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MORE THAN JUST ROOMMATES
By
Terri Carnis &
Justine Mayne
© copyright March 2008, Terri Carnis & Justine Mayne
Cover art by Alex DeShanks, © March 2008
New Concept Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events and places are of the authors’ imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
CHAPTER ONE
“Young lady, you’ve lost a week’s worth of data!”
Jada flinched at her boss’s nasty tone.
“But Mr. Quirk ....”
“You’re fired!”
“But,” she said, “my shift just started. I’ve barely signed onto to my workstation. How could I have lost ....”
“Fired,” he said. “Don’t blame it on someone else!”
Jada spilled her steaming latté across the computer keyboard.
“And that’ll be sixty dollars, docked from your final check for ruining company equipment!”
This can’t be happening, she thought. Not now. Not with my first job in six months. Especially with Philip insisting that I start paying my share of the rent and living expenses.
But it was happening. And in less than five minutes she was fired over someone else’s mistake, then rudely escorted out of the Chrysler building, into a New York downpour.
She checked her purse, which held two crumpled fives and a ten. She watched a Yellow Cab cruise by, looking for fares, but decided to walk. From now on every dollar had to count. And it would be three days before she got her final paycheck.
By the time she’d hiked two miles to the Manhattan loft she shared with Philip, she’d been soaked by the rain, splashed with mud from a passing garbage truck, and nearly run over by a platinum blonde in a sportscar. To top it all off, the elevator was out of service in her building, so she would have to climb three flights of stairs to the fancy loft Philip rented, solely because it went with the high-powered self-image he’d become so consumed with creating.
As she started up the stairway, shivering, she wondered how things had gotten so bad between her and Philip. He’d seemed nice enough when she’d met him--a sharp dresser, well spoken, and determined to make his mark as a financial advisor. When they’d first met six months ago, he’d taken her on some whirlwind dates to the fanciest restaurants and plays in town, wooing her like Prince Charming. Feeling like she’d at last found true love, she’d gladly taken the plunge, leaving her upstate job to move into Manhattan, to be with him.
But things had gone down hill ever since.
Water squished in her shoes as she crossed the landing and started up the next flight of stairs. Soon after she moved in, Philip’s expectations of her had turned to criticisms, and he’d become obsessed with “improving her.” Suggestions for changes in her wardrobe soon expanded to every aspect of her life … that she should eat less, let her hair grow longer, and that it was her responsibility to keep the loft spotless while he paid the rent.
She sighed, trudging up the second flight of stairs, thinking today couldn’t get any worse. Two weeks ago, Philip had suggested they could improve their love life with some role-playing, and she’d welcomed the notion of something new in what had become his totally predictable and seldom inspiring bedroom routine. She’d hoped that they would take turns spicing things up. But this had also turned into another one of Philip’s maneuvers to remain in control.
She hated to admit it--especially after just getting fired, but their relationship was in trouble, and she wasn’t happy.
So far, the only sexual fantasies allowed had been Philip’s, in which he practiced being the “Alpha male,” dominating her with his “manliness.” Since he dealt with Japanese investors, whose culture was male-dominated, he claimed this could help his career as well as improving their love life. And that wouldn’t have been so bad, if he’d given equal time to her fantasies. But he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in hearing about or acting out her fantasies.
She sighed, pausing on the final flight of stairs and wrung some of the water from her hair. If only Philip had a big cock and the physical stamina to match his fantasy, she’d be all too glad to experience a little domination from an Alpha male. But that was hardly the case.
Dripping water, she cleared the last landing, stepped down the hall and opened the door to their loft, where she found yet another of Philip’s notes.
Before she unfolded it, she wondered which aspect of her looks or personality he felt compelled to address this time, with his endless suggestions for improvement. Or would this be the note she’d been waiting for--where he finally expressed some degree of satisfaction with her?
Taking a breath, she opened the note and read.
Tonight’s a special occasion--we’ll be discussing our future.
She held the note to her chest and her hopes began to rise. Then she read on.
Spare no expense in making sure we have a superb meal, candles in appropriate places, satin sheets on the bed, and perfect music to set the mood.
She shook her head at the last part … knowing what “perfect music” meant. His stuffy classical concertos, instead of the country ballads that she loved, and had labored to write in her spare time. But right now, she supposed that didn’t matter. Not if things were taking a dramatic turn for the better. Not if Philip was willing to make a fresh start with their relationship. Because, more than anything, she needed something positive in her life right now.
So for the next four hours she cleaned the loft from one end to the other, then arranged the candles and turned down the satin sheets exactly the way Philip liked. To satisfy his gourmet tastes, she realized she would need to spend the last of her cash. Then she stopped and reconsidered. The hell with it, she decided. Since he wanted the dinner, she’d use his credit card. If he screamed about the bill later, she’d wave his note under his nose, which insisted that she “spare no expense” for tonight’s dinner.
