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She checks over her schedule for the hundredth time. Chemical engineering. Physics 101. Calculus. American Literature.
Okay yeah, so the last one doesn’t really fit in with the rest. But she procrastinated on a lot of the general education courses…sue her.
Fran shouldn’t have taken on such a load her third year of college, but she was on scholarship and couldn’t afford to lose it if she wasted any time. It would be ideal to finish her degree early next semester, but she’ll settle for an on-time graduation if possible.
Fordham University had been quite a rollercoaster from when she set foot on campus two years ago. Her first home away from the neglect and loneliness of her father and awful stepmother. If it wasn’t for her school counselor, she probably would’ve just settled for a community college or a vocational school, but the woman was persistent in her potential. Her grades and sob story had gotten her here, and she wasn’t going to squander it for anything.
Her living situation for the first two years had been uneventful, the forced living freshman dorms had been a cesspool of hormones and body odor. Her roommate Peggy had been nice enough, but they saw each other for barely a few hours a week when she wasn’t staying at her boyfriend's place, so overall it was a pretty sweet deal.
But this year, she was able to upgrade to Clarkson Hall, one of the nicer dorms on campus with its own kitchenette and bathroom (goodbye public showers!). She’d applied for a single room, but knowing her luck she’d probably be shoved in with another random girl who hopefully wasn’t a complete psycho. She was late to move-in day, dragging her two threadbare suitcases through the bustling hallways to #88, turning the key and bursting the door open.
The last thing in the world she expected was a tall broad chest with no shirt standing in her kitchen.
The guy seems completely nonplussed by her confused expression, eating a bowl of cereal with his hip against the counter in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. After a few seconds of staring at each other, he just raises his eyebrow.
“You lost, little girl?” he muses, his eyes taking stock of her. Ignoring what that moniker stokes deep in her, she pushes through the rest of the doorway and crosses her arms over her chest.
“This is my place. Are you lost?” she says, only a tad aggressively. All he does is give her an infuriatingly relaxed smirk, taking another bite of cereal.
“Nope.” And that’s it, no explanation, no follow-up. This guy’s attitude was nothing she’s ever expected, in the short time she’s been here she already knows they’re complete opposites and wants him gone as soon as possible.
“Well, if you’re girlfriend or sister or whatever is around, I can just say hi real quick—”
He laughs. Not chuckles, or giggles, but straight up howls with laughter. It’s loud and a little nasally, and her head snaps at him as his head falls back in mirth, his cereal bowl abandoned as he takes a step closer to her.
“Does it look like there’s anyone else here, sweetheart?”
No.
No. No. No.
This can’t be right.
But he’s…? And she’s…?
“There must be some mistake…” she sputters out, trying to form a thought with the biggest broadest chest inching right into her line of sight.
He shrugs. “Maybe. But until we can get in contact with the housing department, we’re stuck here. I’m Phillip Altman.”
His freakishly large hand sticks out in between them, and she finds herself staring at it for a moment before finally taking it in hers. “Fran Larsen.”
Phillip smiles, a small dimple on the corner of his lips. “Nice to meet you, Fran. Need some help with your bags?”
“No, no. I got it. It’s just these. I’ll just….” She drags them across the small living room, looking between the two rooms sharing a wall. She takes the one not already littered with boxes and knick-knacks, shoving them to the middle of the room with finality.
“So…” Phillip says, following her until he’s leaning against her door frame. “What’s your major?”
“Engineering.” she states plainly, pushing the stray tendrils of hair from her face. She hates small talk, but she guesses that she’ll have to get used to it with Phillip around. “You?”
He shrugs again. “Undecided. Debating between business and finance, but nothing speaks to me yet, ya know? Might just say fuck it and go into literature or something.” He chuckles to himself, Fran laughing tentatively back. He had to be around the same age as her if not older, how could he be this far into college without a major? That kind of nonchalance makes her tummy hurt, and she just hopes it doesn’t rub off on her while they live together (if the housing office can’t make a change).
