Blake Hart
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Roommate Worship 11
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 20:00:08 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
The morning light filtered through the blinds in quiet golden slats, dust motes floating lazily in the warmth of my childhood bedroom. I stirred beneath the covers, blinking slowly as the familiar scent of detergent and old wood met my nose. But that wasn’t all I smelled.
There was the heat of sweat. The lingering, unmistakable scent of sex. The steady rhythm of breath on the back of my neck.
Wes, his body was curled tightly around mine, one arm draped across my chest, one leg slung between mine, and—
My breath caught.
He was still inside me. Semi hard, and still warm, thick, nestled deep. A pulse of awareness shot through me, not of fear or embarrassment, but something warmer. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. I let myself feel it—the heavy press of his chest against my back, the soft drag of his breath over my shoulder, the slight twitch of him inside me.
Wes stirred, his lips brushing against the nape of my neck. "Mmm. Morning," he said groggily.
I just hummed in response, not trusting my voice. He shifted behind me, and his cock thickened again, swelling inside me with lazy, unconscious intent. I gasped, ass muscles clenching around him involuntarily.
"Still warm," he mumbled, nuzzling into my shoulder. His lips grazed my skin, kissing slowly along the curve of my neck. Then his hips shifted again, his cock sliding just slightly, sending a jolt of heat through my spine.
"Wes," I whispered, not in protest but in disbelief.
He didn’t respond with words. Just a low hum as he began to rock his hips, the motion slow, fluid, as if his body was still half-asleep but entirely focused on me. I arched my back slightly, giving him better access, the friction building again in an achingly familiar way.
His arm tightened around my chest, pulling me flush against him. I felt everything—the strength in his thighs, the slick slide of his cock stroking deeper, the heat of his breath against my ear.
Each movement was unhurried, purposeful. There was no rush. Just the quiet rhythm of our bodies rediscovering each other. He moved in smooth, steady thrusts, dragging along every sensitive spot inside me. My lips parted, a quiet moan slipping free.
Wes pressed open-mouthed kisses to the back of my neck, his hand splaying over my chest, feeling my heartbeat as it climbed.
"God, you feel perfect like this," he breathed, voice barely audible.
I turned my head slightly, meeting his eyes over my shoulder. His gaze was soft, adoring, so open it made my chest ache. He leaned in, kissing me slowly, thoroughly, all while never stopping the slow, rocking grind of his hips. It was our first real kiss but it didn’t really come as a surprise.
Wes suddenly wrapped his strong hand around my dick—another first. Until now, it had always been about him and his pleasure, and while I couldn’t say I ever really minded, this felt different. Like we were doing this together, not just him fucking me.
His morning wood slid in and out, and the pleasure built gradually as our tongues wrestled with each other, until I was panting, gripping the sheets, biting down on a moan. I felt it in my balls first, shivering against him as warm cum flew across the sheets beneath me, my ass tightening around him.
He put his mouth against my shoulder to silence himself, thrusts faltering. "Fuck, I—Dakota, shit..."
I felt the hot liquid of him as he unleashed himself inside me, his body pressed deep, still, claiming. His breath hitched, arms wrapping tighter around me as he buried his face against my neck.
We stayed like that for a while, our breaths slowly syncing again, bodies sticky and sated, limbs tangled together. Wes kissed my temple and sounded completely satisfied, "Could stay like this forever."
I turned in his arms, kissed him softly, he didn’t pull back as we just lingered in the silence that followed. I believed him.
Knock knock.
"Totta? I made waffles. You boys hungry?"
I froze. Wes went rigid.
"Shit," he hissed.
We both launched into a flurry of panicked motion. I scrambled for boxers, tripping over the pile of our clothes. Wes hit his head on the nightstand with a muted thud.
"Ow—fuck—where’s my shirt?"
I yanked on the first tee I could find, inside-out. Wes found his from last night, gave it a cursory sniff, and shrugged it on. The room reeked of sweat, cum and lube.
I flung open the window. Wes grabbed a can of deodorant from my dresser and started spraying it like he was fumigating a crime scene.
We looked at each other. Rumpled. Flushed. Still half-hard, honestly.
"Ready?" Wes said.
"No."
He grinned. "Let’s go."
We slipped into the kitchen like two barely reformed delinquents. My mom beamed at us. My dad raised an eyebrow.
"You boys sleep okay?" he asked.
"Great," Wes said smoothly, sliding into a chair like he hadn’t just been balls-deep in me a few minutes ago. "We had a lot to catch up on."
I choked on air.
Mom set a plate of waffles in front of each of us. "Totta, eat up. You look a little flushed."
"He gets warm in the mornings," Wes added, ever helpful. "Sweats a lot."
I kicked him under the table. He just smirked and took a big bite of waffle.
As the conversation moved to something about lawn care and neighbor gossip, Wes subtly slid something across the table. A folded napkin. I opened it with dread.
Round 2 after waffles?
A poorly drawn heart with a very anatomically incorrect dick pierced through it.
I nearly dropped my fork. Wes wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I stuffed the note into my pocket and looked away, trying not to grin like a fool. Across the table, Wes leaned back in his chair, sipping orange juice like he hadn’t just made me see stars barely half an hour ago.
And God help me, I was so far gone for my roommate.
