Housewife For My Besties Brother

I wake up cold, on my side. My hand fumbles forward, seeking Roman's reliably warm chest. Instead, I smack into a freezing concrete wall.

Kill me. I'm alone in my stupid-narrow dorm bed.

I groan and shove my face under the pillow. "Tash', turn off your fucking alarm."

But the blaring doesn't stop. And right as I think my day can't start worse, Tasha, my roommate, yanks the covers clean off my back.

"Put some clothes on," she says to my naked ass before stepping away, cruelly leaving me shivering in chilly morning air.

She's evil. But effective. Fifteen minutes later, I'm dressed, vaguely presentable, and trudging beside her across the icy quad. We're zipped into our parkas, huddled like penguins.

"What's with the long face?" She chirps.

A million things are going wrong in my life. But the truth is simple: It's been three days since I last saw Roman.

I hate how much that affects me. But it does. And it's not Tasha's fault. She's the best part of this whole college thing so far and deserves better than my clingy spiral.

"It's just the cold," I mutter. "Hate it."

She playfully bumps her hip into mine, and we pick up the pace before we turn into icicles. The cafeteria's mostly empty, the air blissfully mild.

"Any news from Paige?" Tasha asks as I pile toast on my tray.

"Ugh, she's barely talking to me," I say, then shut up when I catch her glance. Right. Paige probably would have the right to cut me off, but somehow this limbo feels even worse.

Wait. No, it's not worse. What am I thinking?

"Did you find a summer internship yet?" I offer, to change topic.

"I'm sending resumes everywhere," she groans before slumping into a booth. "I had no idea it would be so hard selling free labor. How 'bout you?"

"I have something lined up with an ad agency in Florida. But it would mean spending the entire summer at my sister's."

I leave the

without Roman

part out.

"Oh, poor Maddie," Tasha pretends to wipe tears from her eyes. "Housed for free right next to the beach, what a tragedy."

I giggle. "It's not free. Claudia fully expects a shit ton of babysitting."

"Come on, your nephews are so fucking cute. I saw the pictures."

Heroically, I resist the urge to pull out my phone and show Tasha the latest ones Claudia sent me.

"At least I tan well," I say, after a beat.

===

Eric and I sit on a small wooden bench outside Professor Jones' office.

I check my phone. We've been here for twenty minutes. Why is he taking so long with the previous group? I hope I'll be able to squeeze in some time at the library before my shift at the coffee shop.

No message from Paige. I'm still getting used to her reduced communication since Christmas break. We're cordial, but the daily phone calls and constant texting are sorely missed.

"So, Mads," Eric begins, like I haven't told him it's Maddie. Every. Single. Week. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Dunno, nothing solid yet."

It's Tuesday. I'm allowed to be noncommittal. Also, I'm pathetic, and keeping things open for Roman.

"Me and a couple people from class are hitting that new bar downtown," Eric continues. "Low-key place. You should come."

"I'm not even twenty yet, Eric," I say in a cutting tone, trying to sell the dismissal. He's definitely seen me doing shots in some frat house basement before, which makes me legal in his head.

I'm saved by the office door opening. Two girls I vaguely recognize file out with stiff smiles.

"Next," Professor Jones calls from inside.

We walk in, trying to squeeze our way to the chairs inside the cramped little office. A pile of manila folders topples slightly, and I catch it before it spills across the floor.

Professor Jones is in his forties, sharp, svelte, and greying graciously. He only takes his eyes off his laptop when we're both seated.

"Ah, Eric, Madeline," he has an annoying way of emphasizing my full name. Can't believe I used to be into that. "Glad you could find some time."

"Of course, Professor," Eric simpers.

"I wanted to talk about your project assignment. As you know, it's going to be a large part of your final grade, and I need to clarify something."

Here it comes.

"Madeline, why did you submit a separate PowerPoint?" Mr. Jones asks, his voice cutting.

I can hear Eric's jaw hitting the floor, but I don't let it distract me. I straighten my back and rest my open palms on my lap.

"I don't think I can work with Eric. I brought it up to the TA's multiple times," I begin in a rehearsed tone. "But they wouldn't let me change partners. So I figured I'd send my own version of the presentation."

There's an almost amused look in Professor Jones' eyes.

"What the hell?" Eric shouts. "You realize you're fucking me over right?"

"Relax, you basically treated me like your secretary. You'll do fine on your own."

