Roommate Worship 10

Everyone in this story is 18+

The summer sun was low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the little suburban house.
Wes and I barely had time to get out of the car before my mom came bursting through the front door, arms flung wide open.

"Totta!" she cried gleefully, using the nickname that should have died years ago.
She hugged me so tightly my ribs creaked, then turned her attention to Wes.

"And you must be Wes! I’ve heard so much about Dakota’s roommate."

Wes, being Wes, gave her a hug that made her beam even harder.
"All good things, I hope," he said, flashing that cocky grin that got him out of most trouble.

At dinner, I was terrified about both what Wes might say and what my parents might bring up — and neither disappointed.

"So, 'Totta'? Huh? What's that about?" Wes asked, grinning as I shook my head at him.
But Mom was happy to indulge him.

"You see, Dakota couldn’t pronounce his own name until he was a bit older, so he called himself 'Totta,' and it just stuck — even after he learned to say Dakota at nine."

"I was probably five!" I countered.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, let's say seven. But you were a late bloomer," my dad said, clapping me on the back. "You seem so much more social now, Totta. Happier. Almost gleaming!"

My parents couldn't stop gushing about how different I seemed.

Mom squeezed my bicep and chirped on.
"And you seem more muscular, even."

"Mom," I groaned, hiding my face behind my hands. "That's embarrassing."

Wes just smirked, shooting me a look that said he was loving every second of it.

"I have trained him quite extensively. I have this special training program just for... 'Totta,'" he teased.

Of course, I turned beet red.

After the main course, while my mom went to get dessert, I excused myself to pee.
I was standing at the sink washing my hands when I heard the door open behind me.
I turned, already knowing.

Wes sauntered in like he owned the place, pulling his shorts down just enough to unabashedly pull out his throbbing stick of fun, grinning devilishly at me.

"Suck it," he said casually.

I blinked. "Huh? Here?"

"Come on, Totta," he whispered, stepping closer. "I'm so fucking horned up. Watching you being all cute and embarrassed... you're killing me."

My brain screamed bad idea, but my knees bent before I even thought about it.
I dropped down and took him into my mouth, his erection thick and hardening further between my lips.
He let out a low, satisfied sigh, threading his fingers through my hair.

"Fuck, you're good at this," he muttered.

I gagged a little as he thrust forward gently, and we both chuckled quietly, trying to keep it together.

A knock at the door made us both freeze.

"Boys?" my dad’s voice called. "Dessert's ready. Are you coming?"

"Yeah!" Wes answered smoothly, barely missing a beat.

He smacked my cheek with his cock, then tucked himself back in, splashed some water onto his hair, and winked at me in the mirror.
I frantically rinsed my mouth, splashing water onto my face to cool the burning in my cheeks — and to clean the pre-cum off.

Back at the table, Wes flopped casually into his seat, fork ready for pie.

"Your son helped me fix my hair," he said, flashing my parents that easygoing grin. "He’s so stylish."

My mom lit up with pride, while I nearly choked on my fork.
Wes shot me a subtle look, full of filthy promises.

Then, casually between bites of pie, Wes added with a knowing glint in his eye, "And honestly, your Totta's got such talented hands... he's a real lifesaver when things get... tense."

I almost dropped my fork.
Only I caught the hidden meaning behind his words, feeling the heat creep up my neck.
The way Wes grinned at me across the table made it perfectly clear: I wasn't off the hook yet.
I was going to have to finish what I started—whether I liked it or not.

And god help me,
I couldn't wait.

◆◆◆

That night, after my parents had long gone to bed and the house had fallen into that deep, warm stillness only a childhood home could have, I led Wes upstairs to my old bedroom. It felt surreal walking in—everything looked smaller than I remembered, from the sinlge bed with its faded navy comforter to the creaky dresser plastered with peeling stickers from when I was nine.

I fumbled awkwardly with the edge of the bed, trying to play host. "I can set up the futon for you," I mumbled, avoiding Wes's gaze.

Before I could move another inch, Wes stepped in close behind me. He pressed a slow kiss to the side of my neck, giving me goosebumps, my knees nearly buckling at the simple touch.

"Nah," he whispered against my skin, his voice low and certain. "I wanna sleep in this single bed with you."

I turned to look at him, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. He just smiled that lazy, perfect smile, the one that always turned my insides into putty.

Wes reached for the hem of his shirt first, tugging it over his head in one swift, fluid motion, revealing the golden skin stretched over his shredded chest and abs. His body glistened faintly in the low light, a sheen of sweat highlighting every dip and curve of muscle. I fumbled with my own shirt, peeling the damp fabric away from my sticky skin, feeling the humid air rush over my exposed chest. Goosebumps raced across my arms despite the heat.

