4. Tessa
TESSA
I wake at seven to my alarm, bleary and disoriented. Then awareness crashes in.
I'm sticky between my legs again.
The memory comes back in fragments. Last night, maybe around two AM. I'd been deeply asleep when his weight settled on the mattress. His hands on my body, gentle but insistent. Then the stretch, the fullness as his cock pushed inside me.
I'd stirred enough to feel it. The slide of him filling me, the pleasure radiating through my drowsy body. But I'd been so tired, drifting between sleep and waking. Let him use me while I floated in that hazy space.
Now I'm sore again. A satisfied ache that reminds me I'm his.
I touch myself through my panties, feel the dried cum. Heat floods my body despite needing to get ready for class.
He used me again while I was sleeping.
The thought makes my pussy clench, fresh wetness gathering.
I force myself out of bed, shower quickly. The hot water eases the soreness. I get dressed—leggings, oversized cream sweater, brown boots. Pull my hair into a messy bun.
When I emerge from my room, Theo is already gone. He mentioned something yesterday about an early meeting.
But there's a note on the kitchen counter.
You were perfect last night. See you later. —T
I pocket it, heart racing. Check the time—seven forty-five. Need to catch the eight-fifteen bus to campus.
I grab my bag, jacket, and head out.
The bus ride to Pemberton University takes twenty minutes.
I spend it staring out the window, replaying last night in my head.
Not just him fucking me in my sleep, but before that.
His mouth on my pussy, making me come so hard I'd cried.
Then teaching me how to suck his cock, the taste of him when he came in my mouth.
Focus. You have class.
The university comes into view. Victorian-style buildings mixed with modern glass structures. Fall leaves cover the quad, students everywhere with their backpacks and coffee cups. I get off the bus, join the flow of people heading to morning classes.
My nine AM lecture is Renaissance Literature. I sit in my usual spot, middle row, and pull out my laptop. The professor drones on about Shakespeare's sonnets, but I retain nothing.
My mind keeps wandering. Theo's fingers inside me. His cock stretching my throat. The way he'd called me perfect.
I shift in my seat, thighs pressing together. Type notes mechanically without processing the words.
When the lecture finally ends at ten-thirty, I'm wound tight with tension. I have a break until my one PM class. Need caffeine desperately.
The campus coffee shop is packed. Students everywhere, the noise level chaotic. I order a latte, grab a table in the corner, pull out my laptop to work on an essay due next week.
Type a few sentences. Delete them. Stare at the screen.
Can't concentrate.
I glance around idly, people-watching. A group of girls laughing at the next table. A guy in a football jersey flirting with the barista. Students studying with headphones on.
Then my eyes land on him.
No. No fucking way.
Theo sits at a table across the room. Black leather jacket, dark jeans, coffee in hand. He's not looking at his phone or reading. He's looking directly at me.
Our eyes meet across the crowded coffee shop.
My heart stops, then races.
What is he doing here?
He doesn't approach. Just watches, his gray eyes intense and possessive. I should be angry, maybe frightened. But all I feel is a thrill of arousal.
He followed me to campus.
The realization sends heat through my body. I grab my coffee and laptop, stand on shaking legs. Walk toward the exit, have to pass near his table.
As I do, he speaks. Voice low enough only I can hear: "You look good today."
I don't stop. Whisper back: "You're following me."
"Yes."
No denial, no excuse. Just blunt honesty.
I leave the coffee shop, pulse pounding. Glance back through the window—he's still sitting there, watching me.
This is insane. He's insane.
And I love it.
I head to the library instead. Third floor, quiet study section. Settle into a cubicle, open my laptop again. Try to actually work this time.
Twenty minutes later, movement in my peripheral vision.
I look up.
Theo stands by the stairwell, leaning against the wall. Still watching.
He followed me inside. He's not even hiding it.
My pussy clenches, wetness gathering. I turn back to my laptop, pretend to work. But every nerve is aware of him. I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
After ten minutes, I look again.
He's gone.
Where did he ? —
My phone buzzes with a text.
Theo: You're beautiful when you're trying to concentrate.
I look around, don't see him. Text back with trembling hands: Where are you?
Theo: Does it matter? I can always see you.
Oh my God.
I type: This is creepy.
Theo: No. This is me making sure you're safe.