Like, there was any chance in the world I'd stand in front of the class while he rapid-fired a bunch of Steve Jobs quotes next to me.

"Alright, that's enough." Mr. Jones cuts us off, growing fed up with our drama faster than expected. "Eric, will you be okay doing your presentation yourself? I'll account for the short-notice adjustment."

"Yeah, of course," he doesn't even hesitate.

"Very well, then let's consider this matter resolved. I don't think we need to waste any more time."

Eric grunts and gets up from the chair. As I'm about to follow suit, Professor Jones speaks up again.

"Miss Whitmore, a minute, please."

The door slams behind me, and I'm left frozen in my chair. Fuck, this did feel a little easy.

"Madeline, Madeline," Jones says, voice syrupy, like he's tasting the name. He stares straight into my eyes. "Are you getting in trouble on purpose?"

"I have too much going on to babysit Eric," I answer unapologetically.

He gets up, with a low chuckle, and perches on the corner of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, towering above me. His crotch is a few inches from my face.

"Well, you're lucky you're dealing with me," he adds. "Some of my colleagues would have absolutely punished you."

That blowjob I gave him before summer break was my lowest point. Does he expect me to tell him I've been a bad girl or something? He probably watches too much porn.

Say what you want about Roman, but he had the decency to look ashamed when we first started hooking up. Mr. Jones is the opposite. And that's why I knew I could trust Rom.

"I know, I'm sorry," I say, calm and composed under his smarmy smirk. "Is that all?"

Maybe I'm pushing my luck, but the look of surprise on his face is worth it. Clearly, he's used to his moves working on naive sophomores.

I don't wait for his answer and dash out of the office.

===

"Hi, what can I get you today?"

I put a little extra shine in my voice as the man in the expensive-looking suit approaches the counter. He finally tears his eyes off his phone, only to let them pause on my chest before crawling up to my face.

"Large latte..." His gaze drops again to my name tag. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the button I popped open. "Maddie."

"One large latte, coming right up. And what name should I put on it?"

"Victor," he says, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice like it's supposed to impress me.

I charge him for his overpriced coffee and send him toward the waiting area with a wink.

The new girl, Alice, joins me at the machine, looking horrified. She's older than me but clueless about service work. Luckily, it's a slow day, and she's not actively sabotaging anything.

"What was that about?" She asks in a hushed tone.

"What?"

She waves vaguely at me. "The flirtiness."

"Look over there," I whisper, nodding to the waiting area behind her, where Victor is busy sliding a bill in our mostly empty tip jar.

This shuts Alice right up. She listens meekly as I explain how to pull the espresso, steam the milk, and clean the wand. I feel somewhat proud when she dots the 'i' of Victor's cup with a small heart.

If college doesn't work out, I have a career as a Madame waiting for me.

The rest of the afternoon drags. We're downtown, surrounded by office buildings, and foot traffic evaporates during work hours.

I'm half-asleep on my elbows when the door opens.

Tight white shirt. Black jeans. Sleeves rolled up. Very business sexy. My heart kicks when our eyes meet. This day is turning around.

We keep things technically professional as he orders a plain tea, but I'm practically vibrating behind the counter. When I pass him his drink, I linger. He doesn't even comment on the fact that I replaced the 'o' in Roman with a heart, stealing Alice's move.

Shut up, it's cute.

"Hey," Roman says after taking a sip from his tea, finally dropping the act.

"Wasn't expecting to see you today," I can't contain my excitement.

"Figured I'd surprise you. Maybe pick you up after your shift. Cook for you, movie, and you know..."

I have to bite down on my lip not to squeal. Food, Netflix, and sex, Rom knows the way to my heart. And my pussy.

"I'll need a ride to my dorm to pick up some class stuff." I try to sound playful, not dorky. No idea if I'm pulling it off. "Think you could make that happen?"

Roman walks over to a booth, patiently waiting for my shift to end.

How am I supposed to focus with him sitting there like that? Screw it. If my manager wanted efficiency, she shouldn't have left me alone with the new girl.

"Hey, Alice?" I call. "Think you can handle the register for a while? I wanna take my break."

"Yeah, sure thing." She looks fifty percent confident in her words.

I mouth

Roman

across the counter with as much subtlety as I can manage. After three attempts, he finally notices me and follows me to the back of the store. He has a cute, confused smile as I drag him into the small office.