Wes dropped his shorts next, letting them fall to the floor without a second thought, leaving him in nothing but a snug pair of black briefs that clung to his hips, the bulge at the front already protruding. I shucked off my own shorts, my boxer briefs doing little to hide the growing evidence of my boner.

Sweat beaded at the base of my neck and trickled slowly down my spine, making my skin slick and overly sensitive. Wes's fingertips brushed against mine as we shifted closer to the bed, a simple touch that made my heart stutter painfully in my chest.

We clambered into the tiny bed, the springs creaking under our combined weight, forcing our bodies flush against each other. Our legs tangled instinctively, Wes's thigh sliding between mine, warm and solid, his skin sticky where it pressed into mine.

At first, it was just kisses. Slow, sweet, lingering ones that tasted faintly of toothpaste and salt and summer air. Wes cradled my face with such tenderness, his thumbs brushing back and forth over my cheekbones as if I was something precious, breakable.

It wasn't like before—wild and frantic, desperate to get each other off. This time, it was slower, more tender. Wes rolled me onto my stomach with infinite care, tugging my boxers down and tossing them aside like they personally offended him. I heard the soft pop of a cap, and a moment later the sharp, clean scent of lube filled the room.

"Always travel with lube," Wes whispered with a throaty chuckle that rumbled against my back, pulling a small bottle from his backpack.

I smiled into the pillow, my body practically vibrating with anticipation.

He slicked his cock with slow, practiced strokes, the faint, wet noises audible in the quiet of the room. Then his hands were on me, strong and unrelenting, spreading my cheeks and working the cool lube inside me with slow, patient fingers. Each touch sent my hips twitching involuntarily with every slow circle, every stretch.

When he finally pressed the head of his cock against me, he moved slowly, achingly slow, inching inside with shallow, careful thrusts. I could feel every vein, every inch of him, the delicious burn stretching me open, molding me to fit him perfectly. By the time his dick was all the way inside, fully seated inside me, I was shaking, overwhelmed by the fullness.

I gasped into my hand, trying to mask the needy sounds clawing their way out of my throat.

Wes paused, one hand splayed wide across my lower back, grounding me, the other caressing soothing circles along my ribs. "You okay there, Totta?" he whispered, his voice rough and thick with emotion, his breath hot and humid against my ear.

"Yeah," I breathed out, voice trembling but sure. "So good."

He began to move, slow and deep, his hips rolling with a sensual, lazy rhythm that sent sparks exploding through my body. Every thrust dragged his cock along that perfect spot inside me, lighting me up until my toes curled and my fingers dug into the mattress. The old bed squeaked softly beneath us, its worn springs singing a low, rhythmic creak that underscored the wet, muted slap of skin meeting skin.

Wes leaned down, pressing tender, open-mouthed kisses to my shoulders, the nape of my neck, the tender skin behind my ear. Each kiss seared into me, branding me, a silent promise whispered into my skin. He whispered broken praises into my ear, his voice a soft, desperate rasp that made my heart ache.

I couldn't help it. Tears blurred my vision, not from pain, but from the overwhelming rush of being so completely wanted, so completely seen. Maybe even loved.

I dared to glance back at him, my breath catching at the raw, unguarded awe in his face. He looked at me like I was something he could never, ever let go.

He noticed me watching and smiled, slow and sleepy and so heartbreakingly full of affection. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of my mouth, murmuring against my lips, "You feel so good, Totta. So perfect."

My body melted under him, my muscles going lax, my breathing syncing with his. I gave myself over completely, surrendering everything to him..

Wes shifted, pressing deeper, and I felt the slow, building tension in his body as his thrusts grew more ever so insistent. His breath grew harsher against my ear, his hands gripping me tighter, grounding me as he chased his orgasm. I felt it—the way his whole body tensed, the low, broken gasp he let out—as he finally let go. A rush of warmth flooded deep inside me as he cummed, his cock filling me completely with his seed, once again marking me in the most intimate way possible.

Wes stayed buried deep, his chest pressed to my back, his lips brushing over my sweaty skin in soft, reverent kisses, as if he couldn't bear to pull away.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, my eyelids grew heavy. Wes's thrusts slowed further, becoming a near-absent rocking, a gentle, cradling rhythm that lulled me deeper into sleep. The last thing I was aware of was the weight of his body pressing me down, the steady, pulsing warmth of him still deep inside me, and the soft, tender brush of his lips over my temple.

I fell asleep like that: full of him, wrapped in him, claimed in the most beautiful way.

And even in my dreams, I could still feel the steady, loving weight of him holding me close.