Roommate's Tailored Temptation: Her Solo Surrender

I shouldn’t be writing this down. God, I know I shouldn’t. But my hands are still shaking and my thighs are sticky and if I don’t put every filthy detail into this journal right now I’ll burst. So here it is, raw and true: I’m Emma, twenty-two, curvy brunette who blushes when the barista remembers my order, living with my outgoing best friend Jake in our cramped little apartment. And today I came so hard on his discarded suit pants that I saw stars.

It started innocently enough. Jake had a big client meeting downtown—something about closing a deal that needed his sharpest look. He’d rushed out the door twenty minutes late, tie half-knotted, muttering about traffic. I was still in my tank top and sleep shorts, nursing coffee at my desk when I noticed them: his tailored charcoal wool trousers, draped carelessly over the back of my chair like he’d shucked them in a panic while searching for a cleaner pair. The fabric still held the faint impression of his body. I should have just folded them and left them on his bed. Instead I stood there staring, heart thudding, because the scent hit me first.

Warm. Masculine. His cologne—something cedar and spice—mixed with the intimate heat that only comes from a man wearing clothes all day against bare skin. I leaned closer without meaning to. The crotch of the trousers was right at eye level. I caught the subtle musk underneath the cologne, that private cock-scent that clings to fabric after hours of nestling against him. My pussy clenched so suddenly I had to grip the chair. Forbidden heat flooded low in my belly. I’d always thought Jake was hot—tall, easy grin, the kind of body that filled out a suit like it was painted on—but we were roommates. Best friends. I wasn’t supposed to get wet just from smelling where his dick had rested.

I sank into the chair, the trousers pooled in my lap now. My journal was open beside me; I’d been trying to write about nothing. Instead my pen moved on its own.