My boyfriend's Cuckoo Roommate

3. Look what Jake had me do

My eyes open halfway, greeted by a modern wooden lamp that doesn't look familiar at all.

Confused, my gaze widens as I find myself sitting on a bed with white linens, white curtains, white walls, and a fan above my head. Of course, I managed to get a room with the money the gorgeous man gave me.

I look around, my eyes briefly passing my bare arms. Alerted, I glance down at the covers, realizing I'm clenching them to my chest. I peek inside, My bare t**s and v****a welcomed me.

Don't panic, I must have decided to sleep naked; after all, I needed rest. Yesterday was the saddest day of my life. My eyes wander around the room, but there isn't anything of mine, not even my bra.

Still, don't panic. Maybe I left my things in the bathroom; I was tipsy anyway. It's possible. But the four walls only have one door, and likely, it's the entrance. Now my heart rate slowly increases; I pull the linen around myself, setting my feet down. The soft carpet is also white.

Inhaling and praying to God, I hope to see a hotel hallway. I'll talk to one of the cleaners, room attendants, or front desk clerks, and they'll tell me my things are safe. I pull the door with that hope, but the scene isn't what I wish.

This one smells like home, a family home, where laundry is made, home-cooked food is served, and potted plants are cared for. A low-volume TV plays from the other side of the archway direction. Carefully stepping, I increase the pressure of my prayer for everything to be alright, but then there is my bra on the polished white floor.

Quickly, I snatch it and clench the covers around my chest, feeling air leaving my lungs with each step.

There's a foyer, a jean and leather coat hanging there, black boots unarranged by the giant modern door, a majestic staircase of a very grand home on my left, and a pathway that leads to the commentary voices from the TV and the clinking sound of kitchen utensils.

The house is huge, is all I can say, but the details are not my concern.

Do you know this feeling of reaching danger at the final battle in thrilling movies? I feel close to that reaching the curved way and facing the empty living room, afraid of turning in the direction of human movement, which could be the kitchen.

"You awake!"

I know that voice. That soul-pulsating Angel's voice. Maybe in dreams, maybe my body in another dimension, but I know that voice.

Alerted, I stumble on the cover trying to turn, but swiftly recompose my stance and lift my head in the direction of that voice.

My heart palpates at the sight. It was Mister Otherworldly Handsome from the bar last night, and it wasn't the fact that he looked twenty times better than yesterday that worried me, it was the flashes of vivid images that rushed into my memories.

His fingers ripping my panties. No! Our lips hungrily savoring each other. Picking me up around his waist, my legs hooked around him as he stumbles getting inside the house. My gown being torn with one pull. He presses me against the wall and unhooks my bra, tossing it back and latching his mouth over my n*****s. His hands exploring my bare skin, my hands pulling his shirt up. My tongue sliding from the trim hair in the middle of his V-line, coming to his abdomen, kissing there, and the outlines of constricted abs, and up to his muscular pec. Him, losing his pants, and my hand grabbing his —

Dear Lord! I didn't.

His naked body comes down on mine, as I lay flat on the bed. Our bodies molding. His kisses! His touch! His embrace! Grunts! Thrust! Slam.

Standing here, a sudden dizziness covered me. I lean my face into my palm.

Look what Jake had me do.

"You're having a hangover," said that finest voice that shouldn't be real but unfortunately happened to be.

I give him a sidelong glance; he is behind the stove, flipping something in a pan, and it is sinful because he is doing it shirtless, with perfectly tousled hair and black shorts hanging dangerously low around his waist. My cheeks heated at the thought. I averted my gaze from his amused smirk and my eyes fell on my torn dress hanging on the sofa, and my boxes next to it.

It wasn't a dream. I was on Earth, and I followed this person home, losing the virginity that was promised to Jake in one night.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"I didn't wake you; I decided to let you have a long nap. It will do you good for the morning after... Well, the last afternoon," he looks up at his wristwatch.

Afternoon?

I look around for a clock but don't find any.

"What time is it?" I mumbled, my eyes lowered, just breathing.

"It's past three."

Okay, it doesn't matter. I don't have a place to stay; I need to get my things and leave.

"Do you always feel ashamed after s*x?" he asked.

"No! Uhm—"

"You seem uneasy and disheveled," he casually points out.

"That's because I—I never..."

"You're blushing," he stops and leans both hands on the island. "Do not say virgin because the lie doesn't suit you," the grimace on his face is so disgusting.

"What do you mean lie?"

"Come on. Let's be frank," he chuckled, degradingly.

I felt a lump in my throat. But I can't blame anyone; it's all my fault. I didn't pick well who to sleep with; I let the spur of the moment make the decision for me. I gave my first to someone who didn't even believe me.

"Why would I lie?"

"Why wouldn't you? I know this game too well. Women know men want innocence, and being a first for a woman is like impregnating her, and then having to take responsibility for the child."

What is he even saying?

"How does that relate?"

"Because a girl feels deeper for her first and wants to collar him up. That technique is what you are trying to use on me. All women in general want someone who could be responsible for them. You wake up and realize I am doing well, a good car, a good home. Why not lie about giving me your V-card to have me tied and take responsibility for you? But I am smart, I don't date virgins, because I don't do commitments at all. Not even for a day. So you better start leaving. But I will give you credit, you are quite tight."

My jaw dropped.

Wow, so his pretty face only stays there. Listen to him talk, and you will hate him completely. What did he even tell me to make me hear him out in the first place?

Unbelievable.

"That is the rudest thing I've ever heard." I am taken aback, regret swimming in my head. "Are you hearing yourself?"

"Oops, Prince Charming vanished at midnight, but you were busy moaning; you didn't notice." He is stationed there, firing disrespect bazooka, when his phone buzzes. He grabs it and looks down at the screen.

Where did I even leave my phone? My eyes scanned the area with curiosity, feeling a slight throbbing in my head.

"I have a guest coming. You need to get going," he brazenly says, setting down the phone. The only good thing is he was able to know what was on my mind. While I was in shock about his blatant impoliteness, he said, beckoning at an angle by a glass window, with a view of a pool, "I've put your phone to charge over there. I don't do these at all, but for some obvious reasons, I feel bad for your condition, roaming around with all your belongings in those boxes. I left some money underneath your phone; you can use it to get a room before settling with the school housing."

School housing. I didn't consider it before, but yes, it's my only plan now. But that worry is for later. Did he say money?

"I do not want anything from you," I spitefully said, ignoring the smirk on his face, and pulled the huge cover around me to where my phone was.

Picking up the fully charged device, I found a few 100-dollar notes that I didn't care to count since I didn't intend to take them.

"You are too proud for your standard," I heard him say.

It was bitter in my throat. I can't let that go without a comeback.

"Says the pup thinking he's a wolf. Please tell me what's my standard?" I scoffed.

His eyes raised, fascinated. Yes, does he think I don't have a voice?

Calculatively, he steps out from behind the island and approaches me, bringing along too much flesh for my eyes, and that intimidates me. I take my gaze down to my phone screen.

Thirty-eight missed calls and eleven new messages.

Wait, what?

Carl is persistent but clearly, his eight calls were decent compared to Jake's pile of messages and thirty missed calls, some seeming recent.