Unhappy at the thought of going out again into the pouring rain, she decided to give herself a few moments peace of mind. She opened her scuffed up guitar case, which held her used, steel-string guitar, purchased at a pawnshop. Lovingly, she lifted it out. The guitar was worn, but inspiring to her. A simple instrument that helped her find true words that told stories of the heart in songs.
She saw the stack of papers her guitar had covered … lyrics to a dozen songs she had been working long and hard to craft. She strummed an opening chord and began singing one.
By the time she’d sung three songs, she felt better, replaced her guitar and closed the case. Then she borrowed a neighbor’s bicycle.
She pedaled ten blocks through a chilling drizzle in killer traffic to buy chinese chicken, pot-stickers, steamed rice, and the specialty clam sauce that Philip adored.
She had scented candles lit and the table set, and was just heading to the shower when Philip came through the door. He was an hour early, without a drop of rain on his tailored suit or leather briefcase. Even his black razor-cut hair, moussed and combed straight back, was perfectly in place.
He pursed his thin lips and narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the loft. “Everything looks good ….” He eyed her up and down. “Except you. You look like a drowned rat.”
Flustered, she bit back a retort about him showing up an hour early. Just barely, she fought off the urge to argue, which would have ruined the mood they needed for a special evening.
Still, she wished he had stated exactly what he saw as the nature of this “special” occasion. Was it too much to hope that, beyond some gratitude on his part, it might involve a renewed commitment to their relationship? Maybe even a diamond ring?
Philip sighed, giving her another head-to-toe inspection. “Don’t you care about your appearance?”
In the stainless steel hood over the stove, she caught a glimpse of her long, auburn-colored hair, disheveled and limp from her bike ride. She hardly looked like a woman who deserved a marriage proposal.
Philip frowned and lifted his chin, looking down at her. “Perhaps you’d best shower.” Taking his place at the head of the table, he added, “And don’t forget the perfume I gave you.”
There it was. Yet another of his “suggestions.”
As she walked down the hall, she fired over her shoulder, “You’re an hour early, and I was headed for the shower when you showed up.”
Then, moments later, under the hot spray of water, she calmed down and convinced herself that this was simply his way of wanting tonight to be perfect … that he also wanted things to get better between them. By the time she toweled off, she was smiling as she imagined him getting down on one knee--finally showing some gratitude for all the effort she’d invested in their relationship.
After a quick blow-dry, she slipped into a rose-tinted sheath, the one Philip liked for the color, even though he said its neckline was too high. She spritzed herself with the perfume he insisted upon, then rushed to the dining room.
Philip looked up from swallowing the last bite of the chinese then dabbed his lips with his napkin.
What the hell, she thought? Wasn’t this supposed to be a dinner for two?
Scooting his chair back, he stretched and licked his lips, giving her the same stare he always did when he turned horny. “Jada, shouldn’t you be in your negligee by now?”
She stifled a groan. Once again, Philip was trying to come across as the take-charge stud … the Alpha male. She hadn’t wanted to challenge his fantasy or hurt his feelings, but if he didn’t convince her that they had a future together …. Well, she might just tell him what a jerk he’d been lately, and just how far he was from being an Alpha male.
“Come on, Jada.” He smiled, regarding his trousers where they had begun to bulge. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. Playing it out in my mind.”
For an instant she considered doing something with her negligee other than wearing it.
She thought about imitating the mindless martial art films that Philip taken to watching, in which someone was always getting strangled from behind with an unexpected article of clothing. Instead she struggled to swallow her pride, and said, “Fine.” She at least needed to hear what he thought about their future. She had to see if he was going to declare her love worthy of vows and a lifelong commitment. Because that’s got to be it, she thought. A proposal. And once you’re wearing the ring, you’ll have plenty of time to mold him into a true gentleman. To make him as concerned about your needs as his.
Forcing a smile for Philip, she peeled off her dress and strode to the bedroom.
“Forget the negligee,” he called after her. “Just strip and jump into bed.”
She draped her clothes over a chair, reclined on the bed and stuck a pose that she knew Philip would like. One more daring than her natural modesty suggested.
She parted her legs wide and stretched her arms overhead, arching her back, so that her breasts were thrust forward. It was the very pose she’d seen him ogling in a slick skin-magazine that featured exotic Asian beauties.
She closed her eyes and blushed, imagining what Philip would see. A tangle of reddish-brown hair that tapered to the soft folds of her pussy. An invitation of moist pink. The promise of pleasure. Her nipples puckered as she thought about his cock hardening when he looked at her body. She felt a sense of power and adventure surge through her, and her inhibitions began to evaporate. Tonight she would be a tigress in bed, surprising Philip with the best sex he’d ever had.