“Well…I gotta start unpacking.” she muses, hoping he’ll take a hint and leave her alone. She hopes she’s not coming across as mean, but she has a strict schedule before classes start on Monday, and there'll be plenty of time for idle chit chat later (hopefully not).
If he’s offended by her bristling him off he doesn’t show it, uncrossing his arms and standing up from the doorframe. “Right…yeah, okay. Well…let me know if I can help with anything. I’ll be right next door…obviously. Okay, see ya.” And with that he’s off, turning into his room and shutting the door behind him.
Fran lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding, already bracing herself for what’s to come.
-
Three months later and Fran has only recently started to get used to the concept of living with Phillip Altman, fraternity president and himbo extraordinaire. The housing office of course did nothing about their living situation when they called, and the house that the Alpha Phi fraternity Phillip was in (and apparently President of) was in construction wouldn’t be ready until next year. So they decided to reach some kind of tentative truce and live with it. Fran was fully prepared for a typical college guy who was messy, kept himself unkempt, and constantly played loud music and had girls over.
Turns out, Phillip Altman is full of surprises. He was exceptionally tidy, always keeping the communal spaces clean when Fran was on her intense studying binges. He never smelled like BO, his early runs and showers done before she’d even wake up for the morning. Obnoxious music on loud speakers was also never an issue, she even swore she could sometimes hear classical music playing in his room while he played video games.
And for the girls? There never were any. Fran just assumed that he’d spend the night at whatever girl he hooked up with’s place, but any time he attended frat parties he’d always be home a little after midnight. Maybe he was the kind to hit it and quit it, leaving right after the deed and coming home. But as she got to know Phillip, she didn’t think of him as the type. He was always super respectful with her, even going as far as inviting her one night to a party hosted by one of his brother frat’s. She’d stuck out like a sore thumb, but Phillip had been by her side almost the whole night, keeping her away from any unwanted advances and wild behavior.
Overall, Phillip was a good guy. A great guy, even. And if she somehow found him to be the hottest, sweetest, sexiest man she ever met? Well…can you blame her?
But of course nothing has, or could, ever happen between them. Even if they have this easy existence, the idea of sleeping together or even getting into a relationship would ruin everything they have. She’s finally starting to consider him a friend, and she knows deep down that she would never be the kind of girl he goes for. Even if she touches herself thinking of him when he’s right on the other side of the wall they share. Just a coincidence.
She manages to push Phillip out of her mind in regular intervals, sticking to her incredibly meticulous schedule each and every day. Coffee, class, library, class, lunch, class, library, home . Every day Phillip is always ready to greet her with whatever he cooked for dinner that he claimed to make too much of and offers to share. They usually talk about their days over dinner (which are always vastly different) and either decide to watch a movie together or retreat to their respective rooms. Phillip always offers the movie, and Fran’s wishful thinking makes her think that he wants to spend more time with her, but it’s just possible he’s being a good roommate.
Those usually perfectly scheduled days come to a halt one Thursday afternoon, Fran’s calculus class getting canceled and the library hosting some event that has the place swamped. It’s way too early for her to usually be home, but she decides to head back anyway, maybe getting a quick nap in before dinner and a late night of studying.
She’s not entirely sure what Phillip’s schedule is today, but her mind flits to the brief moment she saw him coming out of his room this morning in nothing but low-slung sweatpants and hair tousled from sleep. He’d given her such a cute sleepy smile, and she had the foreign urge to pull him down for a kiss (and maybe even more). But instead she’d rushed out of their place and got to her first class almost forty-five minutes early.
She turns the key into the lock with a sigh and swings the door open, and is wholly unprepared for the sight before her.
Phillip Altman sitting on their couch.
Naked.
With his dick in his hand.
The rational part of her brain in the process of drowning assesses the image for the short time he doesn’t acknowledge her presence. His head is thrown back on the couch, his pretty pink lips parted from short breaths, his hand squeezing the tip of his proportional (read: massive) cock as his naked body writhes from his own ministrations. Every muscle in her body is tense, very much including the one between her legs.