"What are you doing?" He asks when I push him to lean on the desk, and kneel in front of him.

"Are you turning a blowjob down?" I shoot back, looking up at him, already unzipping his pants.

He hesitates. "I'd just feel better if the door locked."

"Well, you'll have to be really brave then." I purr, pulling his cock free. It's already thickening in my hand, heavy, warm. Fuck I've missed that smell. "Can't wait til tonight."

I nuzzle into him, my tongue darting to meet as much skin as possible. A kiss on his head causes an audible breath, then a long, slow lick all the way down his shaft.

"I wanna try something," I say, tugging his pants down, letting the lust guide my gestures, ignoring the rest of the world. "Help me out, try to raise your legs a bit."

We manage to pull most of his pants off, and he scoots awkwardly up the desk, tilting his hips, right where I want him.

Roman throbs in my hand as I stroke him slowly, taking his balls in my mouth. He has one hand raised up, pressed against the wall, to steady himself as best he can. The other rests on the back of my head, gathering my hair in his fist, never too tight or forceful, merely matching my movement.

"Fuck", he hisses as my tongue bathes his sac. "You're in the mood."

I don't answer. I just let him go with a wet pop and slide lower. My tongue glides down his skin, somewhat salty after his long day at the office.

Pressing one hand into his ass to spread him open, I finally get my mouth where I've been dreaming of. I lick his asshole, overwhelmed by how dirty that feels.

I've wanted this for months, but never said it out loud. Like this is the line that would confirm I'm a slut. But I'd be Roman's slut. I'm okay with that.

"Has a girl ever done that for you?" I ask, sounding manic, while I pull back to catch my breath. Roman's not looking at me. He's slumped against the wall, eyes closed.

"No." His short answer comes out like a bullet, making my pussy melt.

I almost slide a hand down my panties as I bury my head back and resume stroking his cock. But no, this is not about getting myself off. Roman will take care of it for me tonight. This is just a fix to survive the last hour of my shift.

He wraps the improvised ponytail one more time around his wrist, and presses my face deeper, my tongue almost pushes inside him. I jerk him harder, feeling the precum starting to wet my hand.

Then, just as fast, he lets go of me.

"I'm about to cum," he groans.

I rush to take the head of his cock between my lips, right in time for him to spill on my tongue. I squeeze him, pulling every single drop out of him, lapping greedily at his tip, a big, proud grin spreading on my lips despite myself.

"Missed me?" I'm still kneeling between his thighs, his cock softening in my hand as he exhales like I knocked the breath out of him.

He takes my hand, gets me back to my feet, and pulls his pants back up. My eyes land on his large cup of tea, which he brought with him. That dork.

Roman looks at me, unimpressed, as I take a big gulp and swish the beverage in my mouth. His fault for leaving it unattended.

"What?" I ask, surprised at his raised eyebrow.

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I'm just never buying anything from here now that I know what the baristas get up to."

===

It's funny how much of a difference twenty-four hours can make.

I'm warm, comfy, and well-fucked.

This morning, I woke up next to my cuddly boyfriend. In his nice-smelling bed, limbs tangled and skin sticky in the best possible way.

Roman told me to slam the door behind me to lock it as he took off for work. He never said when I had to leave, though.

So hours later, I'm still sprawled out on his couch, wearing his dirty workout T-shirt and a pair of his boxers hiked up to my waist. Laptop on the coffee table. Zoom class droning in the background.

There's a dumb reality show playing on his TV. I think someone just proposed on a yacht. I've got a notebook in one hand, scribbling half-legible notes while I steal glances at the screen.

My multitasking skills are basically the only thing separating me from a house cat right now.

The class ends, and my stomach growls. How is it noon already?

I haul myself off the couch and head for the kitchen, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet as I shuffle along, doing my best to keep Roman's boxers from sliding down my thighs. The man has weirdly wide hips. Cute, though.

Every step through his apartment makes me feel like a general from ancient times surveying a new province. Evidence of my conquest is strewn all around.

The second toothbrush in the bathroom. The half-open drawer in his bedroom, one of my bras casually dangling out. My beat-up running shoes tucked by the door. Not even counting the little bits of decor I've slipped in when he wasn't looking.

It feels homey, not like a bachelor pad at all. How am I supposed to tolerate dorm life after this?

I open the fridge's door, my eyes scanning its contents to find a quick meal.

