Roomie Wars Box Set

The next minute is spent with my mind on Bijou’s beautiful, tight pussy drowning out the squeals of Michelle until the pressure mounts, and I can’t hold it in any longer blowing all over her manicured hands.

With a satisfied grin, she says, “See? A couple of minutes didn’t hurt.”

She looks proud. Accomplished, even. I don’t have the heart to say anything. I just want her gone and out of my life. Forced to open my eyes again, I manage a fake smile as she rolls to the side and puts on my shirt. Oh no, not my favorite shirt. SpongeBob doesn’t deserve this!

“How about some breakfast before I go? Is French toast okay?” she asks coyly standing beside the bed, tugging on the bottom of my shirt and trying to act all cute.

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter.

She leaves the room, and I jump out of bed gathering my clothes for a quick shower. I need to wash last night and this morning off me. This is probably why I should stop bringing random women home.

The door to the bathroom is shut, and all I can hear is Zoey singing some god-awful tune that used to annoy me when I was younger. About a love shack or something ridiculous. Her taste in music is appalling. It seriously wouldn’t hurt her to turn on the radio and listen to something modern occasionally.

“Uh huh... yeah, yeah!”

“Zoey!” I bang on the door.

Nothing.

“Baby...”

I bang on the door again, calling her name loudly. The water stops, so I wait for her to open the door shuffling my feet impatiently. The door opens, and she’s wrapped a towel around her body. Her blonde hair is dripping wet against her back, her skin barely dry.

“What?” She scowls.

“You need to help me,” I beg her, peering down the hall in a panic.

Latching onto my arm with a forceful grip, she pulls me into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. “What have you done now?”

I can barely make out Zoey’s silhouette with steam lingering in the air. No wonder our bill is so high. The amount of hot water she uses is ridiculous. Quickly moving to the window, I click on the latch and lift it open allowing the steam to escape so the both of us can breathe a little.

“You need to get Michelle out of here.”

“Who’s Michelle?”

“The girl I brought home last night.”

“The one who called your dick a ‘little peewee?’” she asks, trying to keep a straight face.

“You heard that?”

“Hard not to.” She chuckles.

“It’s not little. Now, please help me?”

“Okay, whatever.” She continues to laugh while brushing her hair with complete disregard for the severity of the situation. “You owe me.”

“Anything you want. Just please say we need to go out… that we have plans.”

“We do have plans,” she reminds me, waving her bikini in front of my face. “Okay, fine. Can I finish getting changed, or does your little peewee need to use the toilet?”

My teeth clench followed by a low rumbling growl escaping my throat. This isn’t a fucking joke. My anger combined with anxiety threatens my ability to think clearly.

But you have no choice because you need Zoey to fix this mess you’ve created.

Leaving her to complete her bathroom rituals, I retreat to my room for some momentary silence. The second she is out, I have a quick shower before changing into my boardshorts and shirt. I brush my teeth and slowly make my way to the kitchen where the only sounds are their voices chatting animatedly.

“Hey there, roomie!” Zoey greets me with a mouthful of French toast.