Roommate's Silver Fox Claims His Costume-Party Tease

The bass from the downstairs speakers vibrated through the old Victorian house, but up here on the second floor the noise had softened into something distant and hazy. Mia’s red patent-leather heels clicked against the hardwood as she slipped away from the crowded living room, the tiny devil tail attached to the back of her costume swaying with each deliberate swing of her hips. The costume was criminal—crimson satin that barely covered the lower curve of her ass, a plunging corset top that pushed her full tits up like an offering, and little red horns perched in her dark waves. She knew exactly how she looked. She had dressed for one man only.

Derek had been watching her all night. She had made sure of it.

For weeks she had teased him mercilessly in the apartment they shared. Tiny sleep shorts that rode up when she bent to get coffee. “Accidental” brushes of her breasts against his arm while they cooked. Breathless little comments about how she loved older men who knew what they were doing. Derek—tall, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, with that deep architect’s voice that made her thighs clench—had remained a gentleman. Barely. His jaw would tighten. His eyes would darken. But he never touched her.

Until tonight.

She felt him before she saw him. The heat of a large body stepping into the dimly lit hallway behind her. The hallway was narrow, lined with closed bedroom doors and a single antique console table against the wall. A string of orange fairy lights cast everything in warm amber and shadow. Mia stopped, heart hammering, and slowly turned.

Derek stood there in his costume—simple black slacks, a tailored black shirt open at the throat, and a pair of sleek onyx horns that somehow made the silver at his temples look even more distinguished. A fallen angel, he had called it downstairs. To Mia he looked like sin itself.

“You’ve been a fucking menace all night,” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step closer, then another, until she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “Grinding that tight little ass against me on the dance floor like you weren’t daring me to do something about it. You think I didn’t notice?”

Mia’s breath hitched. She wasn’t drunk. Neither was he. They had both stayed stone-cold sober, as if they both knew this confrontation had been coming for months and neither wanted alcohol to blur a single second of it.

“I was hoping you would,” she whispered. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. “I’ve been teasing you on purpose, Derek. For weeks. I wanted you to snap.”

His hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside her head, caging her in. The scent of him—cedar, expensive cologne, and something darker, masculine—flooded her senses. Up close he was even more devastating. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the strong cut of his jaw, the way his chest filled out that black shirt. Forty-eight years old and built like a man who still worked with his hands when he needed to.

“You have any idea what you’re asking for, little girl?” he growled. “I’m not one of those college boys downstairs. I’ve spent months jerking my cock raw to the thought of bending you over every surface in our apartment. If I touch you now, I’m not going to be gentle. I’m going to claim that sweet young cunt until you can’t walk straight.”