Somno Roommate (While She Sleeps #3)

1. Theo

THEO

The lock clicks open under my key, and I step into the dark apartment. Eleven forty-seven, my watch reads. Another grueling day swallowed by spreadsheets and client calls, another evening lost to fixing someone else's fuck-up.

Then I see it.

A yellow sticky note plastered to the door I just closed.

I've been thinking...

My heart kicks against my ribs. I know that handwriting—the careful loops of the lowercase letters, the way the pen pressed harder on the T. Tessa's handwriting.

I peel the note off, already half-hard before I've taken three steps into the apartment.

A second note waits on the hallway wall.

About us...

My hands shake as I collect it. Us. She wrote us , like we're something more than roommates who avoid eye contact over morning coffee and pretend we don't hear each other through these thin walls.

Third note on the kitchen counter, right where I always drop my keys.

About you...

Three months. I've lived with Tessa Monroe for three months, and every single day has been psychological torture.

Watching her pad around in those sleep shorts that barely cover her ass, drowning in my stolen hoodies, biting her lip when she's nervous.

Three months of telling myself she's too young, too innocent, too fucking off-limits for a man like me.

Fourth note stuck to the bathroom doorframe.

I want to try something. With you.

My cock strains against my jeans. I adjust myself, breathing hard through my nose. The apartment is silent except for the blood rushing in my ears.

Fifth note on her bedroom doorway. The door stands ajar—not much, maybe three inches, but enough. Deliberate.

I consent. Tonight while I sleep. Touch me. Take me.

The words blur. I read them again.

She can't mean what I think she means. This is—fuck, this is ? —

Through the crack in the door, I spot the sixth note on her nightstand, illuminated by the soft glow of her lamp.

My feet carry me forward before my brain catches up.

I push the door open slowly. The hinges don't make a sound—I'd oiled them last week, told myself it was just basic maintenance, not so I could watch her without her knowing.

Tessa lies on her back in the center of her bed.

The sight of her punches the air from my lungs.

She's wearing my black hoodie—the one that's been missing for weeks—and tiny pink sleep shorts that expose the entire length of her legs.

Long, smooth legs that seem to go on forever despite her petite height.

One arm rests above her head, the other across her stomach.

Her brunette hair spreads across the pillow in dark waves.

Her breathing is deep and even, lips slightly parted.

She left the lamp on. For me.

I move closer, my boots silent on her carpet, and read the final note.

Please. Make me yours.

Some letters shake more than others, revealing her nervousness. She was scared when she wrote this. Scared but willing.

I stand frozen at the foot of her bed, sticky notes clutched in one large hand, warring with the voice in my head that's been my constant companion for three months.

She's twenty. You're thirty-three. She's your roommate. If you cross this line ? —

But another voice drowns it out, the one that's been growing louder every day since she moved in.

The one that noticed when she started leaving her door cracked at night.

The one that saw her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking.

The one that knows exactly how many of my hoodies she's stolen.

She left these notes. She wants this. She consented.

My feet carry me to the side of her bed.

Up close, I can see everything. The curve of her hip beneath the shorts. The swell of her breasts under my hoodie. Her face in sleep—so young, so fucking beautiful it physically hurts. Dark lashes fan across her cheeks. Her lips are pink and soft, slightly parted with each breath.

She looks innocent. Untouched.

My cock throbs.

I've wanted her since the day she knocked on my door three months ago, those big light brown eyes pleading with me to let her rent the spare room. The Pemberton University dorms were bleeding her dry, she'd said. She needed somewhere cheaper. Somewhere safe.

I'd said no immediately. Too weird, too inappropriate. A thirty-three-year-old man and a twenty-year-old college student? People would talk.

But she'd looked so desperate, shifting from foot to foot in the hallway, and I'd caved like the pathetic bastard I am.

The first week was awkward as hell. Stilted conversations, carefully planned schedules to avoid each other. Then she'd relaxed, started treating the place like home. Started stealing my clothes.

I'd find her curled up on the couch in my old band shirts, fabric swallowing her small frame. She'd look up at me with those eyes and smile, and I'd have to lock myself in my room and jack off until I could function again.

That morning I'd found her making coffee in my t-shirt and nothing else visible—I'd jerked off in the shower for twenty minutes straight, biting my fist to keep quiet.

