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The first time was an accident.
Samira’s not used to living in her childhood home anymore, not used to sharing a space with people who aren’t her friends. She’d grown used to wandering her off-campus apartment in various states of dress: basketball shorts she’d had since middle school and a sports bra, an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, sometimes just the t-shirt and her panties. It was fine, though, because she lived with her friends and they’d long grown used to each other, preferring comfort over modesty.
So the first time she walks out of her bedroom in nothing but a too big shirt that she’s pretty sure belongs to her roommate and a pair of boy shorts, she thinks nothing of it.
For starters, the house is supposed to be empty.
Her brother, Dev, is back from college but his hours vary and she sees him even less living in the same house for the summer than she did sharing an entire college campus with him all year. And her mom is gone– at the shore with her boyfriend who has a house there.
Which is why she lets out a yelp when she walks into the kitchen to see a familiar figure looming in front of the fridge.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice is less than welcoming but she doesn’t care.
Jack pulls his head back and peers around the door. His eyes widen as he takes her in and she squirms under his gaze. He’s in no hurry, it seems, because he takes his time pulling his eyes up her body. She crosses her arms over her chest and his eyes finally snap to her.
“I’m hungry,” he answers simply.
“Right,” she frowns. “Why are you hungry in my house?”
He lets the door slam shut and leans against it. The grey cutoff t-shirt opens around his bicep where the skin is freckled and a little pink. She looks back at his face.
“Because it’s where I’m staying?” He scratches at the back of his neck, head tilted in confusion. “Did Dev not tell you?”
No. Dev did not tell her that his best friend was staying with them for the summer. Or maybe he did but she was too caught up in finals and applying for summer jobs to do anything more than clear the family group chat notifications every few days.
“No, he didn’t,” she sighs, pushing past Jack to open the fridge. Instead of moving out of her way he leans in closer, chest inches from her back as she stares blankly at the mostly empty shelves. No amma meant she was in charge of the groceries and she hasn’t had the time.
“I promise I’ll stay out of your way.”
She jumps at the closeness of his voice, low in her ear. His fingers brush against her back as he turns and disappears around the corner.
After weeks of sharing a house with Jack Abbot, she should know better by now.
In her defense, she doesn’t have his calendar memorized. Like Dev, he has an internship in the city and sometimes she won’t see either of them for days at a time with them coming home late from happy hour drinks by the time she’s already in bed asleep. Her schedule is looser, her days mainly consisting of studying for the MCAT and working part time as a medical scribe at the hospital.
Which is why she thinks nothing of spending her Friday afternoon lounging by the pool, her top laying on the chair next to her so she won’t get any tan lines on her back. The warmth of the sun is making her sleepy. The words on the flash cards are blurring together and she has to read some of them three times to make sense of them.
When she wakes it’s to the sound of water splashing.
“Good morning, sleepy head.”
Even with her eyes closed she can hear the grin in Jack’s voice.
“Don’t you have a job?” She lifts her head so she can look toward the pool. Jack’s at the edge, arms folded across the cement as he smiles at her. His curls are wet, darkening his auburn curls to brown. She wonders how long he’s been watching her.
“It’s Friday.”
“Yeah, a Friday afternoon, you know, when most people are at work.”
He shrugs, the movement causing water to drip out of his hair and down his neck. She follows one droplet across his chest before it vanishes into the water.
“Summer Friday’s,” he says. “Perks of corporate America: nobody wants to work when they could be spending time at their house in the Hamptons.”
She frowns at him, eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses.
“Well, this isn’t the Hamptons. It’s Jersey City.”
“But I wouldn’t get views like this out there, would I?”
He flashes her a cocky grin as he plants his hands on the cement to pull himself out of the water. Her glasses hide her eyes and she uses that as an excuse to look him over.
She’s never given much thought to Jack. He was simply her brother’s freshman roommate who became a fixture in the Mohan family seamlessly. When she took Dev for the occasional lunch, Jack would be there, tagging along sheepishly and insisting he pay for himself. Sometimes she’d see them out at a party, Dev in the center of everything with Jack always right next to him, a drink in hand and a sly grin on his face.
If she thought about him at all, it was mostly to marvel at how much he didn’t annoy her the way the rest of her brother’s friends did. He was polite and charming, always quick with a joke that cracked a smile out of her despite her best attempts not to. Her roommates teased her about him, insisting that he was flirting with her and that she should give it a shot. She always brushed them; that was just how Jack was.
