16. Harper
16
HARPER
T his is insane.
We’re having a roommates’ dinner this evening. The five of us sit around their kitchen table, eating a meal that Lucas and Connor prepared. Because apparently this is their thing . Once a week, usually on a Wednesday, two of the four—now five—make dinner for everyone.
They went with a cheesy chicken-broccoli-rice casserole, garlic bread, and a salad.
I’m not complaining. I’m just confused.
“Is it always you two and then Royal and Camden?” I ask Lucas.
He seems the friendliest, beyond my brother. But his mouth is currently stuffed with garlic bread, and I’ve seen him talk with a full mouth too many times to count.
“We usually draw cards at the beginning of the month,” Connor supplies. He glances at Royal. “We’re gonna have to revise that a bit if you’re staying, little Lawson.”
I frown. “It’s Shay.”
“Right.”
“Harper can go with Church next week,” Lucas says.
I stiffen. So much for him being the friendly one.
Royal rolls his eyes. “You guys hate my cooking that much?”
“You just have a tendency to burn shit, man.” Connor eyes me. “You didn’t inherit that same gene, did you, baby Lawson?”
For fuck’s sake.
“No,” I say through my teeth. “I’m a fine cook.”
I can’t even look in Camden’s direction. He said nothing about my return this afternoon. He’s said nothing at all, really, since he arrived just in time for this meal. But I think if I looked at him, he’d smirk, and I’d lose it.
Emotionally.
Because I’m insane for coming back here on the heels of his proposition.
“So is Church.” Lucas grins. “So it’s settled. Royal can be with me or Connor the following week, and we’ll put him in charge of salads or some shit.”
“Why doesn’t Church just do the same?” I point my fork at Camden, still focusing on Lucas. “Unless you like bad meals.”
Camden scoffs. “I try to tell Royal what to do and I come out of that kitchen bruised.”
Royal rolls his eyes. “Hardly.”
“Wooden spoons are no joke.”
I have a sharp memory of being smacked in the thigh with a wooden spoon, wielded by my brother when we were kids. It absolutely left bruises. I find myself smiling—then quickly try to put a leash on it.
No smiling at the jerk who’s posting sex videos of you for profit .
My gaze flicks to the jerk unwillingly. He looks too perfect. The messed-up hair that could’ve been crafted by a magazine stylist, his blue eyes, the cords of his neck. Then, of course, the picture of his naked ass cheeks flexing as he fucked that girl the first night, comes unbidden to the forefront of my mind.
Heat crawls up my cheeks. I really shouldn’t be thinking about him naked at a time like this.
Back to the matter at hand. “How about I take Royal, and Church can…” fuck off?
Camden rests his elbow on the table and braces his chin on his fist. He meets my gaze, his brows lifting. There’s that smirk. “You’re not a team player, baby Lawson?”
Royal snickers. I clench my jaw.
“If you’re half decent, then you and Church would make a decent meal. Please only let us suffer once.” That from Connor.
Ugh .
“I think it’s a solid plan,” Royal says. “In fact, maybe Harper could just take my place every week. Since you’re not paying rent.”
My jaw drops. “I will pay?—”
“You have literally no money,” he interrupts. “Food is more than fair. Better than asking you to clean the bathroom.”
I wrinkle my nose at that thought. Did it cross my mind? Yes. What is it with guys and not brushing their beard hair out of the freaking sink? But then, miraculously, it’ll be clean. Same with the kitchen. One day there will be dishes stacked in the sink, and the next, nothing. So I guess that’s one chore that the guys share.
“Fine.” I tap my index finger on the table and glare at my brother. “But?—”
“You’re not happy about it, yeah, yeah.” He takes a bite. “What else is new?”
Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.
And yet.
The house has been quiet for a while. The hour is late. I ease my bedroom door open and pause, peeking out down the hall. There’s a night light plugged into an outlet near the bathroom, but other than that—dark and empty.
Everyone has gone to bed, and I am about to do something insane.
