My roommate chased me and then claimed my pussy

The thing about Leo wasn’t that he was, like, supermodel hot or anything. It was the energy. He was my roommate, this kinda lanky guy with stupidly bright blue eyes and a smile that always seemed to be in on a joke you didn’t know yet. He worked as a bike messenger, so he was always buzzing, always moving, even when he was just crashed on our crappy IKEA sofa. And he had this habit of walking around in just his low-slung sweatpants, the fabric doing this… thing… where it hung off his hips and you could just see the V-line leading down, and god, it was distracting.

We had this game. A stupid, flirty, totally-deniable game. It started over the last slice of pizza weeks ago and just never stopped. He’d “steal” my favorite mug, I’d hide his phone charger. He’d put my shampoo in the freezer, I’d short-sheet his bed. It was our language.

But tonight… tonight the game felt different. The air in our apartment was thick and hot, one of those summer nights where the city itself seems to be sweating. I was wearing these tiny sleep shorts and an old tank top, no bra, and I could feel his eyes on me all evening as we pretended to watch some bad reality show.

“You’re gonna eat all the popcorn, Mike,” he said, using the stupid nickname he’d given me. He stretched, his t-shirt riding up to show a strip of toned stomach.

“Get your own, then,” I shot back, hugging the bowl to my chest. “If you can catch me.”

I said it without thinking. It was just part of the banter. But his eyes darkened, just for a second. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face. “Yeah? You think I can’t?”

My heart did a little flip-flop. The rules had just changed. “I know you can’t,” I taunted, my voice a little shakier than I meant it to be.

I didn’t wait for an answer. I was off the couch in a flash, the popcorn bowl abandoned on the floor. I heard his laugh, low and thrilling, behind me. “Oh, you’re so dead, Mike!”

My bare feet slapped against the wooden floor as I darted down the hallway. I could hear his footsteps, heavy and fast, right behind me. I squealed, a real, genuine sound of panic and excitement, and threw myself into my bedroom. I tried to slam the door but he was too fast, his hand catching it easily, pushing it open.

I scrambled backwards, falling onto my bed in a heap of limbs. He stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. The grin was still there, but it was softer now, more intense. He kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. The click of the latch was the loudest sound I’d ever heard.

“Caught you,” he said, his voice a rough whisper.

I was pinned, not by his hands, but by his gaze. He walked towards the bed with a slow, deliberate swagger that made my stomach clench. This was it. The game was over, and something else was beginning.

He didn’t pounce. He knelt on the bed, one knee on either side of my legs, caging me in. He leaned down, his hands planted on either side of my head, his face inches from mine. I could smell his soap and the faint, clean scent of his sweat.

“Now what?” I breathed out, my voice barely audible.

“Now,” he murmured, his eyes dropping to my lips, “I claim my prize.”

He kissed me then, and it wasn’t like any kiss I’d ever had. It was hungry and possessive, all tongue and teeth and desperate need. His hands came up to cradle my face, his thumbs stroking my jawline. I melted into it, my arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down onto me. The weight of him was incredible, solid and real, pressing me into the mattress.

His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, down my neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there. I gasped, my head falling back. One of his hands slid down my side, over the thin cotton of my tank top, his fingers skimming the underside of my breast. A jolt of pure electricity shot straight to my core.

“Leo…” I moaned, arching my back, begging for more without saying the words.

He understood. His hand cupped my breast fully, his thumb rubbing rough circles over my nipple through the fabric. It was already hard and aching, and the friction was almost too much. He kissed me again, swallowing my little cries as his other hand began to wander. It slid down my stomach, making my muscles jump, and then his fingers were under the hem of my shorts, tracing the edge of my panties.

I was soaking wet. I knew he could feel the heat radiating from me. He broke the kiss, looking down at me, his eyes blazing with a dark fire. “You’re so fucking wet for me, Mike,” he growled, and the vulgarity, the raw need in his voice, made me clench around nothing.

He hooked his fingers into my panties and shorts and, in one swift motion, pulled them down my legs and tossed them onto the floor. I was completely bare, exposed to him under the dim light of my bedside lamp. He just stared for a moment, drinking me in, and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated lust. It was the biggest turn-on of my life.

He lowered his head between my legs, and I almost came right then from the anticipation. But he didn’t use his mouth. Instead, he used his hands. Big, strong hands, calloused from riding his bike all day. He spread my legs wider, his thumbs gently parting my folds. He let out a low groan. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then he touched me. One finger, slick with my wetness, began to circle my clit. Slow, lazy circles that made my whole body tremble. My hips bucked off the bed, seeking more pressure, but he held me down with his other hand on my stomach.

“Uh-uh,” he whispered, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “This is my prize. I decide the pace.”

He continued his torturous, teasing circles, sometimes light, sometimes applying just enough pressure to make me see stars. He leaned down and replaced his thumb with his tongue, and I cried out, my fingers tangling in his hair. He licked me slowly, lazily, like I was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He explored every inch of me, learning what made me gasp, what made me writhe.

I was a complete mess, reduced to a babbling, pleading creature. “Please, Leo… god, please…”

He slid one finger inside me, then two, and my back arched off the bed. He was stretching me, filling me perfectly. He curled his fingers, finding a spot deep inside me that made my vision blur. His mouth was still on my clit, sucking and licking in rhythm with the thrust of his fingers.

I was so close, teetering on the edge of a cliff. “I’m gonna… Leo, I’m gonna come…”

He didn’t stop. He looked up at me, his mouth glistening, his eyes locked on mine as he drove me over the edge. The orgasm ripped through me, violent and shocking, a wave of pure pleasure that left me shaking and gasping for air. He didn’t let up until the last tremor had subsided, gently drawing out every last second of my climax.

He crawled back up my body, kissing my stomach, my breasts, my neck, before finally claiming my mouth again. I could taste myself on his lips, and it was wildly, intensely erotic.

He was still fully dressed, his sweatpants tented obscenely. I reached for the waistband, my hands fumbling. “My turn,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

But he shook his head, a wicked glint in his eye. He shifted, positioning himself at my entrance. The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, and I held my breath. He pushed inside, and it was a slow, stretching, unbelievable burn. I was so sensitive from my orgasm, every nerve ending was on fire. He filled me completely, bottoming out inside me with a guttural groan that sounded like it was torn from his soul.

“Fuck, Fernanda… you’re so tight,” he breathed, his forehead resting against mine.

He stayed like that for a moment, letting me adjust to the feel of him. Then he began to move. Slow, deep, punishing thrusts that hit that same incredible spot his fingers had found. It was overwhelming. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of our bodies slapping together, our ragged breaths, my helpless moans. He was everywhere, all around me, inside me. His pace quickened, becoming more frantic, more desperate. I could feel another orgasm building, coiling deep in my belly, tighter and tighter.

He reached between us, his thumb finding my clit again, and that was all it took. I came apart a second time, screaming his name as my walls clenched around him. The sensation tipped him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside me and groaned, his own release pulsing into me as he collapsed on top of me, spent.

We lay there for a long time, a tangled, sweaty mess, trying to remember how to breathe. His weight was crushing and perfect. Eventually, he rolled off me, pulling me against his side. He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Best prize ever,” he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep.

I smiled into his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. The game was definitely over. And I had a feeling the next one was going to be so much better.