She considers it now as she watches him climb out of the pool.
He’s big– bigger than she remembers. Broad across his shoulders with muscle tacked on tight. He must be spending some time at the pool when she’s not around because his arms are lightly tanned.
The soft click of his prosthesis against the pavement and the chirping of the birds fill the silence as he makes his way toward her, leaving a trail of water in his wake. From this angle she has the perfect view of his thighs wrapped tight in navy swim trunks. She lets her eyes linger on his quads, the soft hairs glistening in the sun.
It could be the light playing tricks on her but the way the fabric is stretching it looks like–
“My eyes are up here.”
“My eyes are closed, thanks.” The lie feels heavy on her tongue. She doesn’t look away and Jack doesn’t move, just grabs his towel, rubbing himself dry. The movement does nothing to help the growing bulge in his shorts, if anything it makes it more obvious. Not that he seems to care.
She lifts her head off the towel and turns away from him, eyes slipping shut as she listens to his movements behind her.
“You should probably reapply soon,” he says and she feels something thump onto the chair next to her. Blindly, she reaches back, gripping the bottle of sunscreen.
“I’d help,” he continues, voice closer. Water drips from his hair onto her back and she shivers. “But I said I’d stay out of your way.”
She listens to his footsteps grow fainter until the screen door slams shut and she’s alone again.
At some point it stops being an accident.
Dev’s schedule becomes more consistent. He leaves at the same time every morning to catch his train into the city and arrives home at the same time every night. On weekends, he’s all but nonexistent and she doesn’t ask where he is.
Jack, on the other hand, is harder to pin down.
His internship is less demanding, even allowing for some remote days. Sometimes he disappears with Dev to God knows where but not all the time. When he is home, he keeps to himself, true to his word.
So Samira grows a little bolder.
She treats the house as she would her college apartment. Wandering around in next to nothing during the day on Mondays when Jack tends to set up shop in the den. His eyes will find her over his laptop, mouth falling open almost comically as someone on the other side rambles on about research grants and data sets. Most of her afternoons are now spent by the pool, reading or napping or just waiting for Jack to join in the water, pretending she’s not there while sneaking glasses from behind tinted shades.
And on weekend mornings she takes her time getting ready, flitting about the house in nothing but a robe, her hair still damp from her shower.
That’s how she finds Jack one Sunday.
He’s on the living room couch, feet propped up on the coffee table while he flips idly through streaming options. She’d been on her way to the kitchen to refill her water bottle but she doubles back and joins him on the other end of the sofa.
“Anything good?” She tries for nonchalance. Fails, probably.
Jack glances over at her and then back to the TV.
“Nothing I haven’t seen a dozen times.” The remote lands with a crack on the table where he tosses it. Throwing his arm over the back of the couch, he shifts so he’s facing her. “And nothing as interesting as my present company.”
“Cheesy.”
“You like it.”
“I really, really don’t.” But she’s smiling.
Against her better judgement, she shifts closer on the couch, pulling her legs up beneath her so she’s facing him. As she lifts her arm onto the back of the couch – inches from Jack’s fingers – her robe slips open just a little, the cool air hitting her bare chest. Jack’s eyes are drawn to it like a moth to a flame.
She doesn’t move to cover herself.
“My eyes are up here,” she says, echoing him.
It seems to take him a Herculean effort to drag his eyes away from the swell of her breast, gliding slowly up her chest and then her neck, finally landing on her eyes.
Jack shifts on his end of the couch and her gaze falls to his lap. He’s wearing his favorite pair of Rutgers sweatpants which means she can see everything. The soft grey cotton gives shape to his length, long and thick, the fabric doing nothing to hide the ridge of the head.
“I could say the same thing.”
She ignores him.
“You should probably do something about that.”
He looks down, sliding one palm across his thigh to stretch the fabric over his cock. It’s obscene, really, the way his cock jumps in his pants. But she can’t look away.
“Why? You wanna watch?” He asks, voice low and husky as he grips the base over his sweatpants.
Something comes over her and she has to bite back a moan at the image of Jack gripping himself on her couch, eyes fluttering shut as he tries to keep his gaze on her.
“Yes.”
“Yeah?” He slides his fingers slowly down the length. “You wanna watch me touch myself?”
“Are you gonna keep asking or are you going to actually do it?” she snaps, impatient.