In the few seconds (that feel like a few hours) that she’s assessed him, his head snaps up to meet her gaze, a sound short of a shriek leaving both of them as they come to terms with their reality.
“Fuck!” he yells, scrambling for a small throw blanket on the side of the couch.
“Fuck!” she yells, slamming her palms over her eyes as if it will do anything to reduce what she’s already seen.
They both yell confused apologetic words at each other that the other doesn’t hear before they both fall silent. The air is hot and tense in the apartment as she peels her hands from her eyes, slowly opening them to see that the coast is clear and his dick is out of view.
“I’m so sorry–” she begins.
“You’re early.” he croaks out. She stops and scrunches her face in confusion and he clarifies. “You’re home early. You’re usually in class…”
“Canceled.” she heaves out, her chest tight and pounding fast.
“You should’ve texted me.”
“I didn’t know I’d be interrupting–”
“Fran, it’s not what you think–”
“Do you just stay home and…do that all day?”
“Hey, masturbation is very healthy–”
“We share that couch!”
“I’m sitting on a towel!”
“And that’s supposed to make it better?”
“Kinda!” he yells, throwing a hand up in exasperation.
She takes pause at the commanding tone in his voice, and how it adds to the already growing ache in her panties. She shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, even if she wants to peel back that towel and–
“Listen…I’m sorry.” he sighs in defeat. “I just…you have a very strict schedule so I know exactly when I can have some… alone time, and I didn’t think you’d be home and…I’m sorry.”
She just wants this interaction to be over so she can run into her room, slam the door and replay the vision of his cock in his hand over and over again for the rest of her miserable life. But the morbid curiosity in her keeps her lingering a bit longer, and she circles to the island table without making eye contact with him.
“Why here? Why not in your room?” she asks as casually as possible. He seems to choke momentarily on the question before clearing his throat.
“I…uh…it’s complicated.”
She raises a brow still without looking at him. “Try me. Because there’s not really anything less complicated than you with your—”
“Okay! Okay…” he sputters. “I was…thinking about someone.”
Her heart sinks, but she doesn’t show it. “Oh? New girlfriend?”
He chuckles without any humor. “No, unfortunately not. I don’t think she likes me that way.”
“Why would you think that?” she asks against her better judgment. Why are you trying to torture yourself, get a grip–
“Well for starters, she’s the smartest person I know. Like really fucking smart. Smart enough to know that she’s way out of my league. Plus, I see her all the time and she never tries to flirt with me, even when I’ve definitely been dropping hints to her. But every time she smiles at me…I don’t know…I feel like there’s hope, ya know? Maybe I can prove to her I can be the man she wants even if we’re totally different.”
Her heart clenches so tight she feels like it might burst out of her chest at any moment. “Phillip… ” she breathes, finally taking the courage to spin around and face him. He looks so young sitting there in nothing but a towel, a melancholic smile on his lips as he looks right back at her. But the moment is cut short when her gaze goes straight to the bulge under the towel, her mouth going dry. “You're still…”
He laughs again, a little lighter. “Uh…yeah. It tends to happen when I think about her.”
She gapes in shock. “You’re thinking about her? Right now?”
“Yup.” he says, popping the p. He stands up and precariously ties the towel around his waist, walking slowly towards her. “How cute she looks today. The way her nose scrunches up when she’s thinking hard about something. Her perfume still lingering on this couch from when she sat here this morning. How badly I want to kiss her right this second…”
Oh.
Oh.
“Phillip…” she breathes in disbelief. “I didn’t…I had no idea.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “A part of me thought you did, and was just trying to keep me at arm's length to let me down gently. But since you didn’t, I might as well tell you now. Fran…I’m crazy about you. I think about you all the time…want you all the time. But if you don’t feel the same, please tell me now. I promise I’ll be respectful and—”
“I do.” she whispers, putting her hands on his naked chest. It’s warm, solid and so fucking soft she wants to nuzzle her face on his tits for the rest of time. “I just thought you were being nice. And the fact that you think I’m out of your league when you’re over here looking like a Greek god?” They both laugh softly. “I just…I can’t be like those girls at your parties.”
