my thigh. “Thank you for telling me.”
I looked over. “You’re… okay with that?”
“Sebby,” he said, all warmth, “I would’ve built a crypto company with you either way.”
That made me laugh, which helped. Then he leaned in a little closer.
“Would you let me… return the favor, you know—when you sucked me?”
I stared at him. “Right now?”
He grinned. “Unless you want me to fill out an application form first.”
And yes I really wanted it, despite everything.
Lex dropped to his knees like he’d done it a hundred times—and maybe had. His hands gripped the waistband of my pyjamas with a sort of reverent hunger, and I let him strip them down slowly, skin prickling as the cool air kissed over me. He looked up at me from beneath messy curls, pupils wide, mouth already parted like he was starving for it.
He didn’t ease in. His mouth closed around my hard tool with heat and pressure and purpose, his tongue teasing the sensitive beneath, his hand braced at my thigh to keep me still. My whole body felt tight, too tightly strung, like one breath would undo me.
I bit down a noise, fingers sinking into the back of the sofa.
He was filthy about it. Wet, slow at first, and then gradually deeper, more rhythm, more intent. His lips were slick, eyes fluttering closed as he let himself get lost in it—like this was some kind of communion.
When I looked down, I saw him—cheeks flushed, hair falling forward, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every movement. He was flushed, beautiful, hungry.
My hips lifted despite me, and he pressed me back down with a growl.
I didn’t last long, when it finally hit—white-hot and all-consuming, it punched through me in a full-body spasm. I tensed, toes curled, breath caught in my throat as my whole body jerked once, twice.
Lex didn’t flinch. He masterfully milked me and took every twitch, every pulse, some of it on my stomach and some drops he took in his mouth, until I sagged back into the cushions, completely undone.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave me a look that could melt tectonic plates.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” he said.
He was already hard, leaking, the waistband of his ridiculous boxers tented obscenely. He dragged them down, slow, revealing flushed skin, thick and aching.
“Wanna watch?” he asked, already stroking himself lazily, still kneeling in front of me.
I nodded. Couldn’t not.
He fisted himself tight, quickening the pace, hips jerking slightly with each pass. His other hand came up to my stomach, smeared across the mess he'd made, and when he finally broke—when the pleasure cracked out of him—it wasn’t subtle.
He cursed, low and ragged, head tipping forward, thighs flexing. It painted me, sharp stripes across my belly, hot and sticky and somehow intimate in the most filthy way.
He blinked down at it. At me.
Then licked a single stripe through the mess with the kind of eye contact that should come with a warning label.
“Lex—”
He leaned forward, mouth nearing mine, hand still braced on my hip.
And suddenly it was too much. The heat, the sweat, the filthiness of it all pressing in. My skin prickled. I flinched upright.
“I need a shower,” I blurted, bolting upright, nearly stepping in one of the abandoned socks on my way to the bathroom.
Lex blinked after me. “Seriously?”
The door slammed.
“Was it the licking? It was the licking, wasn’t it?”
I didn’t answer. The water pounded down, steam curling, and I braced myself against the wall.
My heart was still racing.
So was everything else.