I've been a fucking stalker in my own home.

Timing my movements to "accidentally" run into her.

Listening for her shower to turn off. Watching through cracked doors.

The scent of her shampoo in the bathroom makes me hard.

Stolen glances at her ass when she bends over.

The little gasps she makes when she burns herself cooking.

And now she's giving me permission. Explicit, written permission.

"Fuck," I whisper.

I sit carefully on the edge of her bed. The mattress dips under my weight. She doesn't stir.

My hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they trace the line of her jaw. Her skin is so soft, so warm. She sighs in her sleep but doesn't wake.

My hand slides down her neck, over her collarbone. The hoodie's neckline has stretched, exposing one shoulder.

Even with her notes, is this right?

I start to pull away.

Then her hand moves in her sleep, fingers brushing my wrist. Not grabbing, just touching—unconscious contact that sends electricity straight to my cock.

It's enough.

My hand slides lower, over the hoodie covering her breasts. I can feel her nipples through the fabric, already peaked from the cool air or some dream. I squeeze gently, watching her face.

Her lips part further. A tiny sound escapes.

"Mmm..."

My cock pulses. "Fuck, Tessa."

I grip the hem of the hoodie and peel it up her body slowly, carefully, trying not to wake her. She's not wearing a bra underneath.

My breath catches.

Small, perky breasts with dusky pink nipples. Perfect handfuls. I ease the hoodie over her head, gentle as I can manage. Her arms flop back down, still deeply asleep.

I'm the first man to see these. The only man.

The thought fills me with savage possession.

Now she's topless, just the tiny sleep shorts remaining. I drink in the sight—slender waist, soft stomach, the curve of her hips. My tattooed hands look huge and dark against her pale skin.

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her shorts and slide them down. Inch by inch, revealing smooth skin.

She's not wearing panties either.

Jesus Christ.

Her pussy is bare, smooth and pink. I remove the shorts completely, drop them on the floor beside the bed.

Now she's naked except for tiny ankle socks with little cats on them.

The innocent detail makes my chest tighten even as my cock leaks.

I position myself between her legs, kneeling on the bed. My hands stroke up her calves, over her knees, along her thighs. She shifts slightly, legs parting unconsciously.

"Good girl," I murmur.

My hands worship her body. Tracing her hip bones. Spanning her waist. Cupping her breasts. I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder.

Her back arches.

"Ahh..."

The sound is soft, sleepy. I release her nipple with a wet pop and move to the other one, circling it with my tongue before sucking hard.

My hand slides down her stomach, over her mound. I cup her pussy, feeling heat and a hint of wetness gathering.

Her body knows. Even asleep, she wants this.

I slide one finger through her folds. She's getting wetter, slick coating my fingertip. I find her clit and circle it slowly.

Her hips shift, pressing into my touch.

"That's it, baby. Tell me you want it."

As if responding, she moans.

"Mmm..."

I press one finger inside her entrance.

And freeze.

So fucking tight she can barely take one finger.

Virgin. She's a virgin.

The sticky notes didn't mention this, but now it's obvious. My cock throbs at the realization.

I'm going to be her first. The only man to ever have her.

Dark possession roars through me.

I work her carefully—one finger pumping slowly, then adding a second. She's so tight around my fingers, her body gripping them. Her arousal increases, pussy growing wetter with each stroke. Sleepy sounds escape her lips.

"Mmm... ahh..."

Her head turns on the pillow, eyes still closed. I scissor my fingers, stretching her gently, then add pressure to her clit with my thumb.

Her breathing changes, becomes shorter and faster.

"That's my good girl. Getting ready for me."

I remove my fingers slowly, reluctantly, and quickly strip off my clothes. My cock springs free, thick and hard, precum already glistening at the tip. I'm huge—6'5" tall with a cock to match—and she's so fucking small beneath me, her petite frame dwarfed by my size.

I position myself between her thighs, spreading them wider to accommodate me, and notch my cock at her entrance. The head presses against her wet heat.

Slow. Gentle. Don't hurt her.

I press forward, gritting my teeth at the resistance. Just the head breaches her, and she's so tight I can barely fit. Her body grips me like a vise, every inch of her pussy fighting the intrusion.