He scrunches his nose this time, holding her hands over his chest. “I go to those parties as a requirement of the frat, but trust me when I tell you there’s no other girls. I don’t want them, I want the girl that buries her nose in her quantum mechanics book and eats enough macaroni for a small family and looks cute as fuck in those ratty softball t-shirts from high school. I want you.”
She presses up on her tiptoes, only to huff out a frustrated laugh when she can’t quite reach his lips. Phillip immediately takes her waist and smirks, bringing his face a fraction closer as he stares down at her lips.
“Phillip?” she whimpers. “Can you…”
He raises a brow teasingly with a smirk. “Use your words, Frannie.”
She lets out a pouty huff, her insides melting at the nickname. “Kiss me. Please.”
He smiles fiendishly before taking her command, kissing her with what must be months of pent up desire. She melts against his warm chest, a hand reaching around to hold the nape of his neck. He somehow devours and savors her at the same time, his plush lips engulfing hers as they try to extract the taste of her. She doesn’t have a shirt to grasp onto, so she holds his shoulders tight enough to leave a mark, moaning into his mouth as his hands reach down to grab her ass. She squeaks when she’s suddenly picked up and set on the kitchen counter, their faces finally at eye level as they briefly catch their breaths.
“Fuck.” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of doing that.”
She smirks shyly. “I think I do.”
His lopsided smile makes her heart soar before he dives back in for another kiss, this time taking her thighs in each hand so he can pull her flush to his body. What Fran realizes immediately is that she can instantly feel his growing erection under the thin towel, and holy shit…it’s big. She can’t help but slowly grind against it as he trails kisses down her neck, sucking a bruise into her throat when her clit catches the tip of his cock.
“Fuck, baby. Tell me what you want.” he growls into her skin.
“Anything. Whatever you want.” she whimpers, tugging at his hair. He smirks and pulls away, making quick work of removing her leggings and panties.
Well…it was supposed to be quick, but Phillip gets a little distracted and her leggings get stuck at the knee and he has to yank them down so fast she nearly falls off the edge of the counter. He manages to catch her before she can, rubbing her thighs in apology as he kisses her. Before she can say anything he’s dropping to his knees, his body so tall his chin is resting on the counter between her legs.
“What…what are you doing?”
He hums, kissing her inner thigh. “You said I could do whatever I want.”
“But…I’m all gross…” she mutters, covering her face with her hands. She’s been out of the house all day, running around campus and sitting in class. There’s no way Phillip wants to do…that…let alone when it’s not perfectly clean.
He immediately shoots up and takes her face in his hands, bringing her close. “Frannie…nothing is gross about you. I’ve dreamed of eating your pussy since the day I met you. I want you anyway you’ll have me, but if it’ll make you feel better…”
He turns around the island corner and wets a paper towel in the sink. With perfunctory swipes, he wipes her down there before rolling it into a ball and shooting it into the trash can basketball-style.
“Kobe!” he shouts, making it in one throw. She manages a laugh, but it’s quickly cut off with a gasp when he dives face first into her pussy.
Fran has thought about what it would be like to have Phillip Altman between her legs an embarrassing amount of times, but not even her most sinful fantasies could quite prepare her for the reality. He makes use of his entire face: his tongue lapping at her entrance, his lips brushing across her folds, his nose bumping against her clit. It’s maddeningly perfect how the angles of his face elicit the perfect pressure, Fran biting back a long moan with every new sensation.
“God, you’re perfect…” he groans against her before inserting a finger. The intrusion makes her squeak against her hand, his finger thick and already taking so much space inside her. She involuntarily clenches down when she imagines what his cock will feel like, and causes him to fuck her harder.
