Beth had thought long and hard about living with a roommate before moving in with Heather, her natural inclination being toward solitude and privacy. But Heather was a professional girl, very tidy, and fun to be with. What's more, she traveled a lot for her job and was rarely home, affording Beth all the privacy she wanted at half the rent.
The two young women lived in an old apartment building in the type of unit most often described as "charming" – which, as Beth was discovering, was a euphemism for "drafty with chipping paint and a roof leak." But it was spacious and had beautiful light, and despite the fact that the linoleum on the kitchen floor was impossible to get all the way clean and they couldn't open any of the windows on the north end, and they had to share a bathroom, curling up in the morning with a cup of coffee in their spacious living room was one of Beth's greatest joys. In fact, since making a series of life changes – including breaking off her engagement, moving a hundred miles away, and starting a new job – she had far more joyous moments than in recent years.
About the only part of her new arrangement that wasn't joyous was the fact that Heather had a new boyfriend. So far, things had been fine, but Beth hadn't signed up for living with a guy full-time, nor did she want to lose the good thing she had going. So she watched the Jackson situation very carefully. Jackson seemed like a nice enough guy, actually. He was an attorney, intelligent, articulate, generous, handsome, seemingly mild-mannered, with a slightly quirky sense of humor. The respectable kind of boyfriend both a mother and father might approve of while still being interesting enough not to make a girl fling herself off a bridge with boredom. Heather talked about him nonstop, which was part of the reason Beth was worried. She happened to know Heather was a fast-track-to-the-aisle kind of girl and could see her roommate wanting to move things along pretty quickly with a certified "good catch."
Beth, who'd recently dated a long line of such men, was ready to go in the exact opposite direction. She wanted someone who could fulfill her, although she couldn't say exactly what that entailed. It wasn't just a sexual need – although it was that, too; her last boyfriend, Steven, had the lowest sex drive of any man she'd ever met – but a need for something more. A thrill of some kind. A unique connection.
Friday nights were Jackson and Heather's date nights, and since Jackson's place was outside the city, they generally spent Fridays at the apartment and then headed out for the weekend, sometimes to his place and sometimes to other destinations. On this particular night, Beth was home long before they were but had a hard time falling asleep. She was reading, which usually did the trick, but her novel was engrossing and she was keyed up, so sleep evaded her.
By the time she was finally tired, she switched off the light and got comfortable only to hear Heather and Jackson come in. Heather must have had a lot to drink, Beth thought, because she was giggling quite a bit and talking way too loudly. She kept laughing and squealing unintelligibly to Jackson. Their voices drew closer, and then Beth heard them go into Heather's bedroom and the voices stopped. Her eyes closed and the house finally quiet, she drifted off.
She heard the muffled murmuring, the shifting of the bodies in the bed, the soft sighs while still half-asleep. And then, as plainly as if they were next to her, she heard Heather whisper, "Jackson, shh, Beth's in the next room!"
A low chuckle. "She's asleep. And so what if she heard us?"
Silence. Then, "Jackson, that's not funny, that's disgusting."
"Babe, it's fine. She's fast asleep...probably has been for hours. She can't hear anything...and I need you...I need to be inside you."
Beth strained to hear more, but the room was mostly quiet again except for movements and occasional sighs.
And then Jackson, crystal clear. "Let me taste you." As if it was meant for her. Beth felt a jolt of excitement rip through her body, instantly stiffening her nipples and cramping her stomach. She was acutely aware of the warmth in her groin, a pulsing between her legs, a softening of her core as her body lubricated just from the sound of his voice and the words he was saying.
"It would turn me on so much to taste you and smell you...rub my face in your juices..." Jackson again, his deep voice resonating through every fiber of Beth's being, while Heather murmured protests, shutting him down, her voice talking on a whiny tone.
More murmurs. Beth's hand strayed inside her tank top, her fingers stroking her breast, teasing light circles around her areola, the underside of her generous tit, moving back to flick her nipple, then squeeze it. She wet her finger in her mouth and touched it to her aching nipple. Instant intensifying of her desire. She played with her nipples lazily for a bit, pinching them both, one then the other, then both simultaneously, anticipating her pleasure, in no rush, just enjoying the sensation of her hands on herself.
She could hear Jackson again, louder this time, obviously confident that they weren't being overheard. He was groaning and panting, muttering a string of incoherent noises. Heather's full-sized bed was being overworked, from the sound of it – the sturdy frame squeaking just slightly as the two lovers coupled. A few times (and Beth imagined this was when Jackson stroked particularly deep) the headboard knocked against the wall.
And then plainly, his voice again, lost in ecstasy: "Oh, fuck, yes!"
Beth's hand went immediately to her cotton-covered mound. She was soaked and hot, her pussy blazing through the thin fabric. She yanked her panties down around her ankles and spread her knees wide, opening herself up, sliding her fingers into her slick hole, her juices pooled there. She rubbed the moisture up over her hard clit, shuddering as she touched the sensitive button lightly with her fingers.
"Cum for me," she heard. His urgent voice, almost growling. "I want you to cum all over my cock, right now. I want to feel you and hear you before I shoot my sticky load inside you."
Beth rubbed herself more vigorously now, her hand reaching over her head for her feather pillow and pulling it over her face so she could muffle her cries into it. She was close to her orgasm – it had taken no time at all, she must have been really horny, she thought – and didn't want her roommate or her boyfriend to hear her cum.
"That's it, baby," Jackson groaned. "Oh, fuck, I'm so close. I'm not cumming until you do." The bed squeaking louder, the headboard thumping now in an audible rhythm, muffled whimpering from Heather, Jackson moaning and cursing.
And Beth, rubbing her slippery clit with one hand, her fingers of the other hand plunging inside herself, her teeth sunk into her pillow. So close, so close...
"So fucking close!" Jackson gasped. "Oh, yeah, that's it, that's it.... Oh, fuck, I'm cumming!" A primal moan, choked at the end, and then Beth stopped hearing.
The blood roared in her ears and she was swept off, her mind bursting into a million little sizzling embers, her body arching off the bed as she was racked with her powerful climax. Biting into the pillow so hard she wasn't sure she could unclench her teeth. Muffling the cries that wanted to pour forth from her until they were just little sounds in her throat.
Her body, thoroughly wrung out. Her mind recovering. And then racing. What if they heard? What kind of a sick bitch was she, anyway? Oh, God, she'd just listened to her friends having sex. And masturbated to it. And gotten off on it more than she had anything in recent memory. Fuck.
Facing them in the morning was going to be awkward. Beth knew this, but the lure of coffee was more than she could resist. She drew on her robe and padded out to the kitchen. Heather was sitting at the table, fully dressed in workout clothes, drinking her coffee and reading the paper on her Kindle. Jackson was in nothing but pajama pants.
Beth tried to avert her eyes and went directly to the coffee maker. "Good morning," she said, forcing her voice to stay light.
"Morning!" Heather chirped. "Beth, I'm so sorry for Jackson not wearing a shirt. I asked him to put one on in case it made you uncomfortable..." here she paused to give him a pointed glare, "...which he will totally do if you are."
"Nope, it's fine," she assured them. "As long as he keeps his pants on, we're good." Fuck! Where did that come from? She blushed and avoided eye contact.