When she heard his footsteps, she waited a moment, squirming in anticipation, then opened her eyes.
Philip stood at the foot of the bed, regarding her with compressed lips as he quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.
At last, she thought, he sees how sexy and alluring I can be.
“You know,” he said, as he stepped out of his slacks, then his briefs, “you could stand to loose a few pounds.”
Pained by his comment, then incensed by it, she abruptly sat up in bed and cupped her breasts. “What the hell?” she snapped. “You’ve never complained about these being too big. So what’s wrong with hips to match?”
“Well, now that you mention it ….” He hopped into bed and rolled her over, saying, “I supposed there are some positions where a little extra padding helps.”
She answered, “That’s the worst proposal you could ever make,” but the pillow muffled her every word.
“Besides,” he added, “I’m not in the mood for talk.”
Before she could ask to see the ring, he bellowed, “This stud wants to fuck!”
He thrust the head of his cock against her pussy, without the slightest bit of foreplay that would put her in the mood.
While he grunted and pushed, she had to reach back, under her legs, parting her pussy lips and helping him inside as he tried to get a rhythm going.
Frustrated--trying to turn herself on, she wriggled her hips against the pressure of his cock, then concentrated on the sensation of her nipples grazing over the smooth sheets. But his thrusts gained momentum, forcing her to brace herself by grasping the headboard with both hands.
“Oh yeah,” he gasped. “You’ve wanted it this way--from the moment you met me.”
Even facing the headboard as he humped away, the words of his fantasy were all too familiar, like a worn out script. She knew that his eyes were closed--and suspected that he was fantasizing about someone other than her. Probably a stunning oriental beauty, ready to obey his every command.
Now, as he grunted, pumping away, he began slapping her on the ass. “You want this! To be loved like a slut!”
The first whack took her by surprise and she almost giggled but caught herself in time. She’d been through this scenario before. Philip had a thin repertoire of scripts that had to be acted out in certain ways, and he expected her to play her part--without challenging the role he’d assigned her.
But as she endured his mediocre thrusts, she decided that was going to change. As soon as he proposed, she was going to speak up. Going to tell him that marriage was a partnership, and that it was time for a change.
Huffing now, he tried to make his actions match his words, giving her his notion of a brutal thrust. He slapped her butt again, this time harder. “You are a slut, aren’t you? And I’m the stud.”
Without having to think, she fell into the dialogue he wanted. “Oh yeah, Baby.” She tried to make her voice sound husky with pleasure, but couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. “You’re the stud.”
He thrust some more, then slapped her ass. This time it stung.
“I can fuck you whenever I want, can’t I?”
“Yes.” But not after tonight, she thought. Not unless you come through with a nice proposal and learn the difference between being an Alpha male and an out-and-out asshole.
He slapped her again. “Any time I want. Any way I want!”
She could tell he was getting turned on because he was pumping faster. The problem was, he had a small cock, and so--as his excitement escalated, hers remained nonexistent.
“You love it,” he hollered, “don’t you?”
“Yeah, Baby,” she managed. “I really dig you fucking me.” She made her breathing sound like panting. “Fuck me harder, Baby. Harder.”
His response was another whack to her ass, which ticked her off.
“You’re nothing but a slut.”
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, embarrassed with herself for what she was doing to accommodate such one-sided sex.
As she endured his weak thrusts, listening to his grunts and groans, she finally decided she’d had enough. Enough of his stupid playacting. If he couldn’t take his time with her, or show how much he loved and needed her, then she’d beat him at his own game. She’d out fuck him, thrust for thrust.
Gripping the headboard with both hands, she rocked back, forcing the length of his modest cock all the way inside her. His balls slapped against her pussy as her butt collided with his body, knocking him off balance.
The next time, she rocked back faster, smacking into him.
“That’s it, Baby,” she urged, a little contempt creeping into her voice. “Fuck me harder.”
A few strokes later, she felt his legs begin to shake. Although his cock seemed willing, she’d worn down his stamina. Yes, the tide had definitely turned. Now she was going to set the pace.
She released the headboard and turned around, rolling him onto his back.
He protested, but was too weak to resist.
In the candlelight, she studied his face, which was creased from his effort to remain in control. His lanky body, thin-shouldered and pale, squirmed as he tried to sit up, but she stiff-armed his chest, holding him down.
She couldn’t help thinking that a gym membership would’ve served him better than the stuffy, business cocktail parties he attended so often. But at the moment, she didn’t feel the least bit sympathetic.
She straddled him, mounted his cock and rode him like she was vying to win the Kentucky Derby.