“‘m sorry, sweetheart,” he smirks. “Didn’t realize you were so impatient.”
Slowly he guides the waistband of his sweats down, unveiling inches of freckled skin and coarse hair until finally his cock pops free, slapping against his stomach. He’s hard and thick and the head is so red she wonders if it hurts. Wrapping his fingers around the base, he starts a slow pump up the length.
“Is this what you wanted?”
She doesn’t have an answer for that.
On the one hand, no, this is not at all what she came down here intending to do. Her water bottle is on the floor, still empty and she can feel her hair drying wrong without her styling cream. But she makes no effort to move, mesmerized by the way Jack pumps his fist.
“You know,” he breaks her concentration. “I think about you all the time.”
“I know,” the words spill out before she realizes what she’s saying. Across from her Jack’s hips jerk upward into his fist.
“You know?”
“You’re not exactly subtle.”
“Neither are you.”
That gets her attention and she looks up at him. He’s watching her through hooded eyes, mouth slack.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I see the way you watch me. When you think I’m not looking.”
“I do not,” she says petulantly, arms crossing over her chest.
“No, baby,” he whines. “Don’t cover up those pretty tits, I like looking at them.”
She drops her arms instantly, letting the front of her robe fall open. The cool air hits her skin, pebbling her nipples and Jack’s eyes narrow in on them, his hand pumping faster.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he groans. “You know that, right?”
“You like them?”
She’s not playing coy. She likes her breasts, likes the shape of them, the way they feel in her hands and how they look in a dress. And for some reason, she especially likes that Jack likes them.
“God, yes,” he moans. “Thought so much about what they taste like. How they’d feel in my mouth. What my cock would look like between them–”
“Jesus, Jack.”
She tugs her robe open, letting it fall onto the couch behind her. At the sight of her bare chest, Jack throws his head back, gripping his cock tight as he takes a deep breath in.
“Samira– fucking Christ, you’re gonna kill me.”
Pushing up onto her knees, she shuffles across the couch toward him, drawing his eyes back to hers. His gaze is heavy as he watches her move toward him. She stops by his knees, reaching down to pull his sweats off the rest of the way, taking care to maneuver around his prosthetic, before tossing them onto the floor. Then she presses a knee between his, settling atop his thigh.
She’s been wet since she first noticed the bulge in his sweatpants but now she’s dripping onto him, her cunt gliding smoothly across his skin.
“Do you want to?”
“What?” His eyes are crossing with the way he’s trying to take all of her in.
“Do you want to suck my tits, Jack?” She snaps, leaning her hands on the arm of the couch behind him, pressing her chest toward him.
He doesn’t answer, just surges forward, capturing her nipple between his lips. She lifts one hand off the couch and slides it into his curls, holding him to her as she rocks against his thigh. His cock is trapped between their stomachs but he manages to maintain a slow pump and she can feel the pre-cum leaking against her belly each time he moves his hand down to the base.
“So good,” she cries into his hair. Below her he twitches, moaning against her breast. Gripping the back of his head, she pulls him off of her with a wet pop. “Do you like that? You like being good for me, Jack?”
He blinks up at her, green eyes wide and dazed. He swallows.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she smiles down at him. “Now be a good boy and come for me, okay?”
He nods, hand pumping faster on his cock as he dives back toward her chest, capturing her other breast in his mouth. It’s too much and not enough so she brings her hands back down to the arm of the couch again, using it as leverage to ride him harder, her clit digging into the top of his thigh.
She can tell he’s close by the way he starts panting against her chest, his cries turning desperate. The sounds fill her ears, driving her to her own orgasm as she dips her head down to his neck, sucking kisses into his throat.
“Samira, I’m gonna–”
“Come for me,” she whispers into his skin, her hips jerking against his thigh as she comes against him. Pulling herself back up, she slides her fingers under his jaw, tilting his head back so he’s looking up at her.
“You said you’d be good, Jack.”
The words have barely left her mouth when she feels the first spurt of come against her stomach, warm and sticky. It goes on and one but Jack doesn’t look away or close his eyes, just holds her stare as he coats them both in his come.
When it ends he drops his head to her chest, panting against her sweat-covered skin. She should probably get up and shower again but she doesn’t, instead slipping her fingers back into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as their breathing slows.
“Was that good?” he mumbles against her sternum, lips brushing against her skin.
“Yes,” she whispers into his hair. “You were so good, Jack.”