Like follow a demand from Camden Church.
I move down the hall, my footsteps nearly silent, and stop in front of his door. My heart suddenly speeds up. I could go back to bed—it’s not too late for that. I could live with my name being on that WatchMe account.
But… no, I can’t.
I take a deep breath and put my fingers on his doorknob. A test. Then, carefully, fully palm it and twist.
It opens easily on silent hinges.
The room is dark, but not dark -dark. The blinds are open, letting in the glow from the streetlights outside. There’s some night-light-looking thing on his desk, a ball of glowing yellow that just barely beats back the shadows around it.
And there’s Camden, sitting on his bed. His feet are on the floor, his hands resting on his knees.
He doesn’t say anything when I enter. No quips, no rude remarks.
I close the door behind me and lock it, and I steel myself for what I have to do. If he doesn’t make it easy on me…
He won’t , a small voice in the back of my head whispers.
It’s only when I get closer can I see his eyes. The way they linger on my face for a moment before trailing down my body.
I didn’t know what to wear, so I just… I’m in a t-shirt and shorts. Nothing crazy, sure, but a little alluring. What if I came in here and he didn’t get hard at the thought of a blow job? I’ve heard of girls putting it flaccid in their mouth, and while that’s fine… I don’t really want to have to convince him to get there for me.
Maybe I’m crazy.
I’m definitely crazy.
He’s still not saying anything, so I match his energy. I step between his legs and stare down at him for a long moment. His head is level with my breasts. His hair is messed up, either from sleep or dragging his fingers through it. He’s bare-chested. His abdomen flexes, the ridiculous six-pack evident.
When I go to my knees, he sucks in the quietest breath. I keep eye contact for a moment longer, then drop my gaze to his lap.
There’s a tent in his boxers.
I inch forward, closer, and lift the elastic waistband. I pull it down, exposing his length. I run my tongue along my upper lip. My nerves buzz, but he hasn’t so much as shifted an inch. Just his eyes, his gaze hot on my face. They stay with me when I lean down and take him in my mouth.
When he doesn’t cup the back of my head or dictate my movements, I swirl my tongue and rise until just the tip remains. I go down again, deeper, and hollow my cheeks when he hits the back of my throat.
He lets out a low groan.
I hunt for those sounds as I continue, desperate to drive him crazy simply because I can. A thrill comes over me, a rush I can’t ignore. Don’t want to ignore . Instead, I lean into it until he can’t resist, and his fingers slip through my hair. His nails scratch my scalp, but the pressure doesn’t change.
Not until he sucks in a breath, and he pushes down.
I’m already down, but I suck hard anyway. He comes in my mouth. I swallow around him, my throat working, until there’s nothing else. His hand disappears.
I straighten and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, but I can’t seem to meet his gaze.
Camden catches my wrist. He tows me closer, so I automatically rise on my knees.
His other hand drifts to my face. My chin. He presses down, opening my mouth, and runs his finger along my lower lip.
Then he releases me.
I stand up and step back. The last thing I need—or want—is to be seen fixing myself up after that . I’m not embarrassed. I came in here with a purpose.
“The name.” My voice rasps out.
“Already changed.”
I stiffen.
His low chuckle fills the room. “Go scuttle back to your room and check if you don’t believe me.”
I… I’m going to do just that. I avoid his gaze, and something on his desk catches my attention.
A single, crushed rose.
Pink, if I had to guess.
My stomach somersaults, and humiliation burns through me. It’s hot and quick, sealing my mortification. It was him. He took what I admitted to my brother, what we explained about the stalker, and used it to spike fear through me.
All without seeing my reaction.
Is that why he pulled that from the outside bin? Just to get another taste of my terror?
Well, he’s not going to get it now.
I pivot and flee, and I don’t stop until I’m back in the safety of my room. I grab my phone, charging on the new nightstand Royal got me, and open the WatchMe app.
Sure enough, the sole account I follow has changed its name. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but my stomach swoops at the sight.
The Voyeur.