Theo: And reminding you that you're mine.
I shouldn't find this hot. But I'm soaked, squirming in my seat.
I give up on studying. Sit back in the cubicle, trying to process.
He followed me to campus. He's been watching me all day.
He's possessive, obsessive, borderline stalking me.
And I'm turned on instead of scared.
Internal conflict spirals. I should tell him to stop, set boundaries. This isn't normal. But we're not normal. He's my roommate who fucks me while I sleep. Thirteen years older, dominant, possessive.
And I want him desperately.
Maybe I'm as crazy as he is.
I remember the sticky notes I left. The way I'd masturbated thinking about him for months before finally confessing. How I'd begged him with explicit consent written on paper.
We're both obsessed.
The thought settles something in me. I'm not a victim here. I chose this. Want this. Want him.
The rest of my day passes in a blur. I go through the motions—attend my one PM class, grab lunch, study in the library until my three PM seminar. The whole time I'm aware he could be watching. Don't see him again, but feel his presence.
When my last class ends at four, I walk out into the late afternoon. The sun is setting, campus lights flickering on. Students stream past, heading home or to dinner.
I walk toward the bus stop. Then stop.
Theo's car is parked at the curb. Sleek black sedan, expensive. He leans against the driver's side, arms crossed. Waiting for me.
I approach slowly, heart in my throat.
"You've been following me all day," I say. State it as fact, not accusation.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I can't stay away from you."
Simple, blunt honesty.
"That's not... you can't just..."
"I can. And I did. Get in the car, Tessa."
I should refuse. Maintain some dignity. But I climb into the passenger seat. He gets in beside me, starts the engine.
The drive back to the apartment takes fifteen minutes. Neither of us speaks. Tension fills the car, suffocating. Theo's hand rests on the gear shift, knuckles white. I stare out the window, thighs pressed together.
I can feel his gaze on me periodically. Possessive, hungry.
What's going to happen when we get home?
I know, though. Feel it in the air between them. He's going to fuck me. And I'm going to let him.
My second time. First time fully awake and aware.
The thought makes me shiver.
"Cold?" he asks, voice rough.
"No."
"Scared?"
"No."
"Good."
He parks in the apartment building's lot, the engine ticking as it cools.
The silence between us feels alive, charged with electricity that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
We walk inside without speaking, our footsteps echoing in the stairwell.
I'm acutely aware of every sound—the scrape of our shoes on concrete, the jingle of his keys, my own rapid breathing.
Up the stairs to the second floor, down the hall.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in harsh white, making the moment feel both surreal and intensely real.
He unlocks the door, the metallic scrape of the key turning making my pulse jump, then pushes it open.
I step inside, my legs unsteady.
He follows, closes the door. The lock clicks into place with a definitive sound that seems to echo through the apartment, through my chest. Final. Deliberate.
Then his hands are on me.
He spins me around, presses me against the door so hard I feel the cool wood against my back through my shirt.
His mouth crashes onto mine, demanding, consuming.
The kiss steals my breath, makes my knees weak.
I can taste him—coffee and mint and something uniquely Theo.
His stubble scrapes my chin, rough and masculine.
I gasp against his lips, open for him. His tongue sweeps inside, taking control, exploring, claiming. One hand tangles in my hair, tugging just enough to make my scalp tingle. The other grips my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. I can feel the heat of his palm through my leggings.
I melt into him, surrender completely. Every thought of resistance evaporates. I want this. Want him.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His chest heaves against mine. I can see the pulse hammering in his throat, feel the rigid length of his cock pressing against my stomach through our clothes.
"I need to fuck you. Right now." His voice is rough, barely controlled.
"Yes," I breathe. My voice shakes.
He strips my leggings and panties down roughly, the fabric sliding over my thighs.
The air feels cool against my exposed skin.
I kick them off, boots too, my movements clumsy with urgency.
He lifts me effortlessly, pins me against the door.
The wood is cold against my bare ass. I wrap my legs around his waist automatically, ankles locking behind his back.
I feel his cock pressing against my entrance through his jeans, the denim rough against my sensitive flesh. The zipper scratches slightly. I'm already wet, can feel my arousal coating my inner thighs.
"Wait, you need to—" My words come out panicked, uncertain.
He cuts me off. "I'm not waiting." His tone leaves no room for argument.