Although he barely moved beneath her, she felt his cock thicken and lengthen inside her as she pumped her hips relentlessly.
Happily, their roles had been reversed. Now he was lying beneath her, like the slut, and she was in control, so she couldn’t help smiling. Even though she was far from being turned on the way she’d like to be, at least this was starting to be fun.
“You like this?” she asked, rocking in place, looking down at him.
His eyes were squeezed shut and there were grooves between his brows. Sweat dotted his forehead.
He grunted, “You almost fuck like a man.”
Pissed, she rode him harder, cramming his cock into her as far as it would go. If she’d had a riding crop in her hand, she would’ve given him a taste of it, just to make up for all the times he’d swatted her behind, hard enough to bruise. But she settled for squishing his balls as she bounced up and down, riding his cock.
“Take it easy,” he complained. “You’ll break me in two.”
“Oooooo,” she moaned dramatically. “You know how this slut likes to be fucked--really hard, Baby.”
As she increased the tempo, he gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh, trying to keep her weight from slamming into him.
She fucked him harder and faster, not giving him any chance to catch his breath.
His grip gave way and his arms flopped down onto the bed.
Enamored with sluts, was he? Well she’d hump him so hard that his teeth rattled. She’d give him a slut-fuck he’d never forget.
When his breathing turned ragged, she knew he was fading fast. It wouldn’t be long before she’d feel his cock shudder and he’d make those wheezing noises.
He grabbed at her breasts, his fingers finding her nipples.
As he tweaked away, she felt irritated. His rough, clumsy touch was more bother than pleasure.
Still thrusting, riding him hard, she grabbed his wrists and pinned his hands to the bed, all the while thinking about his proposal, which was yet to come. The proposal she had deserved, long before this.
At last he let go, wheezing as he spurted, not even noticing--or caring--that she hadn’t gotten close to orgasm.
She climbed off of him, both of them lathered with sweat, and he groaned, reaching for the nightstand drawer.
Still breathing hard, she thought, at last … the ring … his proposal. She closed her eyes, imagining the size of the diamond, knowing what Philip could afford on his generous salary as a financial advisor.
A brief click and the smell of tobacco made her eyes pop open.
Puffing on a cigarette, looking smug, Philip said, “Isn’t it amazing, Jada?”
“What?” she asked, thinking he might compliment her on the intensity she had just shown.
“Isn’t it obvious? My ability to drive you to new heights of passion.”
She bit her lip, thinking marriage is about compromise, so cool off, before you say something that can’t be taken back.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, and slid out of bed, stepping into the adjoining bathroom. She shut the door and met her own gaze in the mirror.
Nodding at herself, she whispered, “You really have to say something this time. Especially on this night. He has to see this as a partnership, with some degree of mutual respect. With the notion that we each can learn from each other. Especially in the bedroom.”
So she rehearsed for the next few minutes, coming up with different ways to--finally--stand up for herself and let him know that she deserved to be equal in the relationship. And how that would do nothing but improve their marriage.
Still a little nervous, but determined to have her say once he showed her the ring, she spritzed herself with his favorite perfume and opened the door.
To her surprise, Philip was fully dressed and had a large suitcase on the bed.
“P-Philip?” she stammered. “What’s this? Your note said tonight was to be a special occasion.”
“And so it is,” he beamed. “I’ve been promoted and assigned to the Tokyo office, to manage our most elite foreign accounts. My plane leaves in four hours.”
“What about me?”
Frowning, he gave her his pinched eyebrow look. “What about you?”
“How could you do this, abandoning me, after all I’ve done for you?”
“Fuck-all, Jada, where’s your damn gratitude? Think of all that I’ve done, trying to improve you.”
“How?” She heard her voice rise sharply. “With your ridiculous, nitpicking notes?”
He responded with a thin, tight-lipped smile that bordered on a sneer.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, Jada, allow me to remind you about your share of the rent. I paid the first six months of our one-year lease. The next six are yours!”
She felt weak. “But I lost my job today … got fired. Unfairly, I might add.”
“Oh gosh,” he said, gushing with false sympathy. “Why don’t you send me a note about it? You know, outlining a better way for me to approach your situation.”
She felt her face flush with the heat of anger.
“Get out,” she screamed, and grabbed the crystal vase from the nightstand.
He ducked as it sailed overhead, shattering against the wall.
“You’re the lousiest lover I’ve ever had,” she yelled, gratified to see his face redden as she reached for the nightstand lamp.
He grabbed his suitcase and scuttled down the hall.
She threw the lamp after him. It smashed into the wall behind him, filling the hallway with ceramic shards.
“Good riddance!” she hollered. “This won’t be the end of me --losing a crummy temp job and a lousy prick of a boyfriend!”
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