“Oh my god…Phillip, please…” she whines, trying to meet him thrust for thrust. The sounds of her wetness are down right pornographic, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to eat at this kitchen counter again without thinking of this exact moment.
“That’s it, baby. Come on my fingers so I can fill you with my cock.” he mutters against her inner thigh. “God, you’re gonna feel so good. I never want to let you go…”
She comes with a squeal, her legs locking around his shoulders as she rides out the intense high of her first orgasm with Phillip Altman. She barely has a moment to compose herself before he’s standing back up to kiss her, the taste of her release on his tongue.
“Your bed or mine?” he mumbles, scooping his hands under her ass as her legs instinctively wrap around his waist.
“Yours.” she breathes, wanting to be fully enveloped in all things Phillip. He throws her on the bed before shedding the rest of her clothes and ripping the towel off his body. Now she’s able to get a good unabashed look at him, fixating on the hard cock he’s slowly stroking in his hand.
“Like what you see, baby?” he smirks, giving her a little show.
“I’d like it more if it was inside me.” she retorts back, surprising herself at her boldness. Phillip must be surprised too, letting out a little impressive guffaw as he crawls onto the bed and over her.
“What my girls wants, my girl gets.” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her slowly.
Fran quickly tells him that she’s on birth control and hasn’t been with anyone since her awful high school boyfriend. Phillip tells her that he’s clean and hasn’t been with anyone since she came storming into their dorm on that first day. All the while he teases the tip of his cock up and down her entrance, bumping her clit to make her gasp. When he’s satisfied with his teasing, he eases himself in, the two of them groaning at the impeccable feeling.
“Christ…you feel like a dream.” he breathes into her neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin.
“So good…” she replies, fingers winding into his hair the further he pushes in. “Please, Phillip…don’t hold back.”
He groans again, setting a pace that has her seeing stars. If Fran thought that Phillip was chatty on any normal day, he’s infinitely more so during sex. He can’t stop telling her how good she feels, how much he’s wanted her since that very first day, that he’d do anything for her to be with him. It’s incredibly overwhelming, her brain failing to focus on his words when his cock is hitting her in the perfect spot every single time. She’s a girl of few words, tilting her head up to kiss his cheek, his nose, his eyelids, hoping it can convey her sentiments.
“Yes, please, baby. I want you.” she croaks out against the shell of his ear. It ignites him like kindling to a flame, his pace brutal as he pushes them closer and closer to the edge. One of his hands snakes down to swirl against her clit, and she’s free falling.
“Oh fuck, Frannie. Fuck…you’re perfect. Where…baby, tell me where…”
“Inside. Please…” she breathes, barely able to get the words out before Phillip is coming inside her. He groans out her name, pushing himself impossibly deeper before flopping on top of her and taking her into his arms.
They enjoy the blissful peace of their breathing, Fran gently combing her fingers through his hair as he presses languid kisses to any inch of exposed skin he can reach. After some time that neither of them seem to keep track of, he raises his head to look at her, moving to the side and pulling her into his arms so that he’s not crushing her anymore. She sighs against his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, voice hoarse yet casual. She snorts out a giggle, causing him to laugh too. The mundanity of the question after the most explosive sex she’s ever had is so typically Phillip, she can’t help but smile looking up at him.
“Macaroni?” she asks, voice innocent. She knows they have it all the time, but he just makes it so well. She's definitely grateful that on top of his good looks, sweet charming personality, and impressive cock, that he's also a talented cook.
“Anything my girlfriend wants.” he muses with a smile, kissing the tip of her nose. The moniker sends an army of butterflies through her stomach, her cheeks flushing pinker than from the exertion of sex.
“And if she wants round two?” she asks, somehow certain that Phillip’s boldness is rubbing off on her. He smiles that goofy adorable smile, his dimples and endearingly crooked teeth on full display.
“Dinner first. You’re gonna need the energy for all the things I want to do to you tonight. And every night after.” He nuzzles his nose against her cheek, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to her lips through his smile.
Maybe having a roommate isn’t so bad after all.