OlderRoommate!Price who had no interest in fucking you until he finds out no one has ever made you cum before.
He was content being the older, reliable roommate, paying his portion of the rent on time, letting you wear his shirts and steal his coffee, smirking when you padded around in tiny shorts. But then you let it slip: nobody’s ever made me come before. And something in him twists, ugly and possessive and deeply, shamefully pleased.
That night he can’t sleep. All he can think about is your pretty face twisted up, begging, all for him. He pictures you squirming, helpless, soaked just because he says so. By morning he’s so hard he’s considering fucking his fist, but then he hears you in the kitchen, yawning, not a clue how close you are to being devoured.
When he finally gets you into bed, he’s shameless about it, soaked in satisfaction as he drags his mouth down your body, fingers and tongue everywhere, not just to make you cum, but to watch how messy you get, to hear the sounds you make when he won’t stop, even when you’re shaking. He strokes you over your panties, lazy and greedy, lips at your ear. “Christ, that’s pretty. Been missing’ this, have you?”
You nod, cheeks burning. He slides your panties aside, runs two thick fingers through your slick, then brings them to his lips, sucking them slow, groans like a man tasting a vintage he bought at auction.
He eats you out like he’s starving, rough and messy, lapping and sucking, not stopping when your thighs clamp around his head, not even slowing when you sob his name. When you finally break; shaking, gasping, your whole body bucking, he keeps going, tongue mean, greedy for every drop, every twitch, every broken sound. “That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me. I want to see you cry for it.”
You come again and again, and each time he’s filthier, hungrier, holding you down, sucking your clit until you’re limp, drool on your chin, voice gone raw. When he finally stands, he doesn’t even let you recover. He flips you on your stomach and pushes into you hard, bottoming out so deep you choke on a moan.
“Christ alive, listen to you,” he groans, rutting in slow, heavy strokes. “Tight little cunt- no wonder the boys tapped out before the job was done.”
He kept you there and used you; angle nailed to the spot that emptied your head, thumb back on your clit because he wanted you milking him when he lost it. You clawed the sheets, babbling, mindless; he only sounded, darker, hungrier. “That’s it. Take it. Make a mess on me. Let the whole damn building hear what you’ve been missin’, sweetheart.”
He pounds you through another orgasm, then another, never stopping, never gentle. He’s insatiable, greedy, grinding out his own pleasure and loving every ruined sound you make, every sob and plead, every helpless, fucked out whimper.
When he finally spills inside you, he stays buried, chest heaving, mouth filthy at your ear “Right. From now on, if you’re in my bed, you finish. Every time. And you thank me proper.”
You swallowed, wrecked and smiling. “Thank you, sir.”
He smirked, wicked and pleased. “Good girl.” A kiss to your shoulder. “Not a one off, by the way,” he added, casual while he tucked your knickers back into his pocket. “Consider it… a standing arrangement.”
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