They land on the expansive-looking piece of beef Roman bought to cook for us last night. Unfortunately, he was too busy ramming his cock inside me. We had to make do with a bottle of red wine and a bunch of snacks.

A brilliant idea sprouts in my head.

===

The kitchen's kind of a warzone.

The roast is in the oven, the veggies are prepped, and the wine is in the decanter, looking fancier than it has any right to. My domestic goddess transformation is complete.

Just in time, too. The door opens. I snap upright and fling the rag behind the toaster like I've been calm and sexy this whole time.

"Hello?" Roman calls from the entrance, the sound of shoes hitting the floor. "Maddie? You're still here?"

When he rounds the corner, I'm posed in the kitchen doorway like a little gift. One hand on my hip. I look prim and proper, wearing Rom's apron, cinched as tight as possible around my waist, my most welcoming smile on. And nothing else.

"Hello, honey," I'm all sugar.

Before he has time to react, he has a bourbon glass in his hand and I'm on my tippy-toes to put a loving kiss on his cheek.

Roman chuckles, his palm landing on my waist. Only then does he notice that they meet naked skin there. He shakes his head when his surprise finally fades, before leaning down to give me a peck of his own.

He recovers quickly and leans against the counter, taking a small sip of his bourbon, looking straight at me over the rim of the glass. I have to contain the shiver that runs through me.

"Smells good in here," he says, surveying the battlefield with a condescending little smile.

"Why, thank you," I say, tilting my head like the most obedient housewife on the block.

"Did you... spend the whole day here?"

"I went out for wine," I answer breezily. "Had to wedge a shoe in the door so I wouldn't lock myself out."

He glances toward the oven. "That's an expensive cut in there. You sure you know what you're doing?"

I saunter behind Roman as he kneels down to check on the roast, pretending I don't enjoy the view, and take the opportunity to rub my hands over his shoulder.

"They taught me well at the Stepford finishing school for gifted young women," I answer in a shoddy mid-century accent. "Also, YouTube."

That, and a FaceTime with my mom, while I was still wearing clothes. She didn't seem too surprised to find me in some guy's kitchen. We're keeping this detail between us.

"Looks good, Dumpling," he punctuates that by patting me on the butt, making me giggle.

Roman's sliding into the role of the asshole husband so easily, it'd be a little scary if it weren't such a big turn on. He's standing next to me, in his work clothes, his tie loose, a full head taller than me.

"When are we eating, Sugarpie?" He continues.

Shit. I never set the timer.

"Uh..."

The illusion shatters. Roman rolls up his sleeve and reaches into the cupboard. He pulls out a small thermometer probe, opens the oven, and sticks it in the roast, setting the small display on the counter.

Kitchen skills are on their own level of sexiness.

"We've got about... thirty, forty minutes to kill," he says evenly, sipping his bourbon again.

I grab his hand and pull him to the living room.

"Why don't you take a seat, honey?" I coo, already pushing Rom onto the armchair. Then, I perch on his lap, keeping my back as straight as possible. "I'll put your stories on."

I flip the TV to some random channel. It really doesn't matter. His eyes are on me, drinking in my barely covered curves. I follow his gaze, and... Oh.

My right tit's fully out. Just dangling there.

"How inappropriate," Rom comments as I tuck myself back in.

His smile is soon quashed by my lips. He grunts against me, his hands slithering under the apron, sliding over my skin.

Roman shaves every morning, but his five o'clock shadow tickles my chin.

I run my fingers over the coarse stubble, following the sharp line of his jaw.

"Would you let me shave you?" I ask, thinking out loud.

He blinks. "Like... right now?"

I snort, bite his bottom lip. "No, dummy. Someday."

His hand finally grabs a boob, and I pull back. Our eyes are glued to each other. I can almost see the thought click in his gaze.

In the span of a breath, I'm slung over Rom's shoulder.

I'm already the wettest sack of potatoes that ever was. And his determined walk toward his bedroom, without any consideration for my weak, lusty half-protest, is not helping.

Roman is a sweetheart ninety-nine percent of the time. But I'm good at getting Fun Roman out to play. He tears the apron off me. I hear it rip. I'll have to get him a new one. A cuter one.

My poor naked self gets dropped on the bed like laundry.

I try to sit up, but he grabs my legs, yanks me to the edge of the mattress in one swift pull.

"Wait, wait," I pant, surprised I'm still able to talk. "Take your clothes off, baby."